In a room Trying to quit smoking.

The therapist let Fred take any seat he wanted. Fred was afraid of being “The Guy”  seeing a therapist and laying on the cushioney couch like some kind of cleshe so he went to the chair by his desk.

“You can begin anytime” The therapist said.

Fred began to speak, but somehow, now the image of laying on the cushony couch seemed comfortable to him so he got up, still talking and laid down. Until that point he was only covering how he’d been and little facts about his life. But on the couch he felt snug and comfortable enough to really talk. Fred was a poet, and fancied that he would have been a good actor if he had applied himself to it. So naturally he had a flair for drama and big words. he spoke like this:

“I’m so plagued with desire.” he said “It’s a nagging; it’s an unstoppable torrent of Introspective meanderings, whimpering on gripping vices of whims. That-  that desire can be as indomitable as some monolithic Buddha with the grey stone power to crush me one moment, and then in the next moment just seem like wisps welling on the wind”

The therapist nodded knowingly as Fred thought for a moment.

“What could conjure such a comical horror as to supplant a mind to chase desires and thoughts from one extreme to the other in this….It can only be a comedy. Life is just a satire of itself, our fleeting emotions and problems, our tragedies and dilemmas, are just the dilemmas of ants.

Truly, I hope that while i’m trying to grasp my desires or hold back on their pull with the madness of some kinda lone waiter trying to serve the world, that something cosmic is laughing at me. Then at least I’d know i’m doing something good.”

Fred stared at the ceiling as he spoke.

“When in a lonely night, the rising thoughts, and the panic, and the naked truth of my being arises from the distractions of the world… and I shudder without anyplace to cower; when you compare that to a warm night with the closeness of another and my mind is propped up with a fools superiority, I hope that something somewhere enjoys the way I defeat myself.”

The therapist nodded knowingly. Fred had tears in his eyes and reached out his hand as if yearning for a gossamer ribbon.

“In a morning wilder, to bathe in satisfaction It is to live like the beasts inside and remain, lost from the world beyond our eyes, lost from the higher order that we ideally strive for. Letting go of it where the memory reminds us and persuades back to the coveted halls of loving self destruction.

It’s such tangled web of this and that.

And I cant tell you why I enjoy that. I get the web. I see how it all connects and how we pull on one string and it pulls another. But I cant explain it. And so we hide with vice and beer and acts and demeanor which proves only to the world. I need to prove things to myself.”

The therapist nodded knowingly before Fred lifted himself from the couch on his arm.

“It’s just that life IS so unfair. People had told me that all my life, i just never realized how unfair it was until now.” Fred was sweating. “Listen doc, I gotta be honest with you.”

“Hmm?” the Therapist said.

“I really want a smoke.”

The therapist nodded knowingly before leaning back in his swivel chair. It was the old metal kind with the cushon and it squeaked with an awful noise. “Well Fred, you admitted yourself into this program because you wanted results, and cold turkey is how you wanted to do it.”

Fred wiped his eyebrow. “I know that, but I…I changed my mind.”

The therapist nodded knowingly.

“Did you hear me doc, I CHANGED MY MIND!”

The Therapist leaned forward before saying “You’re not in control of your mind anymore.”

He pushed a button and two men came in and took Fred away as he kicked and screamed, back to his cell.

Advertisements

Radio

The radio sputtered with static. Garbled voices of various pitches whirred into focus and then away with the rapid switch between stations. A band of blue green light waved with the frequencies in the center of the console behind scratched and dirty glass. The green numbered preset buttons below stood at attention between two knobs outlined with neon orange against the darkness of the cabin.

The static waved like rain on a metal roof, became interlaced with pops and waves, or receded for a moment to give way to the muffled voice of some alien creature. Nothing clear or decipherable could be heard. In the vast world of radio frequencies, nothing was picked up by the device.

Lynda swiveled her chair away from the window.

“It’s busted. Why do you keep trying.” Her crossed arms ignored the brown canvas of the puffy foam passenger chair.  Beyond the glass behind her, the neon lights of the spaceway and other ships in the night moved quickly across the stars.

“You don’t have any appreciation for frequency jumping do you?” Said Grivo. The little fox looking alien stood on the edge of the pilot’s chair, his claws digging into the imitation leather material. One of his furry hands was on the console of the radio and the other held the wheel.  His face was alight with an animal curiosity at the radio while the frequency band reflected blue green off of his dark glistening eyes.

The sounds of the dead radio whirred and jumped some more around the hi-fi rigged surround sound system of the ship’s cabin. The strange and abstract noises from mysterious sources fell flatly on Lynda whose face somehow depressed further into her crossed arms. The blaring static and garbage noise polluted her mind with a rising landfill of rage until she snapped.

She flung her arms out at the little creature.

“CANT YOU PLEASE JUST PUT ON A SONG for gods… sake-”

Just at that moment, her wide eyes cooled. Her mouth hung open and her arm muscles relaxed as a driving back beat of pedal drum and bass guitar smited her. With crystalline clarity the groove arose from the sea of static. The song was graced with the presence of a guitar. It’s silver strings vibrating smoothly along the frets. A soft soulful saxophone meandered above it all.  The notes hit her like heat to butter. A lone voice took over singing words in another language which could have meant anything to her.

The song had a magical effect on her until the saxophone’s solo was beginning to rise and a curtain of dense static dropped over the experience.

“Eh, not my favorite tune. Too lounge music don’t you think?” said Grivo turning the dials with a fervency once more.

“Hey! Change it back!” said Lynda

“Oh you liked it?”

“YES! That song was from Earth!”

Grivo looked back with a confused tilt.

“My home planet.”

The static continued around them, Grivo seemed to be thinking the same thing.

Lynda furrowed her brow. “It made me nostalgic.”

Grivo flicked his wrist and the music smoothly retook the cabin. Lynda sat back in the chair and swiveled it towards the window. Grivo let go of the dial and focused his eyes and both hands on piloting. The white and yellow electronic lines on the glass showed the safest lanes of travel as ships switched between them. Their thrusters were a myriad of colors.

“I have no idea what nostalgia is. But it must be nice for you humans. I ether like music or I don’t.” Said Grivo

“No.” Said Lynda “It’s not like that…it’s …well…uh…It’s that the music makes me think about other things. Nostalgia is like a kind of homesick…but for memories too…”

It was Grivo’s turn to furrow his brow. “Why would you want to be homesick?”

“It’s not like that- just- just forget it, lets just listen to the song in peace.” Said Lynda, her arms resuming their crossed position. She looked out the window at the approaching hyper-jump gate, in orbit around Gatamine while french smooth jazz played around the alien’s spaceship.

Part 2 —> http://bit.ly/1BxzbWa

Futile Instincts.

You know how dogs will keep fetching or chase things around until they are worn out, or how cats can’t help themselves from swatting at fast moving tiny things, even though it’s clearly a jangly ball on a stick…I wonder if humans have one of those futile instincts we can’t stop ourselves from doing….

It’s probably just vices, sex, or violence.

But that does not mean we don’t have fun things we cant help ourselves with! (besides the Vice and Sex part). I mean there is music and art and good food. We find infinite ways to be creative. And maybe that is humanity’s futile instinct, to be creative and try new things until we’ve done it all.

But, It’s probably just vices, sex, or violence.

I mean I MEAN, we have all these thoughts spinning in our heads that we need to drown out or let go just to live without going mad. What do we do with our time? What does it all mean? Who are we as individuals? Is it worth it? Maybe our futile instinct is questioning! We cant help but question things, even if we know the answer. Looking up at the stars and feeling that wistful humility of knowing how much more is possible. Or maybe it’s like…like…

It’s probably just vices, sex, or violence.

Feelin’ Old School

The carousel of people spin
In the shadow of the growing din
Sing to me drunken muses
Oh Sirens lead me to ruin
Pour down my throat a thousand boozes
And steal me from my fortune
To cave garage apartments and cigarettes
Eager faces and revel spat words

Deep thoughts and charred regrets
Miasmas of potions and herbs
Let the savage pleasures take me
Around the thicket fires we go
For when the light of sun breaks free
The leaves of our youth will have flown

Yet life itself is but a page
Turned for us too hastily
Before you write sardonic wage
Write how the marrow of life has graced thee
In drunken fights and careless blaze
In reckless words and sweet caress
In third eyes and Smokey haze
In hard chests and perfect breasts
Fear not age or disappointment
Your days are far from hell
Fend off those grim appointments
And drink from the spirited well
Tumble among the leaves
And recall the tops of the trees
For Life is a drought of many flavors
And each sip worth to savor