I can make myself believe anything.
After a funeral in the basement of a church or hall, paper plate in hand, I pass the coleslaw and potato salad, fully aware of the semi-attractive woman I have yet to meet, and she asks, “are those cold cuts?”
Somehow I hear, “I want to meet you in the bathroom, have sex, run out the side door, steal a Lexus, drive to Pennsylvania, get married, live in the woods, chop wood, churn butter, start fire, clean floor, hang curtains, read Proust, welcome moon, hear Dylan, Bob and Thom, live free, smell truth, eat sun, breath stars, stay lost.”
Where in cold cuts do YOU not hear that?
It is quite clear.
I can make myself believe we were destined to cross paths, ordained to intertwine, predetermined to turn into werewolves, meant to roam villages, feed on fresh kill, fated to eat each other, surrendering to the inescapable, doomed eternity. What fun!
There was no surprise after our hands touched what happened. After our intentions were said aloud, once our fears were acknowledged…we simply didn’t care, we plainly had no help, no restraint, we were without all control; we were in for a horrible adventure. Yet, somehow we held onto the hope that a fairy tale might take root; we’d be carried on wings of love to a hushed safe place.
“Fuck everything and fuck everybody, “ she said.
Ahhh, truer words of love and hope were never spoken more eloquently.
It was as if we had known each other our entire lives. It was as if our desire had nothing to do with it. It was as if time coerced space to help collide these circling spirits. Independent entities now made one.
Romantic, real, endlessly exponential; THIS must be love.
Feh…Smells like teen sex to me.
Saturday, April 3, 2010
Thursday, April 1, 2010
What did I notice? What did I not notice?
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Wednesday, March 31, 2010
Revisit
I want to quit writing even more today. I am getting behind more and more and it is becoming troublesome. -Almost unable to wake up early enough to complete all of the tasks each day. Currently I wake up at 2am. I begin with meditation, then prayers, and then I go to another place in my apartment and light candles and do more prayers. I make an omlette and pray and then eat the omlette, then I sit in silence for two hours, and no less than two hours. This sitting in silence is a non-meditative meditation. I learned this method which qualifies as a "new method" from an outlaw monk in Alaska, his name is Konk. He has changed my life in more ways than I can describe here. In essence it is about, not meditating, because even meditation is an active practice. Konk even admits that because his method has purpose it is therefore void. But he insists that his is a true practice. The others are filled with faults.
After sitting in silence I take a walk one block in my neighborhood completely naked. It’s always dark and no one is really up, so it’s never been a problem. Also I believe my neighbors are okay with it, as I’ve been in this process since I’ve lived in the building for over 11 years. There is a sacrifice that I make on my walk that I am not allowed to disclose here otherwise it discounts my process and therefore my soul. But I can say that it has affected my openness to change three fold.
I usually shower, make a melba toast and turnip sandwich and then hit the gym. Sometimes on the weekends I will forgo the gym and hit Black Top trail. It ascends 4000 feet and kicks my ass. For these hikes, I usually bring Ketchup, my 22 year old iguana. Work is work. I sell big property, and I am very good. It is however, an all day affair and generally takes me into the night with dinners and drinks, entertaining clients. Last week I entered 2nd place in sales for the quarter. Looks like someone is going to Miami, FL for the region honors in August. Barry Logan, our CFO loves the work I’m doing because he knows my numbers are legit.
Usually I get home after 10pm and I do yoga for a solid 20 minutes. These writings follow that on most occasions. At 11pm I watch the news, I love Hank Tremble and Diane Kirtz, they are an excellent, well informed, news anchor team and have been doing journalism a great service for over 23 years. Chip Hurley with sports is awesome as is Ned Hale with weather. They are the top news team in the Summer State, without them I fear my foundation would weaken.
I work endlessly on my doctorate in post traumatic nightmares also, squeezing in research when I can, often times on my iPhone between showings during my workday. Before I lay my head down, I like to play Mandolin, which I am teaching myself with the help of Mel Bays, the instruction booklet for beginners. I do an hour of prayer and a night meditation and then remember that I did all I could do for the day, it was what it was. For now I will soldier on, as I can feel the good it is doing for me. As Winston Churchill said, "It is better to have an ambitious plan than none at all."
After sitting in silence I take a walk one block in my neighborhood completely naked. It’s always dark and no one is really up, so it’s never been a problem. Also I believe my neighbors are okay with it, as I’ve been in this process since I’ve lived in the building for over 11 years. There is a sacrifice that I make on my walk that I am not allowed to disclose here otherwise it discounts my process and therefore my soul. But I can say that it has affected my openness to change three fold.
I usually shower, make a melba toast and turnip sandwich and then hit the gym. Sometimes on the weekends I will forgo the gym and hit Black Top trail. It ascends 4000 feet and kicks my ass. For these hikes, I usually bring Ketchup, my 22 year old iguana. Work is work. I sell big property, and I am very good. It is however, an all day affair and generally takes me into the night with dinners and drinks, entertaining clients. Last week I entered 2nd place in sales for the quarter. Looks like someone is going to Miami, FL for the region honors in August. Barry Logan, our CFO loves the work I’m doing because he knows my numbers are legit.
Usually I get home after 10pm and I do yoga for a solid 20 minutes. These writings follow that on most occasions. At 11pm I watch the news, I love Hank Tremble and Diane Kirtz, they are an excellent, well informed, news anchor team and have been doing journalism a great service for over 23 years. Chip Hurley with sports is awesome as is Ned Hale with weather. They are the top news team in the Summer State, without them I fear my foundation would weaken.
I work endlessly on my doctorate in post traumatic nightmares also, squeezing in research when I can, often times on my iPhone between showings during my workday. Before I lay my head down, I like to play Mandolin, which I am teaching myself with the help of Mel Bays, the instruction booklet for beginners. I do an hour of prayer and a night meditation and then remember that I did all I could do for the day, it was what it was. For now I will soldier on, as I can feel the good it is doing for me. As Winston Churchill said, "It is better to have an ambitious plan than none at all."
For Me? You Shouldn't Have!
I’m not sure how any of the objects in my room made it in. There may be a covert army of interior designers hanging out down the street parked in Range Rovers, Mercedes 500 SL’s, or vegi oil powered Volvos , drinking gin and tonics, smoking Gauloises, chattering on about what they know, or what they think they know about Billy Haines, waiting for me to exit, so they can rush in and do an installation. This must be the case because my wife who stands 5’4” is too small and clearly not strong enough to bring a dresser and nightstand combo into the house, let alone our bedroom.
These two olive green mid century modern pieces, are well-crafted sections of furniture that add function, class, love to our simple bedroom. The main and larger part faces north and is approximately seven feet long and two and one half feet deep. It has three large drawer’s stacked on the ends, the north end houses my wife’s clothing, the right houses my own. The center area has two pull out doors that reveal a large place for shelves, which are missing, inside are photos albums, papers, shoeboxes of photos. There are gold knobs complete and functioning where they should be and everything slides and opens easily. There is a glass top that rests above. On top of the main dresser sits a 32’ television, a large framed work by David Schoffman, which is 6 panels of oil or acrylic abstracts on paper pinned & stacked 2 across and 3 down. There are little bowls of coins and odds and ends, two cases that hold more junk, loose photos of my youth, watches, coins, receipts, framed photos of family, a lamp made by Marnie Jamieson. The smaller dresser, which sits across the doorway facing east has an empty square basket, some playing cards, a studio monitor and more loose papers that need to be either thrown away or filed in proper places. Inside each of these drawers are things that could be tossed or put into a scrap album, or scrap trunk, objects range from papers, photos, scripts, sculptures, headsets, and cryptic pieces written in hand, sometimes typed on worn pages of paper.
This is furniture. I am content with how it looks and how it works. I look forward to using it today. I don’t know about tomorrow. I am trusting my furniture will be here. It is furniture. Am I writing about my furniture? Yes.
These two olive green mid century modern pieces, are well-crafted sections of furniture that add function, class, love to our simple bedroom. The main and larger part faces north and is approximately seven feet long and two and one half feet deep. It has three large drawer’s stacked on the ends, the north end houses my wife’s clothing, the right houses my own. The center area has two pull out doors that reveal a large place for shelves, which are missing, inside are photos albums, papers, shoeboxes of photos. There are gold knobs complete and functioning where they should be and everything slides and opens easily. There is a glass top that rests above. On top of the main dresser sits a 32’ television, a large framed work by David Schoffman, which is 6 panels of oil or acrylic abstracts on paper pinned & stacked 2 across and 3 down. There are little bowls of coins and odds and ends, two cases that hold more junk, loose photos of my youth, watches, coins, receipts, framed photos of family, a lamp made by Marnie Jamieson. The smaller dresser, which sits across the doorway facing east has an empty square basket, some playing cards, a studio monitor and more loose papers that need to be either thrown away or filed in proper places. Inside each of these drawers are things that could be tossed or put into a scrap album, or scrap trunk, objects range from papers, photos, scripts, sculptures, headsets, and cryptic pieces written in hand, sometimes typed on worn pages of paper.
This is furniture. I am content with how it looks and how it works. I look forward to using it today. I don’t know about tomorrow. I am trusting my furniture will be here. It is furniture. Am I writing about my furniture? Yes.
Monday, March 29, 2010
Turning Points...
The doctor smeared more gel on the wand.
“Let’s look one more time.” She said.
This was fun for her. She enjoyed this part. This was done with a lightness, a bit of play… a natural joy about all of it, as if to remind us that “people have babies every second of every day.”
This was our first child and our very first ultra-sound. The small exam room was the size of an airplane lavatory; very low ceiling, no chairs –a sink in the corner that might have been an ashtray at one time. She turned on the electronic monitor, put the greasy electric transducer on my wife’s belly and then pointed to the monitor and began talking, “There see?…There? There’s the head… and the feet. See the hands?”
I couldn’t see shit.
The doctor continued to move the magic stick around, studying the monitor. She seemed cool, hip…modern. She was mid to late 40’s, white, 5’5”, kinky gray, shoulder length hair, parted down the middle…old wire framed spectacles. I took her in and wondered if she was into Wilco.
“I’ll burn her a cd!” I thought.
The doctor continued to move the thing around and describe parts, and my wife agreed with whatever she thought she saw. My anxiety was starting to creep in. My forearms began to ache because I was gripping the arms of the chair so hard. My anxiety was turning to anger but then quickly gave way to apathy. This was no longer interesting to me. There was no clear image. The monitor was too small and the picture was intermittent and grainy and the whole experience was unlike any movie of the week or episode of ER I remembered from TV. We reminded the doctor again that we did not want to know what kind of baby was growing in there. We didn’t want to know the sex. We wanted to be surprised upon arrival. I thought about wanting to get out of there…”Let’s go, wrap it up!” I screamed in my head. We had stuff to do. We had planned to eat lunch, maybe buy a crib, pick out paint swatches, calk some shower cracks…endless items on our endless little lists.
But the doctor, who we both kind of took our eye off of for a few seconds, was no longer paying attention to us.
She had stopped.
We didn’t really notice her stop, but she did.
She paused…
And she turned on her stool slowly for a moment that was long enough to change the tone of the room. She seemed to be in what Stanislavsky called, “a small circle of attention.”
She then looked slowly to us both, calmly… with a slight tell of fear. She paused and put one hand up, her fingers to the side of her mouth touching her lips and looked at us both and said,
“You guys….”
“There are two babies in there.”
Blood erupted in my ears, my skull ripped in half, my chest seized, unable to catch air, my limbs fell, and my spirit flew around the room and sat in the upper corner of the ceiling looking down upon all of us. -Then snapped back into my chair. I was instantly freezing and on fire. Sweat poured onto my shirt, my mind was racing, waiting for the punchline, waiting for the punchline, trying to catch up, catch up to what the fuck she just said.
It was as if Chuck Jones himself had hit me in the face with a garden shovel. I was beyond stunned…much like the quiet that follows a severe car accident.
Clearly not thinking clearly, I thought she was fucking with us, but that wasn’t true based on the silence….based on her expression… based on the etch-a-sketch image of the two goblins in the monitor…based on the truth… in the room.
So, as our doctor sat there, mouth slightly open, jelly dripping off the magic stomach rod onto the floor, my wife and I tried to read her expression. We desperately scanned her face…this doctor who we had given all of our hope and trust to so readily, so easily, so, “la la la la la, we’re-having-a-baby-in-America-like-people-do-in-America…..on-Lifetime-or-LMN or on OWN or AMC or Hallmark-or-on MTV where you only need to be 12 years old…”
We locked on the doctor’s mug trying to read her. The doctor seemed to be quite surprised, which resulted in the question that could only come from a woman who was EXPECTING FOR FIVE FUCKING MONTHS TO HAVE JUST ONE SINGLE BABY--
“What are you saying? Are they attached?” My wife begged.
Our minds flashed to the tale we had dismissed by kooky stranger who chatted us up in the check out line at Trader Joe’s, “My cousin had a neighbor who gave birth to a head. That’s right…a single head.” Or, the time we were on a flight from Newark, completely unsolicited, the flight attendant offered this gem to chew on, “I read in Newsweek sometimes the feet grow together and never separate.”
Stoked by paranoia we wondered “Why would the doctor tell us this?! -Why would she tell us like that? –And what else is she not telling us?! How worse can it be?!” Will we be touring sideshows in 7 months?! Do they even still have sideshows?!”
“What are you saying?” My wife asked.
I was not keeping it together. But then, out of nowhere, I was hit smack in the head with a perfect moment of clarity. I saw that I was about to freak out but stopped myself! I observed from my most inner minds eye that I was suddenly making this all about me.
But I stopped. And said to myself, “Be a man! Do not freak out. Be there for her!”
I grabbed my wife’s hand, rubbed her shoulder, & gave her a reassuring smile.
This was the first time in my life when I actually believed that there was a greater power at work, a bigger plan going on, which I had no understanding or comprehension of. This truly was not about me at all. The only thing I could do was smile and feel the wonder and love and say yes.
It was as if I had been told the perfect joke and I was laughing in a brand new way, from my heart.
Another joke would follow, a month or so later; I came wandering to bed at 3am after a night out listening to some bands at the Lava Lounge. -I got all crazy n shit…I may have even smoked a cigarette. Yeah, partay.
So, 3am, Staggering down the hallway to our bedroom, I pass my wife who is now awake and walking the other way to the bathroom, but she’s walking funny; holding a pink bath towel between her legs. She says something like, “Hi.”
“Hi.” I say, totally making a bee-line for the bed.
“Uummm….I think my water broke.” She says.
I think my response was,
“Okay. I’m gonna try to get some sleep.”
“Okay.” She says.
This is just how utterly clueless and unprepared we were. We had a month to go in our pregnancy, so the actual “birth” part of it did not yet exist in our lazy, lavender, American deamtime myopia. After about a half hour of staring at the ceiling, one of us decided to open the Dr. Spock book. We found the page on “breaking of water,” and it said in bold letters, “Collect 200 dollars and go directly to the hospital, YOU FUCKING IDIOT!”
I just wanted to go to sleep.
Little did I know that I would spend the next 14 years, “just wanting to go to sleep.”
Our twin daughters were born one month early in May, 14 years ago. The world seemed to have completely stopped during that first year. We were in our pink, dream cocoon of love and bliss and no sleep; we were all healthy, we had a house, I had a gig…we had people around us and we had these alien creatures that looked like two old men that would stare at us and sleep and eat and cry.
Today they are full grown humans; faster, stronger, smarter…five steps ahead of me.
They are 14. They are women. They are sullen, and want things. They are warriors, now part of the largest buying demographic on the planet. Our true parenting days are just ahead of us. My hope is that we’ve improved on the model that our parents handed us.
People often ask us, “Twins! How did you do it?!” My wife answers, “We didn’t have anything to compare it to. So, we just did it.”
She’s right.
Whether you’ve had one kid, two kids, or nine kids…you dive in and just do it.
As they continue to battle us every day now, I breathe. I breathe and begin the journey of letting them go. Monday, they leave for Washington DC and New York City with their 8th grade class.
Seems like they’ve just arrived and now I’m letting them go.
But I guess I really don't have to let go, I can simply lighten my grip, and try not to hold on.
“Let’s look one more time.” She said.
This was fun for her. She enjoyed this part. This was done with a lightness, a bit of play… a natural joy about all of it, as if to remind us that “people have babies every second of every day.”
This was our first child and our very first ultra-sound. The small exam room was the size of an airplane lavatory; very low ceiling, no chairs –a sink in the corner that might have been an ashtray at one time. She turned on the electronic monitor, put the greasy electric transducer on my wife’s belly and then pointed to the monitor and began talking, “There see?…There? There’s the head… and the feet. See the hands?”
I couldn’t see shit.
The doctor continued to move the magic stick around, studying the monitor. She seemed cool, hip…modern. She was mid to late 40’s, white, 5’5”, kinky gray, shoulder length hair, parted down the middle…old wire framed spectacles. I took her in and wondered if she was into Wilco.
“I’ll burn her a cd!” I thought.
The doctor continued to move the thing around and describe parts, and my wife agreed with whatever she thought she saw. My anxiety was starting to creep in. My forearms began to ache because I was gripping the arms of the chair so hard. My anxiety was turning to anger but then quickly gave way to apathy. This was no longer interesting to me. There was no clear image. The monitor was too small and the picture was intermittent and grainy and the whole experience was unlike any movie of the week or episode of ER I remembered from TV. We reminded the doctor again that we did not want to know what kind of baby was growing in there. We didn’t want to know the sex. We wanted to be surprised upon arrival. I thought about wanting to get out of there…”Let’s go, wrap it up!” I screamed in my head. We had stuff to do. We had planned to eat lunch, maybe buy a crib, pick out paint swatches, calk some shower cracks…endless items on our endless little lists.
But the doctor, who we both kind of took our eye off of for a few seconds, was no longer paying attention to us.
She had stopped.
We didn’t really notice her stop, but she did.
She paused…
And she turned on her stool slowly for a moment that was long enough to change the tone of the room. She seemed to be in what Stanislavsky called, “a small circle of attention.”
She then looked slowly to us both, calmly… with a slight tell of fear. She paused and put one hand up, her fingers to the side of her mouth touching her lips and looked at us both and said,
“You guys….”
“There are two babies in there.”
Blood erupted in my ears, my skull ripped in half, my chest seized, unable to catch air, my limbs fell, and my spirit flew around the room and sat in the upper corner of the ceiling looking down upon all of us. -Then snapped back into my chair. I was instantly freezing and on fire. Sweat poured onto my shirt, my mind was racing, waiting for the punchline, waiting for the punchline, trying to catch up, catch up to what the fuck she just said.
It was as if Chuck Jones himself had hit me in the face with a garden shovel. I was beyond stunned…much like the quiet that follows a severe car accident.
Clearly not thinking clearly, I thought she was fucking with us, but that wasn’t true based on the silence….based on her expression… based on the etch-a-sketch image of the two goblins in the monitor…based on the truth… in the room.
So, as our doctor sat there, mouth slightly open, jelly dripping off the magic stomach rod onto the floor, my wife and I tried to read her expression. We desperately scanned her face…this doctor who we had given all of our hope and trust to so readily, so easily, so, “la la la la la, we’re-having-a-baby-in-America-like-people-do-in-America…..on-Lifetime-or-LMN or on OWN or AMC or Hallmark-or-on MTV where you only need to be 12 years old…”
We locked on the doctor’s mug trying to read her. The doctor seemed to be quite surprised, which resulted in the question that could only come from a woman who was EXPECTING FOR FIVE FUCKING MONTHS TO HAVE JUST ONE SINGLE BABY--
“What are you saying? Are they attached?” My wife begged.
Our minds flashed to the tale we had dismissed by kooky stranger who chatted us up in the check out line at Trader Joe’s, “My cousin had a neighbor who gave birth to a head. That’s right…a single head.” Or, the time we were on a flight from Newark, completely unsolicited, the flight attendant offered this gem to chew on, “I read in Newsweek sometimes the feet grow together and never separate.”
Stoked by paranoia we wondered “Why would the doctor tell us this?! -Why would she tell us like that? –And what else is she not telling us?! How worse can it be?!” Will we be touring sideshows in 7 months?! Do they even still have sideshows?!”
“What are you saying?” My wife asked.
I was not keeping it together. But then, out of nowhere, I was hit smack in the head with a perfect moment of clarity. I saw that I was about to freak out but stopped myself! I observed from my most inner minds eye that I was suddenly making this all about me.
But I stopped. And said to myself, “Be a man! Do not freak out. Be there for her!”
I grabbed my wife’s hand, rubbed her shoulder, & gave her a reassuring smile.
This was the first time in my life when I actually believed that there was a greater power at work, a bigger plan going on, which I had no understanding or comprehension of. This truly was not about me at all. The only thing I could do was smile and feel the wonder and love and say yes.
It was as if I had been told the perfect joke and I was laughing in a brand new way, from my heart.
Another joke would follow, a month or so later; I came wandering to bed at 3am after a night out listening to some bands at the Lava Lounge. -I got all crazy n shit…I may have even smoked a cigarette. Yeah, partay.
So, 3am, Staggering down the hallway to our bedroom, I pass my wife who is now awake and walking the other way to the bathroom, but she’s walking funny; holding a pink bath towel between her legs. She says something like, “Hi.”
“Hi.” I say, totally making a bee-line for the bed.
“Uummm….I think my water broke.” She says.
I think my response was,
“Okay. I’m gonna try to get some sleep.”
“Okay.” She says.
This is just how utterly clueless and unprepared we were. We had a month to go in our pregnancy, so the actual “birth” part of it did not yet exist in our lazy, lavender, American deamtime myopia. After about a half hour of staring at the ceiling, one of us decided to open the Dr. Spock book. We found the page on “breaking of water,” and it said in bold letters, “Collect 200 dollars and go directly to the hospital, YOU FUCKING IDIOT!”
I just wanted to go to sleep.
Little did I know that I would spend the next 14 years, “just wanting to go to sleep.”
Our twin daughters were born one month early in May, 14 years ago. The world seemed to have completely stopped during that first year. We were in our pink, dream cocoon of love and bliss and no sleep; we were all healthy, we had a house, I had a gig…we had people around us and we had these alien creatures that looked like two old men that would stare at us and sleep and eat and cry.
Today they are full grown humans; faster, stronger, smarter…five steps ahead of me.
They are 14. They are women. They are sullen, and want things. They are warriors, now part of the largest buying demographic on the planet. Our true parenting days are just ahead of us. My hope is that we’ve improved on the model that our parents handed us.
People often ask us, “Twins! How did you do it?!” My wife answers, “We didn’t have anything to compare it to. So, we just did it.”
She’s right.
Whether you’ve had one kid, two kids, or nine kids…you dive in and just do it.
As they continue to battle us every day now, I breathe. I breathe and begin the journey of letting them go. Monday, they leave for Washington DC and New York City with their 8th grade class.
Seems like they’ve just arrived and now I’m letting them go.
But I guess I really don't have to let go, I can simply lighten my grip, and try not to hold on.
Body Parts Know...
Mine eyes have seen the glory and they’ve had enough. It was not gradual, the decrease in eyesight. My minds eye had been informing my physical eye for some time now, there was plenty I was missing, maybe now I’ll take time, put on glasses and truly see.
It started with a book I bought at the airport in Denver, The Last True Story I’ll Ever Tell, about a National Guard who was in for a college education only to be called up ‘n out to Iraq. On the same trip I inhaled Anthony Bourdain’s Kitchen Confidential. Within moments of being in Houston, I told my father “I can’t see for shit.”
And he gave me a pair of his readers.
“Damn, glasses really work!” I shouted like a true American. I was again launched into consumer mode, my new accessory fashion radar lighting up. –“Can’t wait to go shopping!”
I hung onto those 150’s for a little over 6 months until I began my obsessive search for the “first pair.” My eyes would not wait, they continued to remind me that there was no getting around any of it. I struggled reading at auditions, letters from the IRS, Facebook messages from old girlfriends about “sons or daughters I had in other states,”…..er, wait, with eye wear that reads- “sans of drawers in other straits.” Phew…she was always crazy.
I made my way to all the low end glasses joints; Pearl Vision Center, Lenscrafters, Special Eye Plus Mall, Vision Wear-Town, Malsoms, G.F. London, Beachums, Malbar Vision Center, Eye Lab, Eye Town, The Eye Shack, Eyes-Eyes-Eyes of Glendale, House of Eyes. Then I started hitting the upscale shops; Oliver Peoples, Gogosha Optique, Optical Shop of Aspen….nothing.
I wound up at LA Eyeworks. Spent over 3 thousand dollars for my first pair, totally worth it….I look fucking great.
And now… I can see the forest for the trees…now…I can see the space between us…. now… I can see through your blouse…now… I can see the breath… now…I can see your eyes…now…I can see…now…I can see these words…now, I can see this.
It started with a book I bought at the airport in Denver, The Last True Story I’ll Ever Tell, about a National Guard who was in for a college education only to be called up ‘n out to Iraq. On the same trip I inhaled Anthony Bourdain’s Kitchen Confidential. Within moments of being in Houston, I told my father “I can’t see for shit.”
And he gave me a pair of his readers.
“Damn, glasses really work!” I shouted like a true American. I was again launched into consumer mode, my new accessory fashion radar lighting up. –“Can’t wait to go shopping!”
I hung onto those 150’s for a little over 6 months until I began my obsessive search for the “first pair.” My eyes would not wait, they continued to remind me that there was no getting around any of it. I struggled reading at auditions, letters from the IRS, Facebook messages from old girlfriends about “sons or daughters I had in other states,”…..er, wait, with eye wear that reads- “sans of drawers in other straits.” Phew…she was always crazy.
I made my way to all the low end glasses joints; Pearl Vision Center, Lenscrafters, Special Eye Plus Mall, Vision Wear-Town, Malsoms, G.F. London, Beachums, Malbar Vision Center, Eye Lab, Eye Town, The Eye Shack, Eyes-Eyes-Eyes of Glendale, House of Eyes. Then I started hitting the upscale shops; Oliver Peoples, Gogosha Optique, Optical Shop of Aspen….nothing.
I wound up at LA Eyeworks. Spent over 3 thousand dollars for my first pair, totally worth it….I look fucking great.
And now… I can see the forest for the trees…now…I can see the space between us…. now… I can see through your blouse…now… I can see the breath… now…I can see your eyes…now…I can see…now…I can see these words…now, I can see this.
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