The garage has been cleared for spring, hosed down and washed, bicycles on the front lawn flipped onto their handlebars and drying, rivers of lather down the concrete driveway and snaking through the tire treads of all the vehicles planted on its surface. The cars sit satisfied in the sunlight, waxed, shining, silver, black and red. The motorcycles lean casually on their kickstands, dusty and waiting. In July our grass will be brown, saturated and scratchy. In May the sunlight is still something it’s missed since autumn and it drinks it in accordingly, appreciative, and greener for it. The crabapple trees near the street have started to bloom. They will for two weeks, first peppered with white blossoms and then covered entirely until the leaves are lost behind them. Then they’ll fall, only some days later, all of the flowers lilting down and laying over the grass. The breeze will take them early, sometimes, so that the blossoms fall before being a part of the tree’s summer coat, and it brings them over the driveway. One flower falls while I’m watching and drifts over, circling me at the top of the driveway where the garage meets it at its open door, adjusting and polishing steel-toe boots made for an eleven-year-old’s foot.
After a second it moves to the bulging headlamps of the yellow Ferrari Dino, to the top of its smooth and earnest eyes, landing just above the wheel-well on the front left side. It lingers for another second or two. It’s taken again by the breeze, taken in by the motorcycles, surveying the group, and then it moves again, slowly, to my father at the edge of the driveway near the street, cranking the throttle of a small, white dirt bike and trying to keep it running.
The blossom catches the exhaust pushed from the tiny bike’s tail pipe and darts away, high up and over the house to the backyard.
I blink, watching my father waving and telling me to come over while he’s got it running. My gaze shifts back to the boots, never used, my hand still running a cloth over their surface again and again, finding spots on a pair of boots that’d never seen dirt.
“The boots are fine, Alex! Let’s give this a try.” He said.
It was a Christmas present. I’d wanted it. I’d asked for it. And now I have it. At the back of the garage it’d looked almost meek, shy and reserved behind all those bicycles propped up against it. Sitting there it looked tame, friendly, like it might bring us both somewhere interesting. But it’s something frightening, I realize, unused for too long. An anxious child. I sympathize.
I live among you, a beat, fallen man.
To look at myself in the mirror is reason for my stomach to twirl;
force me to my knees and hurl.
Taste the waste that rushes out between my teeth, firing my tongue;
tasting so wrong.
It should make me livid, make me want to go and drown my stupidity
among the narcissi that know no pity.
But take me, my dear lord; let my seeds not already be sown.
O Provider, Provider
Let this not persist, or harm my daughter.
She is tiny and innocent, like no other, may she grow old and bright,
with dreams sparkling alight.
Let her quiet slumbers have dreams masked from violence and hate;
If it is her future that I control, I pray to carry it gently.
To her I will whisper praises quietly.
I beseech thee, Guardian, let my callous feet not falter.
O Protector, Protector
The humble nymph cries out my name once more.
Let her hold no attention of mine, for but a spirit walks in my stead;
forget I ever existed.
She sent love to me, softly handled by wind’s squalling fingers;
My defense cannot be conquered; my walls stretch to the sky, unflinching.
Even I cannot cross; I fear the writhing.
This is a castle of guilt and sorrow from the very core.
O Destroyer, Destroyer
Why continue cry out to this weak man?
Your words; they convey to me thoughts and feelings only foreign how I stand.
They feel like a fiery brand.
Stop, for these feelings are even higher than the skies above.
Why must you love?
You destroy my fortress, bring me to knee, leaving me naked and heaving.
Astounding! Your love for the unbelieving.
My castle is built anew, the way only a master can.
O Father, Father
Dreams "I can't make it today," he says. It is six in the morning here but probably a more reasonable hour wherever he's calling from. What was it again? Ohio? Oregon? I've lost track. I usually do, because it doesn't really matter where they are. When they're away they're just away. When I was younger I used to think of away it as a place in its own right. If anyone asked I'd say it decisively, the way you'd say "the store" or "grandma's house," my parents went "away." It doesn't matter which of the 50 states they are speaking in, they could be as close as Indiana, or central Illinois, he still wouldn't come home for anything less important than the big game. I guess part of me knew that, even when he promised to get in a day early. I console myself with the fact that he'll be here tomorrow at least. Only for a few hours though, that's all he can spare. He'll be off again as soon as it's over, "Sorry about this, Johnny.""It's fine" I tell him. "I've got a lot of homework anyway, we probably wouldn't even have time to hang out.""Mmhmm," he murmurs absently. I can hear the scratch of a pen and picture the yellow legal pad in front of him. When he does come home they're strewn all around the house and the wastebaskets fill with crumpled yellow pages. Sometimes I don't empty them for weeks. There is a long silence from his end. "Well," I say finally, "I'd better get ready for school.""Right," he says, sounding a little confused, as if he's forgotten who he's talking to. The scratching intensifies, then stops. "Right," he says again, with more confidence this time. "You do that, wouldn't want to be late. You should get into the habit of being on time to everything Johnny, it makes a good first impression, and first impressions are vital.""Yes sir," I say."See you soon!" he booms heartily. There is a click, then the dial tone. It's disconcerting how he never says goodbye. Kim is waiting for me at my locker. There is still 20 minutes before first period so we go and have coffee in the cafeteria. She babbles on and on about homecoming. I couldn't care less what we do or who we go with but these things are very important to her. She asks for my opinion and when I have none to give she gets mad at me and stalks off. Guess I know what I'll be doing seventh period. We've been fighting about stupid shit like this all week. I don't understand what I'm doing wrong. Morning classes pass in a dull haze. At lunch I sit with Nate and some guys from the team. They talk about girls and call each other fags. I take out my own yellow legal pad and sketch out some plays. I have to be prepared. Have to be brilliant. I try to show Zach and Chris but they tell me to save it for practice. I tell Nate halfheartedly about my latest tiff with Kim but neither of us is too interested in the subject, by now its old news. Th
My Dearest: It has been so long since we've talked; since we've touched; since I've felt the tenderness of your soft lips caressing my own. Your voice was once so euphonious to me. You had always found a way to bring my mind to joy, even during my times of greatest need. I had nothing when you found me. I had not even the clothing on my back, but only a thin gown. My thoughts were then in deep distress; my life was but only a mess. You, my dear; you were the only who could bring a smile to my face, a laughter in my voice, and the love from my heart. You were my everything! You were my everyone... my only one. When I was trash to the rest of the world, you saw something in me. You saw things that I would have never realized on my own. You were my anchor, my crutch; you were the rope that I held on to which pulled my from my gloom, my hole... my grave. Oh how I miss you so, my dear. I miss your tender touch, as when we would kiss your hand would graze my chin, my cheek, the back of my neck. I miss parking the car in an empty lot in the middle of the night just to dance to the song that played in our hearts. I miss holding you closely in my arms, as the night would grow dim you would fall asleep beside me; while i could not sleep because I was so captivated by you. You would wake up and smile just because I had not let you go through the night. I miss gazing into your eyes. I remember telling you on multiple occasions that your eyes were just so beautiful to me, but you would never believe me. Then you would ask with a smile on your face, "How many girls have you used that line on before?" rolling your eyes. I would smile back and tell you that your eyes are the most beautiful eyes I think that I have ever seen in my life. And, darling, that is not a lie. Your eyes are so perfect! They are bright light blue with delicately detailed patterns that make them look like timeless winter crystals. Do you remember? Do you remember how you felt with me? Do you remember the way our kiss would make you feel? Do you remember joyous feeling of being in love? Do you remember the first time we said, "I love you." to each other? Do you remember how I stuck by you no matter how badly things had gotten, within our complicated situation? Do you remember talking to me in the middle of the night and no matter what it was, I was there to help, to listen, to give feedback? I do. I remember all of it. From the night that we met, to the last second I saw you... I remember. And because I remember, I wish I could forget. I wish I could forget how happy I was then so that I can stop mourning how depressed I feel right now. I wish I could forget what it felt like to be loved so that I do not realize my feelings of being unloved; of being trash; of being worthless to the one I once called my lover, my friend, my Aubrey Reed. Signed with all of my love,Me
She tiptoed quietly across the glassy, wet pavement in front of her home. She quickly stopped as she heard the sound of her front door. Breathing softly and quietly as she could, she turned around and saw a man stick his head out of the door, look around and re-enter the home. She looked down towards the street with a sigh of relief. She saw a pale, skinny girl, whose straight brown and hot pink hair slipped down into her tear-stained eyes. This couldn't be her, but it was. This was what she had done to herself. She looked up and continued to walk. Her walking slowly becoming faster, more hurried. Her phone rang and she slid her small hand into her pocket, pressing a button and answering it.
-"Hello?" No response.
Suddenly, whoever was on the other end began to softly cry.
-"I knew you wouldn't answer. It seems crazy, but I thought that if I heard your voice, you'd come back to me."
-"Jack?! Jack! I'm here! I'm fine!"
-"Your dad keeps looking for you. Everytime he hears a noise, he checks."
-"JACK! Why can't you hear me?! I'm here!"
-"I can't sleep anymore, baby, I need you here. I guess I'll never see you again. Some wishes don't come true. Besides at the funeral, I'll never see your eyes again. I love you always."
Her phone hit the cold, hard ground as she dropped to her knees. She really did it, this time...
and awaking to wince;
this tenderness is all
an exploratory thumb
gingerly rubs a palm
and the sliver of pain
neonlights the night;
encouraging his fists
occasional remorse uttered
internal nausea gnawing
fists brushing skin,
salutations in sharp inhalations,
he continued, aware
of masochistic intent;
side, my thigh, a
a smile insinuates
grin and bear.
this plaything status more
a consensus wrought
in bruises and
but his knuckle splits
a spot of blood, an
"no" comes all
blue fluxes navy
in effervescent splash dances
complacent with your words,
skin pigment laced pink
stains and tinges grey
while trails of liner treadway
fade with your name
still, my head mimics
dramatic scenery within film strips,
of horroresque cinematics
so sluggishly shaking horizontal
still, after weeks proceeding months
in the near completion of one-hundred-days
strings frayed garrote my heart
in utter asphyxiation
and still, my breath undulates
I tiptoe into plasmic veils
and now my shadow seems less vivid,
always careening to outline behind
I don't need a replica,
I just want a friend
I figured I would just get some ideas / a map of some of the things we mentioned including in this. We can add to it and then on Sunday make it look pretty once we have content taken care of? If there is anything that I add that you don't like or think could be improved upon, please feel free. I felt our guy needed a name, but even that can be changed.
Name: Karsten Schwartz
II. Work Experience
III. Volunteer Experience
1. Civvies - necessary Civil Service in home of aged persons at request of government. Unmatched tasks, assist in day-to-day objectives.
IV. Hobbies / Achievements
1. Bike riding, football playing, family and friends to visit, meeting new people, writing of poetry and narration.
the paint is
spread uneven and
left to be assumed
no bulwark no
strategem can occlude
the treacle they
descried is not
aromal on the surface,
mephitic on the
forward they encroach,
an anabasis toward
the mire with
in which you
and I are
prostrated and in
in and in
and in they
the cleft I
mistook for a