The Persistence Of Memory (apologies to Dali)

A film viewed many, many years ago. A certain scene sticks in my head, has been there, and still remains there, surfacing from time to time. The film, suffice to say, is very much below par. It was just another in a long string of B horror films that my cousin Kirk and I rented from the video store when I would stay the night at his house. You see, I was not allowed to watch these sort of films in my own house. My parents were appalled at the gratuitous gore and sexually graphic nature that most of these films tended to delve into. But they always fascinated me, especially since they were banned in my own home, I would all the more want to watch them -- the deeper you hide the diamonds, the more the pirate attempts to seek them. I am by no means a "horror film buff", but in my youth these movies added a fair amount of adventure and uncertainty to my otherwise innocuous existence. Surprisingly, to this very day, I have a fairly vast and useless wealth of knowledge concerning cheesy, gory, stupid, and inept horror films of the 1980s.

But there was this one film called From Beyond and for some really strange reason, I have always remembered it. The film was a adaptation of an H.P. Lovecraft book, and loosely tied in with the whole Re-Animator series. I never saw any of the Re-Animator films, so I didn't really have any reference to the actors, plots, filmmakers, etc...The only thing I knew was that these movies always followed the same basic cliched format: the protagonist -usually a doctor, or some pretty woman, would invariably disturb some kind of mechanism, or mess around with an experiment, and hence a antagonist would materialize to wreak havoc on a small town, or a laboratory/hospital type location.

Well, in this film that's pretty much what happens. So, when Kirk wanted to rent this I had a pretty good idea of what was going to happen. As I remember, the film progressed and had its fair share of cheesy chills and thrills. But, somewhere in the middle of the film it shifts, and for a little bit it almost becomes a soft porn. The pretty woman protagonist, who I found out is an actress named Barbara Crampton, becomes possessed (this is never really explained) and she proceeds to put on a bondage type of outfit and prances around a bit. She messes with the other protagonist, who had sustained an earlier injury, by trying to seduce him a little bit. In the context of the film this scene makes no sense at all. However, to my young and naive eyes, this was the best scene I had ever watched in a movie. Man, I didn't know what to think. I was excited and dumbfounded as to why this movie had a scene like that. Only years later did I realize that the other main ingredient in '80s horror films was a little bit of the ol' T&A.
So after watching From Beyond, I didn't care about the film itself, only that one scene. I always remembered it, and I always knew it'd be in the video store if I hungered for any "visual stimuli". It was nice because I was too young and too scared to buy real porn at the liquor store, but I wasn't too young or embarrassed to rent this movie - which looked like a really bad horror movie as indicated by the artwork on the box. Ahhh, the treasure that was hidden just about thirty-five minutes into the movie. Suffice to say, the fast-forward and pause button was in constant use while watching From Beyond.

It's funny, just recently I was at the video store and happened to notice a copy of From Beyond in the horror section. I laughed to myself and thought of my youth - how much I didn't know in those days, how shy and naive I was back then. I started to walk away, but decided to reach down and pick up the box. For some reason, I found myself at the checkout counter with the video in my hands - along with new DVD's of actual films I wanted to see. "What the hell" I thought, as weird little smirk came across my face. I drove home and prepared to fire up the ol' VCR and have the fast-forward and pause buttons ready to go. Good times, good times.

12:30 pm Tuesday, 1983

Twilight Zone episodes
in the afternoon at
grandma’s house

eating a cheese sandwich
and entering a new dimension
transfixed on the TV

the soft black and white
and the lachrymose
brightness of midday

forever lost in the rush
of newer, faster times

Walking Feet

diseased feet can keep
walking up a hill and
never stop…

but when the spots grow large
and the foot becomes black
I won’t walk much further

and my disease will
spread and my disease
will infect

all those places I’ve been
before, every step taken in
stride, a small reminder
for ourselves…

these delicate bodies will
not last forever

A Red Head's Lament

I hate the fact that I’ve become so bitter. What happened to me? Years ago, I would just move on and ignore most everything. Nothing was ever really that much of a problem. I would just kind of wonder through life and accept things for what they are, not trying to change them -- I guess I’d just work around them. Because I knew, even in my naivety, that some things just weren’t for me, even though I was retarded and inept, unable to fully grasp really complex situations and ideas, I still knew the difference between right and wrong, who was a shithead and who was not.

You realize, of course, that I am a little lame, a little stunted, and a little shallow. Like right now, I don’t really want to write anything, I just want to go and find something to eat, and what I end up eating will be of no consequence to anything or anybody, just some more fuel for my body. I sit here at my uneventful job, waiting for the air conditioning unit to switch on and off. I listen to music, and occasionally go online to look for a new job, but everything is cast in a dark light these days; no work, bad economy, war, shitty, lame-ass, dope-dick, retarded, fanatic, ultra conservative, penis-headed, shit for brains, dickless, spineless, decay ridden, lying, cheating, stealing, job-raping, megalomaniacal, buffoonical, baboonical, pure slime ridden, selfish and pig headed president of ours, George Bush. Well, that says a mouthful, doesn’t it?

Look at me, I didn’t learn shit in high school, I was just there. In fact, I don’t even remember anything important happening during those days (maybe I really wasn’t there?) Well, who am I to say anything about anyone? I’m such a judgmental hypocrite, it really sucks, and it really does make me angry. Because I can’t even enjoy myself sometimes, even if I think I’m doing something good, the whole time I feel like a cheat, a liar, a charlatan of the new generation. But seriously, I’ve tried, and I’ve tried to think differently, and I’ve tried to act differently, regardless of how small or how inconsequential my actions were. I really have tried to see this world in a unique and sometimes humorous light. I mean, you have to just fucking laugh at things sometimes, this world is an absurd place. Like the other day, when this weird kid came up to me and asked if I had any money. This kid, he must have been around 13 years old!! In the middle of a bright Tuesday afternoon, this kid, who should have been in school for shitsakes! Asks me if I have some money?? What the fuck is the world turning into? I laughed at the kid and said, incredulously, “Why aren’t you in school??” He mumbled something incoherent and said “man” in an exhaustive kind of way, as if he was begging for money all morning.

I can’t even believe it anymore. So, yeah, I guess I am not perfect, I didn’t have perfect grades, I didn’t read all of the books that I was supposed to, I didn’t hold intelligent conversations with my peers concerning the existential meaning of our lives, I didn’t get laid in high school, I didn’t party, I didn’t have any “wild” experiences to write home about. I was boring, skinny, stupid, redheaded, retarded, socially inept and unaware of most things around me. Everyone was having a grand old time. I think back in disgust at all of those fucking jocks and cheerleaders fucking each other, drinking, and doing every drug imaginable. Man, those must have been wild times for them! Fuck them, and fuck wherever they are these days.

You know, it probably sounds like I’m whining, and maybe that is true. But I really hope I can overcome this bitterness inside me, I hope that I can contribute something good, at the very least, to the people around me. I’m not a bad guy, and I have some insightful things to say from time to time. Maybe I should go and read a book now.

Sure (she says)

I can't stand it, I can't stand it, I really can't stand it!!

Every time the smooth drone of the A/C unit shuts off her voice is way too apparent.

Like this horrible thing has always lurked there, unknown by most, yet existing all the while.

Never knew the sounds she made, never heard the details before, never listened to the insincere tone.

But now it all comes crashing through, like white heat blaring in my face, like Milli Vanilli when the que was not right and their mouths didn't sync up with the pre-recorded music -- they were revealed.

Yeah, she sits not too far, just down a short hall, to an open cubicle, no barriers, no privacy, no way of disguising -- revealed!

She says "sure"
at least
100 times a day

Reflections Of A Night On Wildcat Canyon Road

Feelin' pretty weird, like reality manifesting itself right in front of me. Plans that were made, and now they materialize and become full-bloom. A short stop on the long route, a small beginning to a much larger ending, a step toward becoming that which seemed totally implausible. My life unraveling, but not in a bad way, just in a new direction. Yeah, feelin' strange, feelin' apprehensive on this night spent with friends and family on Wildcat Canyon Road.

A blank faced friend with his shirt tucked in and pulled up high creates a Carl (from the film Slingblade) effect. A piece of food accidentally rolls off my plate and stops in the center of the wooden floored room. The blank faced friend sees it, but for an instant eyes me too. Strange concern in his eyes, yet still blank, almost black, as if he shows no signs of anything, even life. Instead of reaching down and picking it up, he slowly raises his foot to avoid the debris and steps over it in a meticulous fashion, as if he was navigating around a land mine. Later, the same man grabs his crotch repeatedly, mumbles to himself and eventually wanders outside, not to be seen for a while.
Bearded men and friends with interesting facial hair patterns move and dance around the room. Attractively dressed female friends do the same and seem to be having a genuinely swell time. My friends converge with Sarak's and my parental figures. I hear ambient speak of the present time, the climate, the past, and the environment in which we all exist. My father tries to piece it all together, sometimes getting confused, rearranging names, and finally getting it all straight, but in two months he'll ask me the same questions again and probably forget who's who. This older generation sits patiently and listens intently to the youth in this room. They hear the stories of my friends and smile and nod a lot. A cross generational divide is created, yet does not get in the way of the party atmosphere.
Sarak looks radiant in her Vietnamese top. She is smiling much and making everyone in the room feel welcome and happy. Our hosts fill glasses and provide delicious food that is easily consumed and rests comfortably in the bellies of all those who partake. All is smiles and talk and laugher here. But me, yeah, I'm standing around trying my best to be social. I'm certainly not the most sociable person; I don't like to speak too much, small talk drives me nuts, being put on the spot makes me want to vanish, and picture taking makes me feel ill at ease. But I'm here, and I'm trying, everyone around me confident and glowing (except maybe for our blank faced friend). Upon viewing a recently snapped Polaroid photo of myself I cringe. My balding head, and freckled, glasses-wearing long face looks pallid and disgusting in the photo. I'm very un-attractive and jealous of those around me who radiate a natural beauty. But I guess it really does not matter, I used to give a fuck, but it is a hopeless battle. I need to forget my anxieties and let the OCD just drift off tonight. Yeah, you know, I just laugh a little, shake my head and let my forced expressions and awkward movements propel me through this festive night. Self deprecating am I?? Whoa...who'd a fucking thunk???? Alright...rage on.

1608 4th St. Berkeley, CA

elevator banter
is so weak
heading up

Cinema of the Mind

Anticipating everything and then knowing only what I need to know at the exact moment. The nights before sleep, lost in my own head, images of everything I’ve seen and done seem to pass before me like a jittery film. I’m sitting in a vacant auditorium, watching a giant screen as my life is projected upon it whizzing by in quick motion. I laugh, I cry, I cringe, I squirm in my seat, and there is no way to stop watching, really. It all just moves by so fast and I can only pick up these litte fragments of days and memories past. Sometimes, and for unknown reasons, the most insignificant images stick and then I try to make sense of them. Some strange thought from a day ago, or something I experienced recently. Could be just faces on the street, passing by – anonymous faces that are remembered as my mind plays the images over and over. Why do I think of these faces? Who are these people? I surely do not know these people; they’re just like me, walking around. All I really want to do is sleep, yet this constant barrage of thoughts and images pass unrelenting. It’s like my mind is searching for something to grasp onto, anything. It seems that I need some kind of “food for thought” and I must dwell on that for a while, even at the most inappropriate time - right before sleep. Hmmm, yeah I guess I have a lot to think about, maybe. I’ve always been somewhat of a worrier. Even as a kid, I would lay awake in bed and worry about all sorts of things, things that had nothing to do with me. Could it be that I’m just absurdly concerned with nonsensical things? Perhaps this is true. But really, I just want to sleep. In the end will all my obsessing really amount to anything? Probably not. Too much time is wasted on the internal. Need to focus on the outside and get things done. I’m only hurting myself when I lay awake and pick apart the pieces of my mind.

Everybody's In It For Themselves

"I'll try to make it if I can. We have plans that night, but maybe we can stop by later for a sec. We bought tickets for this show, and we are not going to be able to make it. I just bought this great new cell phone - it straps right to yr fuckin' head and stays there all day long! We're going out of town, so maybe we'll see you in a few weeks, maybe." Blah, blah, blah, etc, etc...
It occurred to me last night, before sleep (of course), that just about everyone I have ever met is in it for themselves. What exactly is "it"? "It" is life, of course. Life is the seconds, minutes, hours, days, weeks, months, and years that comprise every human's existence on this failing planet. Before I go any further, 'cause people have a tendency to judge INSTANTLY, I have to say that I am probably the most guilty human of this action. I admit it, because I am no different than anyone else out there who is trying to have his cake and eat it too. Man, why does this happen? Why are we this way?? Human nature, competition, jealousy, greed, anger, rage...to have this, to have that, to have been here or there - to create some kind of jealousy or longing in the eyes of the people you tell, or who see you. This is a terrible trait, but also a survival tactic, a human defense mechanism. I don't necessarily like it, but it seems it has to be there. The ego is a fragile and fucking mysterious thing. We all want some little bit of recognition for what we do, some kind of permanent marking of where we've been and what we have.
Some people try to better themselves by not holding true to this "ethic", I guess. And those people, in a sense, are feeding their own egos by telling themselves that they are maybe better than most people because they are acting just the opposite. There is really no escape, just accept the fucking fact that you have to survive and this is a part of it. We can do what we do, all the time, and tell people about it, flaunt it, show it off, and so forth. But there are ways to control it, ways to be quiet and unassuming, to not let "it" get in the way of everything. And this is a good trait, to be able to have control over something. I don't give a flying fuck if you make $200,000 dollars a year, if you're cool and down-to-earth, you'll be alright with me.
We've all got a little bit of work to do. Now get back to fucking work.