Off the bat I'd like to dedicate this to Beth because she reads it.
So I'm in a nursing home being on bedrest and shit and it's not cool, just so you know. I had surgery the 12th of January, and I got here the 16th I think. Just today, the fucking 30th, I got internet. I got these fuckers to fix the internet because everything else here sucks. Old people wake me up in the middle of the night and it creeps my shit out. Also, I didn't like old people to begin with so this just puts them further down in my book. Currently, old people are below the Amish and I truly have an aversion to the Amish with legitimate reasons. If you don't believe me, just ask and I'll rant.
Beyond life not being a blast right now I've been doing a little writing, mostly just work on a couple short stories. Some are going better than others but what are you going to do. I did, however, recently discover the AutoSummarize feature on Word and so I now have a summary of what I've written for DoubleBook so far. I think it's pretty enticing.
“Right…” Fuck. Yeah.” Mostly drink. “Right. Drinking, seeing people. “Yeah, yeah. “Shit.”
“Drink what?” “Nice, right? “Right, right. Jude pointed to Gabi, “Who’s that?”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Seeing Lauren? Hell yeah.
Do you know Jude? How’s Lauren?” “Shit.” “Right? “Tomorrow night. Jude! “Yeah man. “Yeah.” Pretty nice, right?” Hey Elliot.” Fuck, fuck, fuck.
“Right.”
“Right.” “Fuck. “Shit.”
“Lauren’s.”
Yeah. “Fuck.”
“Yeah. Mostly Catholic girls.” Fuck yeah. Fuck. Fuck.
“Yeah, yeah.”
So I'll now be taking pre-orders for DoubleBook. And you're welcome.
Thursday, January 29, 2009
Friday, January 2, 2009
Tyler: All Dressed Up
Hi, so, we were going to publish this list but as of yet it's lost so I'm just going to put a story up here. This is called 'All Dressed Up' and I don't think it's that bad but, mind you, it's not been edited at all yet. It will be after monday but right now, super raw.
All Dressed Up
Marley died. She was young but she died anyway like she wanted it that way; living fast and all that other bullshit. I mean, she never really cared about age and whatnot; she saw no benefit in living to some sort of wisdom. She lived to what she thought was her peak. I don’t know, maybe she was right. Maybe some of us are at our best at 20 and everything after, well, everything after is worthless like throwing salt into the ocean. Or throwing water into the ocean, I don’t know. Marley loved using those phrases but I think she loved using them incorrectly more, something to be different.
She was a strange girl that lived only for the peculiarities of life. Even amongst our friends she was an outcast and by no means were we running the straight and narrow. We would go to dive bars and she found comfort exclusively in aging singles bars where she would flirt with comb-overed men. Sometimes comb-overed women depending on her mood. It was things like that that drove her. She was a diehard vegan with a hunting license just because she loved to piss off both camps. She died with her gun, cradling it as the various pills and liquors kicked in. I think the suicide was simply because she was over life, the fact that she did it just holding her gun was her final joke in my opinion.
My friend Jude was the first to tell me what happened. He said her roommate found her in her Sunday’s best laying face up in her bed, her cheek resting on the barrel of her rifle. All dressed up and, well, nevermind. He said her roommate just sat there and talked to her dead body for about a half an hour just getting shit off her chest before calling the proper authorities. I don’t think anyone was surprised. Even the squad that came to get her had been there before for previous attempts that Marley would later go on to call jokes. She’d tried the razors on the wrist but went across instead of down on purpose probably just to see what it was like. She hanged herself once but couldn’t have been all too serious about it because she used an old shoelace that snapped as soon as she put any weight on it. No one would have known about that one except that she had to be taken to the hospital to get stitches in her head after hitting the chair she kicked out from under her. It was all a little ridiculous.
We all reacted to her death a little different as I suppose should be expected. Her roommate found a sort of comfort in Marley’s newly acquired peace. The resident drama queen in our crew hailed Marley as an angel brought straight from the heavens to spread joy and love. Another friend drank himself into a stupor but to be fair he did that every Thursday so it’s hard to say if it was the death or the day that got to him. Jude saw her life as something of a waste. She never accomplished anything of importance and succeeded at very little. She graduated high school, eventually, but didn’t even attempt college. Jude was more concerned with the destination than the journey with many aspects of life.
It feels weird saying but I really had no problems with her death. Don’t get me wrong, it was incredibly sad and I found several tears dripping into my whiskey that evening but after I was given time to take it in I was quite alright with the situation. Marley wouldn’t have made it with a real job or house or family or anything. By no means did she figure life out by 20 but I think she figured hers out by that age, if that makes any sense. She knew the world wasn’t made for her. Early on in her life she must have realized that a typical, successful life consisted of striving for normalcy and that was really never her aim. It wasn’t so much that she saw following the beaten path as failure, she saw following any path as failure.
I’d met Marley several years before at Comfest, a three-day festival in the heart of Columbus celebrating music, food, community, and lesbians I think. It’s basically just a huge party for and by Columbus in a city park. I was strolling the grounds with a couple people when Marley jumped in front of us, her tiny breasts painted to look like fish kissing in her cleavage. She asked us each for our autographs. We told her we weren’t famous and she asked how we could possibly know that.
She followed us around the rest of that day and over the next couple years. She fucked just about all the guys in our crew but never me. I was fine with that because I’m fairly positive I would have fallen in love with her and she was never near stable enough to maintain any kind of romantic relationship. Her mind was scattered and her bed was always full.
Our relationship was completely platonic but I enjoyed it that way. About once a month she and I would drive out to her father’s condo in Groveport to have dinner with him. He had become a widower at 42 and never remarried after Marley’s mother. He was a large, quiet man who just seemed lost most of the time. He retired early thanks to a highly profitable construction company and planned to grow old with Marley’s mother, Greta, but she accidentally overdosed on some prescriptions, seized up, and died. As far as I knew, Marley was about all he had left and that could not have been too comforting. So we’d go out, eat with him, talk about bowling and what his wife used to be like. The food was always bad but that wasn’t the point.
Jude, our buddy John and I decided to go to the Dube to drink and possibly eat away our feelings. We parked behind the video store next door and crossed Blake Ave. before stopping at the door of the Dube to smoke. Since the ban, the front doors of places had become a much more popular hang out. John lit and took a drag, “I wish I could say I can’t believe she’s gone but I can and that sucks.”
Jude and I mostly just nodded our heads because we had no clue what was supposed to come after that. Everyone finished their smoke and threw their butts on High St before slowly walking into the Dube. We found a table near the door and made our selves comfortable in the vinyl booth. Michelle, our favorite waitress came up, “Hello boys. Haven’t seen you in a couple days, what’s going on?”
Jude looked up first, “We’re here mourning a friend,” then he looked back to us, “Wait, are we mourning her death or celebrating her life because I’d rather be mourning.”
John looked at me and I made my decision, “Mourning. I think mourning would be good right now.”
“I’m sorry guys. Mind if I ask who?”
“Marley Tismann. She came in sometimes. Probably weird colored hair. Probably didn’t pay a couple times.”
“Ok, ok. Yeah, I think she walked out on me once but if I remember correctly one of you came back later and picked up the bill. Well, shit, I’m sorry to hear that.”
Jude looked like he wanted his drink, “It happens. Can we get three Carbombs and a plate of fries?”
“Sure thing.”
None of us really knew what to say. She had died, we weren’t surprised but I mean, shit, she was fucking dead. Our friend. But no one at the Dube fucking cared. They didn’t give a shit about some nobody 20 year old with a death complex. We couldn’t even pretend like she didn’t have it coming I mean, we’d had been in this same position before except before it was talking about when we’d go to see her in the hospital/psych unit, not the funeral home.
I looked around and people were happy around us. I wanted to stand up and tell them all they could fuck themselves because I had real problems and they didn’t understand my struggle. I wanted everyone to get in a line in front of me so they could all come up to me and apologize for my loss before I cracked them over the head with some bottle. I wanted these things but only for moments. My need for violence ended when our Carbombs came.
The three of us looked at each other knowing someone had to toast. John took the lead, “To Marley, I fucking hate her for leaving.” He and Jude immediately dropped their shot into the beer and drank. I waited momentarily, meditating on John’s eloquent delivery and cautiously feeling the same as him. Then I did my drink and felt better about the entire situation. After several more I felt even better.
Marley was the only girl I’d ever talked about books with. She read the ones I read and hated the ones I hated and it really seemed like the only thing she was ever serious about. She wanted desperately to fuck Bukowski but he left too soon and she came too late. She wanted the fucked up, pocked mess that was his face. She wanted him to write about how young and perfect she was and how she fucked like she was possessed. I think she really just would have wanted to know how Bukowski would have described her. Marley would want to know how she came off to people, especially those she respected. She asked me to write about her once but I couldn’t at the time. Really I don’t know why I waited till now. I mean, fuck, I don’t know.
Marley’s dad called me the day before the showing and funeral, “Hey Eli, it’s Mr. Tismann, Marley’s dad. I, uh, got your number from,” he paused sounding beyond lifeless, “from her phone.”
Part of me couldn’t believe he was even breathing or alive or anything. His voice was so, Christ, dead. I tried to sound as helpful as possible knowing that it probably meant nothing to him, “Yeah, hey Mr. Tismann. How are you? Can I do anything?”
“I’m, I’m ok. Thanks. And yeah, actually. I was wondering if I could ask you a favor.”
“Anything, Mr. Tismann.”
He cleared his throat and probably wiped away some tears, “I’d like you to speak tomorrow at the, um, showing.”
Fuck.
“Yeah, of course. Of course.”
“It’s just that, I don’t know if I can say this to make sense but I just feel like she would want you to speak. She liked you, Eli. I like you, too. If you don’t want to…” he trailed off but we both knew I would.
“Anything, Mr. Tismann.”
“Alright, Eli, well I’ve got some papers to sign and whatnot but, you know, I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“I’ll be there.” It was time to drink and write, two things I often did together anyway. Death, however, was rarely involved.
I got to the funeral home at 3:30 and downed a flask of red wine I had. I figured bourbon would have been too informal. I sat in my car and watched my friends file in along with Mr. Tismann and several other middle-aged people. Heads were down, really fucking down. When my watch struck 3:54 I wiped the purple off my teeth, straightened my tie, and made my way inside.
Everyone was already in their seat or pew or whatever funeral homes have. A priest got up to talk and I sat by myself in the last row. Jude was sitting toward the front passing a flask between himself, John, and a couple other friends. He looked back and I caught his eye, we both sort of looked down because we certainly did not want to acknowledge that we were at a funeral. I looked up to see John nursing the flask when, loud as humanly possible, he choked on what was certainly bourbon bringing the attention of all in attendance that Marley’s friends were drinking at her funeral. It would have been much worse but right after John choked I saw at least four more flasks flash including Mr. Tismann who took a pull and went up to the podium. He spoke only for a couple minutes basically giving a brief recap of Marley’s life. He cried the entire time. So did everyone else.
When he was done he looked to me and then to the podium as if to tell me it was my turn. Everyone looked back at me, few realizing I’d been there. I went up the center aisle and stopped by Jude. I hit Jude on the shoulder and he handed me the flask which I downed quick. No one seemed to care and most looked a little jealous. I went up to the front of the room not realizing how large it actually was. I didn’t go to the podium because I knew I would have felt like an idiot giving some kind of speech. I couldn’t give speeches. I just sat there for a minute, everyone staring at me. Not staring in a bad way, everyone was just anticipating what I would say much in the same way I was.
I looked down to my napkin. It read, “Hi. I’m Eli.” So I started.
“Hi, I’m Eli. I was Marley’s friend but, I mean, that sounds like so much less than I think we were. Marley had friends but I’d like to think, at least, that we were really, really good friends. I’ve never done this before. I’ve never had to do this for a friend before so I’m sorry if I say something really fucking inappropriate but, yeah. Sorry.”
Marley was good and I miss her but you all do too so, I guess I don’t really need to tell you all that. We all had some good times with her, I know I don’t have to convince anyone of that. I mean, we used to go to the library and smoke… um, we would have fun. Fuck.”
I was losing my way and crying like a bitch so I looked back down to my crinkled up napkin. It read, “She lived better.” So I started.
“She lived better than anyone I know. I mean, she lived really, really hard. She, uh, never wore a seatbelt in my car which just sounds dumb now but, I mean, I think it speaks to her character, right? Like, she lived only how she wanted which I think worked. Obviously it didn’t work the way anyone wanted but I think it worked how she wanted. This sounds worse than I ever wanted it to. I guess I’m just trying to say I really kind of envied her. No one else could do the shit she did. None of us had the balls. I’m sorry.”
I was crying and sweating and couldn’t tell if I was the only one. I could only hear my own wimpering and was too afraid too look at the congregation for fear everyone would be looking for my head in the parking lot for fucking up Marley’s showing. It was past time for me to get out of there so, again, I checked my wet, tattered napkin. It kind of read, “Get the fuck out of there.” So I started.
“Right, so, I should leave. I’m really sorry, everyone. Mr. Tismann, we, uh, we all are here to help you. You, you have my number so, yeah. Tonight, um, if anyone wants to go to Ravari Room I think we’ll be there later. For Marley, you know.”
All Dressed Up
Marley died. She was young but she died anyway like she wanted it that way; living fast and all that other bullshit. I mean, she never really cared about age and whatnot; she saw no benefit in living to some sort of wisdom. She lived to what she thought was her peak. I don’t know, maybe she was right. Maybe some of us are at our best at 20 and everything after, well, everything after is worthless like throwing salt into the ocean. Or throwing water into the ocean, I don’t know. Marley loved using those phrases but I think she loved using them incorrectly more, something to be different.
She was a strange girl that lived only for the peculiarities of life. Even amongst our friends she was an outcast and by no means were we running the straight and narrow. We would go to dive bars and she found comfort exclusively in aging singles bars where she would flirt with comb-overed men. Sometimes comb-overed women depending on her mood. It was things like that that drove her. She was a diehard vegan with a hunting license just because she loved to piss off both camps. She died with her gun, cradling it as the various pills and liquors kicked in. I think the suicide was simply because she was over life, the fact that she did it just holding her gun was her final joke in my opinion.
My friend Jude was the first to tell me what happened. He said her roommate found her in her Sunday’s best laying face up in her bed, her cheek resting on the barrel of her rifle. All dressed up and, well, nevermind. He said her roommate just sat there and talked to her dead body for about a half an hour just getting shit off her chest before calling the proper authorities. I don’t think anyone was surprised. Even the squad that came to get her had been there before for previous attempts that Marley would later go on to call jokes. She’d tried the razors on the wrist but went across instead of down on purpose probably just to see what it was like. She hanged herself once but couldn’t have been all too serious about it because she used an old shoelace that snapped as soon as she put any weight on it. No one would have known about that one except that she had to be taken to the hospital to get stitches in her head after hitting the chair she kicked out from under her. It was all a little ridiculous.
We all reacted to her death a little different as I suppose should be expected. Her roommate found a sort of comfort in Marley’s newly acquired peace. The resident drama queen in our crew hailed Marley as an angel brought straight from the heavens to spread joy and love. Another friend drank himself into a stupor but to be fair he did that every Thursday so it’s hard to say if it was the death or the day that got to him. Jude saw her life as something of a waste. She never accomplished anything of importance and succeeded at very little. She graduated high school, eventually, but didn’t even attempt college. Jude was more concerned with the destination than the journey with many aspects of life.
It feels weird saying but I really had no problems with her death. Don’t get me wrong, it was incredibly sad and I found several tears dripping into my whiskey that evening but after I was given time to take it in I was quite alright with the situation. Marley wouldn’t have made it with a real job or house or family or anything. By no means did she figure life out by 20 but I think she figured hers out by that age, if that makes any sense. She knew the world wasn’t made for her. Early on in her life she must have realized that a typical, successful life consisted of striving for normalcy and that was really never her aim. It wasn’t so much that she saw following the beaten path as failure, she saw following any path as failure.
I’d met Marley several years before at Comfest, a three-day festival in the heart of Columbus celebrating music, food, community, and lesbians I think. It’s basically just a huge party for and by Columbus in a city park. I was strolling the grounds with a couple people when Marley jumped in front of us, her tiny breasts painted to look like fish kissing in her cleavage. She asked us each for our autographs. We told her we weren’t famous and she asked how we could possibly know that.
She followed us around the rest of that day and over the next couple years. She fucked just about all the guys in our crew but never me. I was fine with that because I’m fairly positive I would have fallen in love with her and she was never near stable enough to maintain any kind of romantic relationship. Her mind was scattered and her bed was always full.
Our relationship was completely platonic but I enjoyed it that way. About once a month she and I would drive out to her father’s condo in Groveport to have dinner with him. He had become a widower at 42 and never remarried after Marley’s mother. He was a large, quiet man who just seemed lost most of the time. He retired early thanks to a highly profitable construction company and planned to grow old with Marley’s mother, Greta, but she accidentally overdosed on some prescriptions, seized up, and died. As far as I knew, Marley was about all he had left and that could not have been too comforting. So we’d go out, eat with him, talk about bowling and what his wife used to be like. The food was always bad but that wasn’t the point.
Jude, our buddy John and I decided to go to the Dube to drink and possibly eat away our feelings. We parked behind the video store next door and crossed Blake Ave. before stopping at the door of the Dube to smoke. Since the ban, the front doors of places had become a much more popular hang out. John lit and took a drag, “I wish I could say I can’t believe she’s gone but I can and that sucks.”
Jude and I mostly just nodded our heads because we had no clue what was supposed to come after that. Everyone finished their smoke and threw their butts on High St before slowly walking into the Dube. We found a table near the door and made our selves comfortable in the vinyl booth. Michelle, our favorite waitress came up, “Hello boys. Haven’t seen you in a couple days, what’s going on?”
Jude looked up first, “We’re here mourning a friend,” then he looked back to us, “Wait, are we mourning her death or celebrating her life because I’d rather be mourning.”
John looked at me and I made my decision, “Mourning. I think mourning would be good right now.”
“I’m sorry guys. Mind if I ask who?”
“Marley Tismann. She came in sometimes. Probably weird colored hair. Probably didn’t pay a couple times.”
“Ok, ok. Yeah, I think she walked out on me once but if I remember correctly one of you came back later and picked up the bill. Well, shit, I’m sorry to hear that.”
Jude looked like he wanted his drink, “It happens. Can we get three Carbombs and a plate of fries?”
“Sure thing.”
None of us really knew what to say. She had died, we weren’t surprised but I mean, shit, she was fucking dead. Our friend. But no one at the Dube fucking cared. They didn’t give a shit about some nobody 20 year old with a death complex. We couldn’t even pretend like she didn’t have it coming I mean, we’d had been in this same position before except before it was talking about when we’d go to see her in the hospital/psych unit, not the funeral home.
I looked around and people were happy around us. I wanted to stand up and tell them all they could fuck themselves because I had real problems and they didn’t understand my struggle. I wanted everyone to get in a line in front of me so they could all come up to me and apologize for my loss before I cracked them over the head with some bottle. I wanted these things but only for moments. My need for violence ended when our Carbombs came.
The three of us looked at each other knowing someone had to toast. John took the lead, “To Marley, I fucking hate her for leaving.” He and Jude immediately dropped their shot into the beer and drank. I waited momentarily, meditating on John’s eloquent delivery and cautiously feeling the same as him. Then I did my drink and felt better about the entire situation. After several more I felt even better.
Marley was the only girl I’d ever talked about books with. She read the ones I read and hated the ones I hated and it really seemed like the only thing she was ever serious about. She wanted desperately to fuck Bukowski but he left too soon and she came too late. She wanted the fucked up, pocked mess that was his face. She wanted him to write about how young and perfect she was and how she fucked like she was possessed. I think she really just would have wanted to know how Bukowski would have described her. Marley would want to know how she came off to people, especially those she respected. She asked me to write about her once but I couldn’t at the time. Really I don’t know why I waited till now. I mean, fuck, I don’t know.
Marley’s dad called me the day before the showing and funeral, “Hey Eli, it’s Mr. Tismann, Marley’s dad. I, uh, got your number from,” he paused sounding beyond lifeless, “from her phone.”
Part of me couldn’t believe he was even breathing or alive or anything. His voice was so, Christ, dead. I tried to sound as helpful as possible knowing that it probably meant nothing to him, “Yeah, hey Mr. Tismann. How are you? Can I do anything?”
“I’m, I’m ok. Thanks. And yeah, actually. I was wondering if I could ask you a favor.”
“Anything, Mr. Tismann.”
He cleared his throat and probably wiped away some tears, “I’d like you to speak tomorrow at the, um, showing.”
Fuck.
“Yeah, of course. Of course.”
“It’s just that, I don’t know if I can say this to make sense but I just feel like she would want you to speak. She liked you, Eli. I like you, too. If you don’t want to…” he trailed off but we both knew I would.
“Anything, Mr. Tismann.”
“Alright, Eli, well I’ve got some papers to sign and whatnot but, you know, I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“I’ll be there.” It was time to drink and write, two things I often did together anyway. Death, however, was rarely involved.
I got to the funeral home at 3:30 and downed a flask of red wine I had. I figured bourbon would have been too informal. I sat in my car and watched my friends file in along with Mr. Tismann and several other middle-aged people. Heads were down, really fucking down. When my watch struck 3:54 I wiped the purple off my teeth, straightened my tie, and made my way inside.
Everyone was already in their seat or pew or whatever funeral homes have. A priest got up to talk and I sat by myself in the last row. Jude was sitting toward the front passing a flask between himself, John, and a couple other friends. He looked back and I caught his eye, we both sort of looked down because we certainly did not want to acknowledge that we were at a funeral. I looked up to see John nursing the flask when, loud as humanly possible, he choked on what was certainly bourbon bringing the attention of all in attendance that Marley’s friends were drinking at her funeral. It would have been much worse but right after John choked I saw at least four more flasks flash including Mr. Tismann who took a pull and went up to the podium. He spoke only for a couple minutes basically giving a brief recap of Marley’s life. He cried the entire time. So did everyone else.
When he was done he looked to me and then to the podium as if to tell me it was my turn. Everyone looked back at me, few realizing I’d been there. I went up the center aisle and stopped by Jude. I hit Jude on the shoulder and he handed me the flask which I downed quick. No one seemed to care and most looked a little jealous. I went up to the front of the room not realizing how large it actually was. I didn’t go to the podium because I knew I would have felt like an idiot giving some kind of speech. I couldn’t give speeches. I just sat there for a minute, everyone staring at me. Not staring in a bad way, everyone was just anticipating what I would say much in the same way I was.
I looked down to my napkin. It read, “Hi. I’m Eli.” So I started.
“Hi, I’m Eli. I was Marley’s friend but, I mean, that sounds like so much less than I think we were. Marley had friends but I’d like to think, at least, that we were really, really good friends. I’ve never done this before. I’ve never had to do this for a friend before so I’m sorry if I say something really fucking inappropriate but, yeah. Sorry.”
Marley was good and I miss her but you all do too so, I guess I don’t really need to tell you all that. We all had some good times with her, I know I don’t have to convince anyone of that. I mean, we used to go to the library and smoke… um, we would have fun. Fuck.”
I was losing my way and crying like a bitch so I looked back down to my crinkled up napkin. It read, “She lived better.” So I started.
“She lived better than anyone I know. I mean, she lived really, really hard. She, uh, never wore a seatbelt in my car which just sounds dumb now but, I mean, I think it speaks to her character, right? Like, she lived only how she wanted which I think worked. Obviously it didn’t work the way anyone wanted but I think it worked how she wanted. This sounds worse than I ever wanted it to. I guess I’m just trying to say I really kind of envied her. No one else could do the shit she did. None of us had the balls. I’m sorry.”
I was crying and sweating and couldn’t tell if I was the only one. I could only hear my own wimpering and was too afraid too look at the congregation for fear everyone would be looking for my head in the parking lot for fucking up Marley’s showing. It was past time for me to get out of there so, again, I checked my wet, tattered napkin. It kind of read, “Get the fuck out of there.” So I started.
“Right, so, I should leave. I’m really sorry, everyone. Mr. Tismann, we, uh, we all are here to help you. You, you have my number so, yeah. Tonight, um, if anyone wants to go to Ravari Room I think we’ll be there later. For Marley, you know.”
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)