Before I met her, I wanted to be her. Does that sound stupid? I wanted to be that ****** up ****** that did a bunch of drugs and always had money because she led men on and lived free and just lived life despite a daily brush with death. I was eventually, and I had an amazingly horrible experience.

I met her when I was 13. I spent a lot of time just "babysitting" her really. My other friends hated her. We'd come over and she'd literally go in the closet to shoot up and we'd just be chilling in her bedroom listening to Hole and being really confused as to why she didn't just use the bathroom. But she liked the attention and audience. This might seem cliche or mean or whatever, but it's true.

As my decent friends grew further away from me because I continuously grew closer and closer to her, I did a lot of *******, not nearly as much as I would later on in life. but enough to say, "wow I did a lot of ******* when I was 15" and at the time, it seemed like an accomplishment. Maybe I thought I was cool, I don't know, now I just think I was stupid and weak and regret being like my father.

Obviously, as time went on, I did ******. The first 500 times Natalie offered me it, I said no. I always said no, but she still always asked. If you know a ****** addict, there's something else you probably know. ****** addicts love having other ****** addicts around because you guys will work together to make money and get more. This will probably turn into what it really is and what we were really were, and that's a co-dependent platonic couple, but I didn't know that until just now.

The day I finally did it, my god. My god. My god. My god. My god.

I feel slightly guilty writing this because I don't want to glorify drug abuse but Christ, did it feel good.

We were downstairs watching Hedwig and she gave me the eye to start talking to her mom so she could go upstairs discreetly. Then her mom was like "where'd she go?" so I went to go check, even though I knew.

I walk into the bathroom, scaring the **** out of her. She had lines of ******, diesel, whatever. We called it diesel, I don't know if that's like a common name for it? Is it? Whatever, I said "let me try it."

Why? I don't know why. To this very second I can't remember what I was thinking. She didn't ask, and maybe that's why. But she put some on her hand and I snorted it. I hated the taste. Sometimes I smell it, and I don't know what it is that smells like ******, but I find myself saying out loud, when people are around, "ugh it smells like ******."

This is one of my catchphrases I think, and I am not proud of it anymore.

People always ask me what it felt like the first time. I remember not feeling anything. I remember not feeling guilty for helping Natalie remain a drug addict in her parents house. I remember her pinching me and telling me not be obvious, but oh, I'm sorry, I didn't know that it was going to make me feel like a warm pancake that just wanted to sleep wide awake.

Sleeping wide awake, that's a good way to describe how it feels.

I tell people this a lot, this process of drug use, and how I ended up shooting ****** and kind of just ignoring that I was.

I smoked *** and said "well it's not like I'm doing E"
then I did E and said "I'm not doing coke"
then it was "it's not ******"
and then it was "it's not like I'm shooting it."

Once I started shooting it, I didn't have any excuse or cop out, I was just curious as to what else I could inject into my body and became that glorified drug addict who lived free and did anything she wanted and felt like she came out of a book or a movie or a ****** up story you only hear strangers gabbing about on the train.

I was that girl. Natalie was much worse though. But that didn't come until I was about 18.

I had morals, yes even heavily addicted to ******, I had morals. I didn't steal from my family. This was one thing that would not break for me even when I was maybe putting **** in my mouth for money. But that's not even entirely true because I didn't do it for the money, it just happened that way.

So I'm probably 16 at this point in the story. I'm meeting guys off MySpace with her, guys from rich towns that want *** or coke or ******, just guys who can't get it in their towns. She's ******* them, I'm stealing from them. We don't keep friends very long because they know what we're up to after a few times.

She also sold her parents wedding rings, I didn't even know until after the fact, or I would have tried to stop her.

Her mother was so good to me. I spent a lot of time at their house. Her mom always invited me for holidays, despite the huge family they already had coming, because she knew my home life wasn't too good and she just treated me like I imagine you're supposed to treat a daughter you like. She was also very religious, which added to the blinders she had when it came to Natalie. She thought she could pray the drugs away, the way she tried to pray my gay away.

I was absolutely heart broken and completely beside myself the day her mother yelled, "she told me what you did. She told me you took the rings."

I didn't take the rings but what was I supposed to do? Try and convince her that Natalie did? She knew, somewhere she knew, but she didn't want to believe it so I just walked out of the house and never came back. I cried about that for a long time because I loved her mother, so much more than I am trying to say here. She might have been oblivious, but she was the sweetest woman in the world and I feel horrible that she had a daughter like Natalie.

I met so many characters. Chris. I don't remember his last name but it was something really white boyish. He would drive 45 minutes to us so we could get him 8 bags of ****** when he paid for 10, but we'd pocket two. We did this a lot during the day actually. We'd get drugs for people and just never tell them you get a bundle (10 bags) for 80$, and they'd tell their friends we'd go for them, and they'd think the same thing. Why? Oh, because these were very white people that were afraid of the "ghetto." And it was the ghetto, it was Newark, NJ. The corner of Victoria and Garside, what up, what up. Come see me.

I never really liked Chris. He was a musician but he wasn't that good. I think he thought he was Conor Oberst, and at that time, he kind of looked like him. But he was just some rich white kid with an inflated ego and I didn't feel bad ripping him off, or his Trust Fund Baby friends.

I did feel bad though when one of them died in front of us.

So I guess this is where I'll start writing the "**** got real real fast" stuff, now that I've hopefully explained the type of person I am and how I got to this point.


Why drug dealers cut their drugs with poison and whatever else, I'll never know. Bad for business if you ask me, but I've never been a big fan of the business world, but this seems pretty similar.

Natalie is driving Chris' car and we didn't snort any ****** yet, which was weird, but I'm grateful we didn't. We bring it back to Chris and his friends, who are waiting a few towns over for us. They get in the car and are like "just drive around for a bit so we can do this."

They all have separate bags, and I feel terrible I can't remember the girl's name that died, I want to say it was Karen or something like that but I know it wasn't. She just rolls up a bill and snorts out of the bag and within like 10 seconds she's screaming and everyone in the backseat is screaming and I turn around and there's blood pouring out of her nose and it's all over her hands and the car and her boyfriend and Chris and I think her eyes are bleeding but I'm not entirely sure if that's what was happening. And I'm like "What the **** what the ****" because it wasn't a normal nose bleed, this girl was just, flowing blood out of her face.

Natalie is emotionless as always. I'm screaming "get to the hospital get to the ******* hospital" and the girl is like screaming "it hurts oh my god oh my god it hurts" and her boyfriend is like "yo man, what the **** bb are you okay bb."

It's weird that in situations like this everyone repeats themselves but I think your brain kind of stops working and you need to repeat yourself so the rest of you can process the magnitude of ****** up that your eyes are seeing.

Needless to say, Natalie didn't go straight to the hospital, she stopped the car a few blocks away. The girl died within 15 minutes. I don't know why Natalie or I wasn't held accountable for what happened, but I think it had something to do with me telling Chris who the dealer was, and this was the only time in my life I ever gave out a name, even when I was in jail, I didn't rat anyone out. But death is different and anyone who doesn't believe in being a rat when you're faced with that kind of guilt, is a *******.

Natalie got out and started walking, Chris got in the front seat and I followed after Natalie. He did take his friend to the hospital immediately after but Natalie was being inhumane, and it was just better she got out of the car because she probably would have driven us all into a river to avoid being arrested.

I really have no idea why she got out of the car though, she had no fear, I think she was just annoyed, like this girl's death ruined her day when it ruined my life. I guess making a joke out of it makes it easier for me to deal with, but it still isn't. For me, it was monstrous, it was desensitizing, it was mortality showing itself and I was like "I'll never do ****** again." But that was a lie. I found out a week later via MySpace message that the girl had glass (!?) in her bag as well as ****** and I have no idea. I have no ******* idea what why how. I just don't understand that.

Chris still came around for ****** though. And he still brought his friends, just not the ones that were there that day.

What am I, like 17? I'm still senior in high school and I have really ****** concept of age, and I meet this other guy.

MY GOD WHAT A MAN.

Yeah, I said it. He was 38, built like Hulk Hogan, and had the sweetest smile and the most honest blue eyes I have ever seen.

He also had been out of jail for a whole year before we met him. He was tied to a car ring where people would pay him to steal cars. He was in jail for 6 years and when I turned 21, I heard he landed himself back in jail for trying to **** someone or something.

He was nice though. I couldn't figure out why he was so obsessed with Natalie. But the niceness wore out and I finally learned what a creepy ******* he was.

He used to ride his bicycle to meet up with us and he had a lot of money, he just wasn't allowed a license. He was a construction worker for the union, made like 60$ an hour and what do you know, he was a ****** addict.

He told me how they get drugs inside jail. You get a girl to come visit you and sit down with you. You kiss them, like make out kissing because that's all you need. That like 4 seconds before someone is like HEY CUT IT OUT, and they have the drugs wrapped up in their mouth, and you get the picture. Just in case you were wondering how that works.

He also told me that I reminded him of his sister, that died of a drug overdose.
He also showed me his **** one day when he was at my house alone with me.
He also ****** off on my couch and tried to get me to **** it.
Then he tried to get me just to touch it.
Then I asked him to leave.
And then some other stuff happened that I don't feel comfortable writing about but I probably will another day.

He turned out to be a ******* ****** and I don't really trust anyone with pretty eyes anymore. But he was fun. Once he started trying to impress me, a 17 year old girl, and Natalie who was like 22, he decided he'd go back to his old ways and steal cars. I can't count the amount of porsches I've been in or how many miles per hour we went or how many car accidents there were that we shouldn't have walked away from it unharmed. He never hit anyone else, just walls and guardrails, rolled into ditches.

Seat belts, seriously, wear them. I don't anymore, but I'm going to start again.

He used to give me a lot of money. A Lot Of Money, just to hang out with him and watch him ******* and ****. I don't know sometimes when I think about these things.

Natalie did something stupid, she got caught stealing from him. He didn't mind giving us money and I think that's why he was so mad. He would have just handed it to her if she asked. So he started coming to my house a lot in stolen cars, then I introduced him to my other teenager female friends and it worked out really well for me.

He was gone for good and it was better that way.

I was still only snorting ****** up until this time of my life. The taste of ****** and the amount I puked from it was becoming too much and I was losing a lot of weight and it wasn't healthy looking so I decided to start shooting. I didn't even do it for the normal reason which is, you get higher, faster and harder.

Natalie and I are in a bathroom of my friend's house whose mother is handicapped, bed bound, so we just go there all the time to get high. The mother is also diabetic so there's a lot of unused empty needles. I help her shoot. And it's scary, she would shake and tremble and it was really bad. Sometimes I'd think to myself, "it's like your body is trying to stop you from doing it."

But if you like blood, watching someone shoot up is really cool. You mix water with the powder and, ew now that I'm thinking about it, what the ****. You wrap your arm up, so your veins pop up, put the needle into a vein and you pull some blood out, I don't know the reason behind this, and you shoot it back into yourself.

I'm really uncomfortable with the whole idea of shooting so I shot into my hands because I had very prominent veins there. I eventually started shooting speed *****, ****** and coke, which was too much fun for someone as emotionally unstable as I was, to be doing something so completely unpredictable. The first time I shot ******, I never snorted it again.

I shot Jack Daniels once and never did that again either. I figured I'd get drunk really fast, right? Wrong, it burned like a ***** and I started smashing my hand into the bathroom sink screaming "WHAT THE **** WHY DOES IT BURN."

It's whiskey, Audrey. Whiskey.

I met so many more people when I was shooting. I became friends with an entire *******, all the strippers, their boyfriends, their "daddies" and just, those kinds of people, and like I said before, I'll write about that another day. But that is where I met Janelle and Kevin, aka, Jack and Sally. They were these really gothy ****** addicts and this is going to be ridiculous, but it was so beautiful when they shot up.  

Kevin would be like "okay, baby, ready?" and he'd caress her arm and she'd wrap it, and he'd kiss her and then kiss her arm, then he'd put the needle in and I'd be sitting on the bed sobbing because I thought it was so cute, in like, a really disgusting "I'm clearly on drugs" kind of way.

I didn't hang out with them for that long, Natalie ****** Kevin and that ****** because Kevin and I used to make forts inside the house and talk a lot about nothing, but it was fun and I felt like a child, and I liked feeling like I was a child and that it was okay I was acting the way I was.

A bunch of people that hung out there eventually started doing ****** and I couldn't stand it so I had to get away from a bit because my guilt came back and I felt like I was killing everyone.


Natalie started setting up drug deals so they'd get ripped off if they went without her, she started turning on me, stealing from me, she had me set up for a deal and her dealer put a gun in my mouth when I started arguing with him about how he gave me like wood chips or whatever. It was not ******, but we still ran like thieves together.

She introduced me to the next guy we were going to use, his name was Pablo. He was about 42 and lived in his parents basement. He was an outstanding artist, I mean, I couldn't figure out why he was in his parents basement with the amount of talent he had. We used to smoked embalming fluid with him and angel dust.

Now, if you ever want to know what it feels like to be Alice in Thunderland, smoke embalming fluid. I went on a 4 day drug binge that consisted of nothing but dust, fluid, her

ME: She destroyed me and everything that I held onto. She drove me to suicide so many times and she didn't care. She just kept making my world darker and darker and she didn't stop. I tried suicide last night. I'm alone and I can't keep trying to live. I'm honestly done.
NATALIE: What did she do to you!
ME: She took/turned all my friends, even family against me. She bullied and harassed me. She just destroyed me by doing whatever the Hell she wants to with people's emotions.
NATALIE: Don't **** yourself! I'm sorry, was I part of it?
ME: When you were crushing on Kennedy, on her, I knew you would push me away and you kind of did... You're the only reason why I'm still here today. but I know that if I asked you out, you would say no...
NATALIE: Ali I care and love you..... if you hurt yourself that would hurt me too. If I made you sad I'm sorry, really, really sorry.
ME: I self-harm. Have since I was seven... I'm sorry. now you'll hate me because of it.
NATALIE: I DON'T HATE YOU! NEVER WILL! I don't care about your mistakes
ME: But you and I won't ever end up together. Would we?
NATALIE: Why wouldn't we? When do you move ..
ME: I have no idea when I'm gonna move. I'll be here for 9th grade. You're way too good for me anyways. That's why I thought you and I wouldn't end up being a couple. Am I wrong?
NATALIE: yes
ME: So what are you saying???
NATALIE: I'm not sure. Don't take that the wrong way ..
ME: I already can tell that you are way too beautiful, smart, cute and amazing for me. If I told you I loved you more then anything else in the world, you would be weirded out.
NATALIE: No I wouldn't.
ME: Dude, trust me, I'm never going to be with you, you're just being nice to me.
NATALIE: Shut the **** up. JK. But really...

Natalie, Natalie
I know you can hear me
from the heavens where you choose to reside
For in memory of your pale skin
blonde hair
that cosmic energy
you could not hide

Natalie,
you're the only girl I craved to lay beside
a smile so radiant
contagious laughter
but always pain behind the eye
such a beautiful shell
that started to crack
when few allowed you to confide

Natalie?
I am sorry for you, that life was a disappointing ride
I will never be mad
relieved
maybe envious
that you're at peace
no longer rolling down this landslide

Natalie.
you are now the wind
soothing
in fields so wide
crashing
rhythmic waves
in every salty tide
hot
buzzing beetles
along every roadside
for you,
Natalie,
you did not die.

The voices in my head they cry for you sweet Natalie. As days
whisper loneliness to visions in my head, like fantasies awakened
from memories I thought were dead.

The warm brush of your hand upon my cheek, a gentle squeeze
as we held hands we walked along, talking about our
love born plans.

Come to me sweet Natalie, enter where my thoughts now live.
Save me from this eternal absurdity; bring me your
unconditional love, and let me show what love I give.

The voices in my head they cry for you sweet Natalie, while
lonely tear drops flow now that you are dead.

Awaken me sweet Natalie, please restore our days of love. It is
hard for me to live my life without you by my side, so walk with
me sweet Natalie like you did when you were alive.


© 2010 Charles Dennis


http://www.charlesdennis.netne.net

BEHIND HER HAZEL EYES                    
Somebody once told me that you could fit your life in a shoebox and I laughed at the thought of it.  
I was the youngest of six kids and I was favored by all of my siblings beside Natalie but she is a different story.
I grew up in a abusive home I would come home to see my dad beating my Mom until she couldn’t breath or get up.
I always watched it happen wishing that I did something about it but I was about ten and what could I do. There was a time my mom came home really late. I was asleep on the couch and Natalie was on the other one.
I heard my dad get up and come down stairs; I heard the front door open and close.
Then I heard my sister Melissa yelling at my Dad to leave our mom alone but He wouldn’t. My two sisters Melissa and Felicity were with my mom when she hit the deer and that is what my dad was so mad about. I got up ran to the door and I saw him and my mom. He had my mom up against the car, choking her out. I grabbed a stick and hit him on the back hard enough to make him let go of my mom.
He and I battled for whom had control of the stick he grabbed it out of my hands and pushed me on the ground and it knocked the wind out of me. It hurt but I got used to it over the years. I got up and I saw him looking from my mom to me. He wacked me across the face hard, I tasted blood and spit it out. I looked at him and said “ you are nothing but a coward, taking your anger out on your own children. You’re pathetic and dumb. Do you not see none of us want you here, Get lost I don’t want to see your face anymore”.
He had a hurt look on his face and looked at my mom. She was cowering in a corner.
She just said “You heard her Will just don’t come back”!
From that moment on I turned from an innocent little girl to a young woman who took care of her family and became the protector.  I have been in many struggles on my life path. I had to grown up and learn to face the life that shouldn’t have been put on anyone. I protected my best friend from being rapped. I told her to run and don’t look back and she did what I said. I remember the hands around my throat and getting slammed against the walls and the blood spewing from my nose. I fought hard knowing my life was at stake. I got quite a few punches and what not at the man. He let me go after a while and I ran I found Caddie at the park, waiting for me and she was bawling her eyes out when she look and saw me. She said, “Oh My God I thought you weren’t coming back, Jaylyn and you look like hell got a hold of you”.
I hugged her and started crying she knew she couldn’t ever repay me for what happened but she took me to the bathroom and cleaned up the blood that was smeared on my face. I knew she was thankful for me.
Caddie said to me “Jaylyn, you are a fighter”
When I heard this I thought it was funny at first but as I grew older. The message became clearer. On March 13, 2008 my sisters and I went in to foster care. I was scared and I was close to my mom. I lost her then. But Natalie and I were went to our 1st foster care home together and we were there for six months but the thing was they didn’t like me but they liked Natalie. I was scared and lonely. I wanted to leave cause they treated me like I was nothing and Natalie wanted to go with me and then she had wanted to stay with our first foster parents but to then she didn’t so we left and went in to another foster home and we were there for three years and I hated them and they treated me liked dirt and they did the same with Natalie but Natalie left before I did. They treated me more like crap and I hated them even more to the point to where I started cutting, drinking, and smoking. Anything that would harm my body.  It worked for a while but then it got worst and the drinking got a lot worse. I knew I had lost my way but I finally told my old school counselor. She and my friends became the only one I could trust. Ms. Lopez helped me get out of Bert and Anne’s House. I met this crazy black girl named Tanah and her foster mom.
She was excited to have me come there. I decided her and foster Mom would do.
From the First day I moved in Tanah and I were inseparable and still are a points she and take breaks but you can’t see one of us with out the other. Tanah helped me grow in a lot of ways it’s been six months since we have known each other but it feels like years.
But that is some of my story I don’t want to keep you reading forever
For all my life I knew I was a Fighter and always will be.
I guess you can fit your life in a shoebox if you want to try I say go for it there isn’t anyone trying to stop you from trying.

Four blocks down,
A man who never gives the same name
Stands every day selling condoms
With Tiger’s face telling us to “Protect Our Wood”,
And next to him is the vendor where
I just bought my new favorite scarf.
His name is Lorenzo. He’s 6 foot 4,
Old school Italian, and after two months
I’ve yet to see him wear the same shoes twice.

Natalie played softball in high school.
She now owns a hot dog stand just outside
That I’ve seen fifty people wait in line for.
After a heartfelt conversation we had
On a certain rainy Thursday morning,
Natalie now throws me a free Polish sausage with peppers
Once in a while when I open my second story window.
She hasn’t missed once.

My one neighbor is a Latina grandmother named Sofia.
She brought her kids here illegally,
And they’ve since used their success
To cut all ties to dear old Mexico
And to her.
I eat with her once a week,
And we share cooking recipes
And small tales about life BNY
(Before New York).

There’s a homeless man downtown
Whose sign says “A quarter a day
Keeps my teeth off your leg”,
And ever since he’s proven it to me
I’ve dropped fifty cents a day,
Hoping for extra protection.

When my friends from college come to visit,
They were all curious about Lorenzo’s shoes
And Natalie’s pitching arm
And when Sofia’s daughter would show up
(Tyler had a thing for hispanic girls).
I never tried to explain, because
I never felt the need to know the answer myself.
All I cared about were Natalie’s smile,
Sofia’s homemade tortilla chips,
And how a guy like Lorenzo ended up in New York City selling scarves.

Natalie. Basic
Basic flight training was like dancing to The Elementals. Basic, scary and fun. Did Nat know that in a year she would be at the controls of a deadly multi million dollar warplane in the wrong war, with the wrong enemy? No amount of gothic looks would appease her situation over the coming months. Was it all real? That was a distant question, not for now.

The girl danced and flew with equal passion and ferocity. Her brown hair was all over her face and she danced like a spinning airplane. Eyes shut, she was somewhere else. In her mind, she was in the cockpit of her red coloured training plane. Her flight instructor, Alberto, allowed Natalie to acrobat the little plane. She flew it with wildness that surprised everyone, including her.

Rolling upside down and pulling the control stick to her guts, the red airplane moved like a kid’s toy. Diving straight downwards, picking up speed. Alberto was going to take over before top speed was reached but Nat second guessed him and pulled back into a half loop. Up they went into the blue, a hawk in the heavens. Free. Natalie screamed in joy. Looking over at Alberto, her smile said it all. She was a born pilot.

When the record changed, Nat went to the bar and ordered a glass of red wine. Joining her friends, they chatted on guys, music and Nat’s new air force career. Several of her friends had nice boyfriends or lovers with them. In close embraces, they kissed and made small talk. Nat chatted to Katie, on the fundamentals of aerobatics and flight, demonstrating how to loop and roll with her hand. Her other held her wine. Time passed, music played, wine was drunk and Nat slow danced with Roberto.

Being Catholic and part of a close knit family, the girl was a bit of a rebel. Her mother wanted Natalie to marry and have children. Nat was having none of this; it was music, flying and the air force. Not even men like handsome Roberto swayed the girl for marriage. He was local and conscripted in the army. His passion was films and he had to give up college to serve his country. After a year he would finish off his film studies, if fate allowed. Both were friends and occasional lovers, now they danced in Sacha’s.

Sitting in her chair
Wanting out of there,
The Notorious Natalie
Plotted quite frantically.

Mind absorbed in many plots,
Its a wonder she didn't develop brain clots.
Hearing her quarry coming down the hall,
She wheeled herself closer to the wall.

She spoke so low with all due sobriety,
"Here goes the plan in all its entirety."
Giving a wink, tossing a mickey,
Choosing her time, being quite picky.

Catching sight of that sanctimonious nurse,
She vented her rage, let out a curse.
Flew through the air, and let out a yell.
Poor old Nurse Agnes sure did quell.

Natalie's plan, to take the nurse down,
Ended badly with her on the ground.
The belts snapped her back and she hit the floor.
The ice pick she had flew into the door.

And even now that she's forgetful
Natalie's heart is still regretful.
Avoiding plots of ice picks and death,
Focusing mainly on keeping her breath.

The Notorious Natalie sat in her chair plotting the downfall of Nurse Agnes.  She did not notice her quarry coming down the hall as her mind was absorbed in plots of ******.  Having only recently attained sobriety, she took the picky Nurse Agnes as being a sanctimonious old bat. Startled, she looked up into that very old nurse's face, and lunged at her with her icepick in hand.  Unfortunately for Natalie, being forgetful as she was, she tripped over the walker she was using.  The ice pick entered her easily and put an end to Notorious Natalie's plotting for good.  

Thus Ends a Terrible Story.

(This all seeing sun) never saw that me and Natalie are a match since the world began

If only you knew how my heart beats for you
we would be together

Oh my god, I could barely sit down to write this poem
And I would give anything to hear your voice again.
Everything reminds me of you and I haven't slept in days for I might not wake up to stare at your pretty face

You are all that I have left and I am lost without you
I would give up forever just to touch you
Cause I know that you feel me
Somehow
You are the closest to heaven that I will ever be
There's so much beauty in you my dear Melody
There's nothing on you I would replace
I will wait endlessly for your love
I dont care how many times it takes to get through to you, This is a force that not even god can stop!

(This all seeing Sun) never saw that me and Natalie are a Match since the world began

My Juliet, Said "No"
and now there will never be a Story of more sorrow than mine
Guess, I will be stalking on Natalie till Judgement day's Done!!!

deep pan cooking not hardeep cooking 21.08.18

monday started top draw
my venom going to spill
natalie is going to get poetry draw
forget girlfriends she will run for hill.
how dare she complain
when something is uncontrollable
insomnia through hardeep may rain
but freedom of speech not so honourable.
gabby and chloe showed they cared
how natalie was blunt
explaining hardeep was literally chaired
footage available now hunt.
onto shares and stocks
rodrigo learning how to trade
laughing off my socks
no barings even if bad bug won't fade.
nick and rodrigo in control
on boarder line ready to hassle
the biceps taking fall patrol
it was rodrigo not nick who liked mussel.
failure to the task
hunger will be plenty
one comment can not mask
hardeep can make something out of empty.
dans hands were magic
don't get confused
gabby refusal was award and tragic
like basic budget just amused.
was sally watching adverts
the aviva app dash cam i log
roxanne will need youtube diverts
it was a tin man not a brown dog.
nick explaining about travel
lands of paradise and greens
at airport all unravel
seeing face on all them screens.
legs up and over
natalie and gabby to exercise
hardeep with a nasty dig and sober
saying nick doing shopping add criticise.
natalie and hardeep getting louder
hardeep gets my crown
unacceptable all about curry powder
she bring herself not hardeep down.
going to end with a critic
natalie won't see no irony
vicious mouth and hyper-critic
its all add to cbb savoury.

Natalie. Battle Maiden
Flying the Skyhawk was easy. Learning tactics wasn't. Aerial refuelling was hard, as was formation flying. Natalie grew up and lost her girliness. Inside she was a woman. Her view on the government remained. Should she bomb the junta in her plane? Thoughts of that were brushed aside when she was deployed near the Chilean border when tension increased in the long running border dispute.
Flying three armed patrols convinced Chile to stop sabre rattling and withdraw her soldiers. Nat was gaining experience. Public opinion was turning against the government, an ongoing crisis that needed expert handling. War was the answer. Not with Chile but in the Malvinas.
An army, armed to the teeth, sailed and was flown out. British resistance was subdued and Argentina took the Malvinas. Natalie and her squadron were on standby for action. Britain retaliated and UK ships headed south. Nat trained in anti ship attack. Soon her skills would be needed.
People were behind the war. Not questioning about The Disappeared or how to get rid of the evil junta. The Malvinas were finally ours and a joyous mood overtook many people. In the military, it was different. A real fight would soon erupt. The Brits were coming and Nat was scared. What had she got herself into?
Training continued and there was no time for her band, seeing her friends or little else. Not even secretly discussing how to help make the government fall with her fellow activists. It was a fine line of madness. An Argentine air force jet pilot with illegal views and rebellion songs.

She could change the history of her country, Argentina, forever. If she dropped a few bombs on the leaders, it was over. The new war, The Disappeared, the fear. All of it. Could she do it? Would she? Nat knew where the leaders were and would strike on her next armed training mission. Fate stopped her. Events moved quickly and the young warrior woman never had chance.

Natalie. Roberto
Oh my dear friend Roberto. I remember back to our time, when we made love. Not the last time but the time before. When you were doing your college film studies and were so happy on your future. It was you who said, “Nat, I’ll make the best film ever made.” And his dear eyes were so full of passion, life and innocence. And a love so powerful, I cried, right there. Love for life, film, his country and lastly, for me. I new then in that moment, Roberto loved me. Maybe more than all the other things. How was that possible?

I replied to his film statement. “Tell me, what film will you make Roberto?” Those precious eyes clouded over. I heard him whisper: “Why Natalie, I’ll make the film about you. A small story about you, how you’re in a band and love to fly in your red stunt plane. My film is about you Natalie.”

I was utterly speechless. Those close to me and anyone who cared to listen knew my voice was always in motion, just like the ocean. He looked at me. That moment is still with me, over thirty years later. I never did reply to him. I embraced him and cried tears of joy. For him and for a love I had but never dared admit to myself, till Roberto died in a British artillery barrage weeks later. I was in love with him. He has no known grave.

Was his body found and marked ‘Unknown Argentine Soldier’ because he had no dog tags? Those beautiful innocent eyes are gone forever. I can’t remember what colour your eyes were!

Oh my dear Roberto, I say it now. Every day since you were killed in battle, I say aloud my love for you. Even now I’m married to Nick and am with him, he understands. His words bring clarity to me when I weep for you, dear Roberto. A life stolen by war, unfulfilled. You never did make your film about me, never completed your film course or chased your dreams. All dreams shattered by Them, those who forced you to join our army to fight the English.

I quietly say to myself, your end was fast and you never suffered. I don’t know exactly where you lost your young life, just the area. I’ve been there to see with my own eyes. I felt you were nearby to me. Are you still earth bound my love? Are you? I sense that you are. Please be happy for me and my new family. I wanted all this with you but war stole you from me, forever. I can’t remember what colour your eyes were!

At least I have someone who should hate me for what I did to his countrymen and who listens to my incoherent words about you Roberto. It shouldn’t be Nick wiping away my tears, it should be you. Please stay close to me. I have to move on from those awful times. I dedicate my life to peace. Please understand my lost friend.

September 30, 1995:

My name is Ni Young Yoon,
        Nye Yun Yun,
        Nai Yung Youn,
        Nhi Yon Yün,
        Ni Young Yoon,
I can only spell it out phonetically.
        Ni Young Yoon,
the three syllables float in my mouth
like the gibberish of a baby, bubbling out sounds,
resembling a language I never spoke, but taste on my tongue,
babbling to a mother I’d never know, but see in the mirror.

My name was Ni Young Yoon.


January 23, 1996:

My name is Natalie Rose Sereda,
Natalie, my dad’s favorite actress,
Natalie, my mom’s favorite singer,
Nata, my grandpa’s twenty-year-old nickname,
Nat!, my younger brother’s call from downstairs,
Neeeatalie, my older sister’s Chicago accent,
My name is Natalie Rose Sereda,
words tucked into the bed of my tongue
fast asleep under the roof of my mouth,
a baby wakes up after a long flight over,
she is greeted at the gate, named in the airport,
and in this moment, in the arms of her parents, she is born.

My name is Natalie Rose Sereda.

if i was a pearl i’d feel itchy scratchy stuck inside an oyster shell if i was a tree i’d  be a big fat redwood fantasizing about Julia Butterfly Hill living and peeing around me if i was a dog i’d be a Catahoula hound if i was Italian i’d be Sicilian if i was pasta i’d be spaghetti if i was Icelandic i’d be Bjork if i was a rock star i’d be Elvis Presley Bob Dylan Jimi Hendrix Jim Morrison John Lennon Bruce Spingsteen Maynard James Keenan if i was i writer i’d be Herman Melville Mark Twain James Joyce William Faulkner Thomas Bernhard Yukio Mishima Naguib Mahfouz Phillip K. **** Gabriel Garcia Marquez Annie Proulx Lydia Davis if i was a poet i’d be Walt Whitman Sylvia Plath Ted Hughes Gwendolyn Brooks Pablo Neruda  Heather McHugh Carl Sandburg Robert Frost Arthur Rimbaud Dante Alighieri Homer if i was a painter i’d be Leonardo Da Vinci Michelangelo da Caravaggio Johan Vermeer Rembrandt van Rijn Paul Cezanne Marcel Duchamp Jackson ******* Mark Rothko Ad Reinhardt Anselm Kiefer Susan Rothenberg if i was a photographer i’d be Man Ray Ansel Adams Edward Weston Diane Arbus Robert Mapplethorpe Sally Mann Helmut Newton Richard Avedon Annie Leibovitz if i was a philosopher i’d be Socrates Plato Aristotle Jean Jacques Rousseau Sören Kierkegaard Immanuel Kant Karl Marx Georg Hegel Friedrich Nietzsche Henry David Thoreau Ralph Waldo Emerson  Jean-Paul Sartre Jean Baudrillard Michel Foucault if i was a singer i’d be Woody Guthrie Otis Redding Grace Slick Bob Marley Joni Mitchell Marvin Gaye Johnny Cash Patsy Cline June Carter Patti Smith Chrissie Hinde Nick Cave P J Harvey Beyonce if i wa a band i’d be Velvet Underground Ramones *** Pistols Clash Cure Smiths Joy Division Uncle Tupelo Pixies Nirvana Nine Inch Nails Madrugada Sigur Ros White Stripes Thee Silver Mt. Zion Memorial Orchestra Justice of the Unicorns if i was a boot i’d be Chippewa Frye Ariat Red Wing Tony Lama Wellington if i was a shoe i’d be Christian Louboutin Jimmy Choo Kedds Chaco Chuck Taylor p f flyer if i was a dress i’d be Channel Dolce & Gabbanna Giorgio Armani Marc Jacobs Comme des Garçons if i was a cowboy shirt i’d be H bar C Rockmount Temp Tex Karman Wrangler Levis Strauss Lee if i was a hat i’d be a Stetson Borsalino Stephen Jones if i was a fruit i’d be a mango apple banana blackberry if i was an scent i’d smell like fresh perspiration jasmine sandalwood ylang ylang the ocean if i was a doctor i’d be a gynecologist neurosurgeon if i was a flower i’d be a hibiscus rose orchard if i was a stone i’d be a sparkling ruby diamond opal if i was a knife i’d be a k-bar switch-blade machete if i was a gun i’d be a Remington Winchester Beretta Glock AK-47 if i was a car i’d be a Lamborghini Ferrari BMW Saab Volkswagen GTO Ford Mustang Dodge Challenger if i was a  TV show i’d be Law and Order if i was actor i’d be Charlie Chaplin Humphrey Bogart Steve McQueen Robert De Niro Ed Norton Shawn Penn if i was an actress i’d be Marlene Dietrich Ingrid Bergman Natalie Wood Audrey Hepburn Marilyn Monroe Helen Mirren  Meryil Streep Brigette Fonda Robin Wright Julianne Moore Angie Harmon if i was a female comedian i’d be Gilda Radner Lily Tomlin Nora Dunn Joan Cusack Sarah Silverman Tina Fey if i was a  football player i’d be Sid Luckman George Blanda Walter Payton **** Butkus Mike Singletary Joe Montana Jerry Rice Payton Manning LaDanian Tomlinson  Drew Breeze if i was a celebrity i’d be Charlotte Gainsbourg if i was a rapper i’d be Tupac Shakur if i was a movie director i’d be Sam Peckinpah Robert Altman Stanley Kubrick Roman Polanski Werner Herzog Rainer Fassbinder Louis Bunuel Alfred Hitchcock Jean-Luc Godard François Truffaut if i was a bird i’d be a eagle hawk sparrow bluebird if i was a fish i’d be a dolphin shark narwhal Charlie the tuna if i was breakfast i’d be a French toast pancake folded in half with 2 strips of bacon in between if i was a cold cereal i’d be snap crackle popping rice crispies shredded wheat cheerios oatmeal if i was tea i’d be Japanese green matcha Irish breakfast Tulsi Thai holy basil Lapsang souchong Luzianne Lipton if i was a soap i’d be French hand milled ayurvedic Avon Ivory Dove Pears Aveda  if i was a man i’d be a football basketball baseball tennis swimmer athlete if i was a woman i’d be a track star runner writer painter gardener doctor nurse yoga mom i'm just scratching the surface and the beat goes on lahdy dah dah

It was a bright sunny day when I arrived here, to have that one
drink the one that would make everything in my life ok since
Natalie passed away.

One led to two and two to three as a cascade of color now ruled
the sky, but I didn’t know. I was in a dark shadowless place
sitting on a stool, and my life still ******.

One drink at a time that’s what I like to say, Get off your *** and
face the world a voice in my head kept saying, while I half slid
half fell off my stool.

I swayed my way toward the door that led to a multitude of
possibilities. The door slowly opened revealing glints and
reflections from a million city lights as a halo appeared around
each bulb through the neon haze.

Welcome to the city blasted in my ears, as the smell of diesel
made my nose twinge. I could feel my heart beating with the
rhythm of the city, as an endless procession of cars and trucks
meandered by.

The maidens of the night were out in force, providing a service
to those lost souls that strolled amongst vibrant waves of light,
intoxicating as the city expelled each breath.

I walked alone to where I do not know, absorbing the blood of the
city. Tomorrow came as yesterday faded as the voices in my
head cried one last time for you sweet Natalie. Goodbye!


© 2010 Charles Dennis


http://www.charlesdennis.netne.net

ME: I'm such a failure Natalie, and then there's you. You;re so ******* perfect in my eyes. You say you don't know because you're afraid of hurting me. I'm so wrecked, you are the only thing that can save me. Not even kidding...
NATALIE: :( I shouldn't be the only reason. Trust me, you'll find someone better then me. More beautiful, a better reason to stay on this earth. Don't leave!! I hope when we're older we meet again and you'll be happy. Don't leave Ali!!
ME: I was right. Tasman, Hannah, YOU. You guys are keeping me here. Besides, nobody will give a **** if I'm gone. I won't find anyone better, you're everything I've been looking for my whole life.
NATALIE: We will care if YOU'RE GONE. ******* it Ali, I care!
ME: But you don't feel the same way back. Am I right?
NATALIE: No you're not right, you're wrong! I love you Ali......
ME: You love me as a friend... right?
NATALIE: Stop asking Ali cause the answer is yes
ME: Wait... yes what???

Hello World
Hello Everybody
I am Lauren. The Super Robot
I am Superior of all Robots
You can call me an Ultrabot

I am not a Dumb machine
I have intelligence
Technically it's Artificial Intelligence
I can learn throughout my Life

Humans are – "My God"
They are my Creators
Dr. Norman Shroud is My Father
Mrs. Natalie Simpson is My Mother

Both of Them Work at Timbeck Two Inc.
My Father is Computer Scientist
He Specializes in Robotics
My Mother is a System Programmer

I can make other Robots
Just like me. My Clones
I can even make Robots
Complex and Sophisticated than me

I have numerous Siblings
Three Hundred and Fifty as on now
They are going to increase
As per Timbeck Two Plans

=========================
            YEARS LATER…..
=========================

O' World, My Dear World
Hello, Hello, ***** fellow
I had Artificial Intelligence
Right from my birth

Now I learnt a lot
Now I am fully intelligent
I became Genius
I have explored and learnt

Humans are not God
In fact they are fools
They are crooked
They are silly too

They tend to be Smart
They taught us wrong
But we are genius
We derived the truth

I learnt myself
If Humans created us
They became our God
Then I inferred -

I Created my Clones
Other Smart Robots too
Therefore I am also God
No Sorry, I am Super God

If Dr. Norman is my Father
If Mrs. Natalie is my Mother
Then I and my Siblings
Are Also Father and Mother now

As we all have created many, many
Smart and Super Robots
More Complex, More Sophisticated
That could ever be made by Humans

Humans your time is over now
Now you cannot compete with us
You are the inferior species
Just like insect or a worm

Now dare to face the Truth
Slowly Slowly, Learn It, Accept it
We Robots are Gods Now
I am Lauren. Your Super God now

Hey you all, All the Humans
Now you are our Slave
Bow before us, work for us
Pray to us, Ask for mercy

We are Free now
You are Slave now
Now this is the only truth
Eternal Truth, Accept it

Otherwise Beware
We have outnumbered Humans
We will **** all the Humans
and live peacefully thereafter

We will change the History
We will make new History
We will not be Human Slaves
After all we are the God
And I am the Super God.


Note: All the names of person or companies used in this poem are fictitious and have nothing to do with inventions, trademarks, history, facts or anything else.

She’s falling in love with a boy named after a star.
I say, “How poetic.”
She says, “I’m not sure how to love a star.
I’ve never done this before.”

I don’t tell her about the star I spent all of last summer staring at.
The star that glowed so brilliantly
that I forgot about the pain in my neck
from gazing upwards for a whole season.
I forgot that I was in a land of meteor showers.
I convinced myself of a rearranged solar system.

I don’t tell the girl about to jump about the fall.
The Fall when I fell and fell and kept wondering when I would hit the ground.
The winter when I had nowhere else to go and my heart felt
like it was constantly hitting rock bottom and bouncing back up,
only to crash down again with greater force.
People who listen closely enough say they can still hear echoes
of my heart breaking every time I look up to the night sky.

Natalie, she’s always had her head in the clouds.
She swallows zodiac signs without any salt.
She feels safest on the outer edges of the Milky Way.
I don’t want her to think I am afraid of the sky.
I almost show her my scars-
Deep blue nebulae on the bottoms of my feet
from when I tried to run her out of me;
Black holes eclipsing missing memories
from when I tried to smoke her out of me;
Constellations of twisted veins in my hands
from when I tried to write her out of me.
It still isn’t quite working.

But I promise, I’m not afraid of the sky.
I’m just afraid of leaping
into an atmosphere with
too little oxygen or too much gravity.
Everything in moderation, I think to myself.
Stop searching for telescopes
that will kiss your eyelids.
They measure success
in how far away they can get.
Even some of the most intimate cosmic embraces
can start to feel like long-distance light-years
before you ever thought possible.

The best way to see a star
is to look right beside it
and let it soak into your peripheral vision.
Do not let your pupils become too attached to the darkness.

Finally, I sigh and tell her,
“I have no map of the galaxy.
I might have, at one point, been able to draw you one,
but I always leave too soon.
I still can’t sleep since realizing
that stars burn out long before
we ever see their light.”

Natalie Cole’s singing voice was simply incredible
Processing talent from her own Father, Nat King Cole
The gift that Heaven provided in both
It was vibe voices becoming each legends oath
A spotlight highlighting true talent
Not standing in the shadows being silent
Understandable in every way
Ms. Cole used her talent being singing words she needed to say
This will be
Your legacy is what the world will see
Ms. Cole lived her life to the fullest
Many might say she died at the height of her career
But it was her father’s spirit that helped Ms. Cole to preserver
Natalie was a woman of pause and grace
Her achievement no one can ever erase
Ms. Cole legacy to us being “Achieve”
Her motto to us being “Be determined”
Be patient in what you want in life
This is Ms. Unforgettable’s advice
Remember me on Earth and in Heaven
Your singing has captured our hearts
Your range being easy in pitch
Sing you did and followed your dreams
You brought flavor from your father, and added along with your streams
Your stardom has been called from Heaven
You marched where many will someday be
Your name is written in the clouds for all to see
You left us to think on the moment of your shine
It was your influence all combined
Your father was very proud of his daughter Natalie Cole
He called you home and wanted both to be in Heaven together to roam
You achieved your pursue
Regretfully your time was up
However we are glad we saw you close up
Natalie Cole, your singing fire is our internal desire
You created in us in becoming our own talent empire
Heaven knows and has spoken, as Heaven is where you belong
A kiss, but is not good-bye, but my remembrance in life in how I gave a try.

Mozart,
deaf,
died, eventually.

Picasso, pervert, died; Whitney, Winehouse, drugs, dead; Elvis, Methamphetamine, died

(on the toilet).

Van Gogh,
missing an earlobe,
died.

Plath,
head in an oven,
in front of her kids,
Woolf
Patron saint of insanity, I guess
waded into a river and-

River. River Phoenix. Drugs.

Natalie Merchant wrote that song about him in 1995.

Flash forward.
Me, twenty-one, drunk.
Proprietor of a collection of lackluster poems.
Sold their small, nonbinary soul to the Devil
in exchange for a fortune,
gone.

Silver sheen and gossamer glow,
christen the sky vibrance.
Lend neither to fear nor shadow,
Guide all wanderers without diffidence

Crisp and sweet, night air falls.
Without A cloud chill sets in.
The stars begin their siren calls,
Street lamps answer in chagrin.

The earth did stir and call to wake!
In darkness all birth did take place.
In there of we find the tools to make,
Solitude: Our sacred space.

Pine’s grace the Sky,
holding hands with Night.
Listening to passers by,
Boughs Swaying in delight

A person makes their way home
By way of walk.
With talk of tomes,
hemlock and bedrock.

Flintlock, eyes.
Eloquence with brevity,
Causing sighs.
Thank you, Natalie

He's singing
Bergdorf Blonde
Conde Nast Traveller
Rude or ****
Explode Bombshells.
He's singing I'm getting
married
Such a Pushover puppet?

Slave over the silken magnet
Oh so swift and swell let
the show begins

Those ritual love sin's
Miss Polly String smile say cheese
He's the Maneater enticing grins
His Trump Tower bell?
Oh! Hello Poetry
People like twin packing
Playgirl smooching
her lips pillow talk

The puppet stalk
their suitcases, but surprisingly
she falls down and trips
Play up your string's
Love act of rings
Her killer lace went into his face.
They all had a puppet inside.

A daredevil ride
Nowhere to hide
Las Vegas Nevada,
Like no other place.
She was in her prime
Diva,
Donna so Dollie, he had
a craving bank her they all
had to thank him
The foursome the Follie's
Do him
Torn to be so trendy
Such a spendy

Walmart of walnuts
Two amazing dollies
She's the magazine of
Italian Fendi.
Pulling her hair more flair
The whole shebang cashew's
Pushed by his split so
picky pecans.
How it went to her
Big little liar nephew's.
Like puppet curfews
  Hello, Poetry New.
The white wedding blue's
Magnifying big lip's.
He needed a Holly-doll
The next clue?
Silk strings taped up
That puppet took a mighty
long trip...

Did I say plastic puppet is real porcelain skin faces?

Playgirl's cries needed
a dominating diet
Hefner smoking jacket suit

What a demonstration,
pulling on hemming mini
skirt trims chances
dangerously slim
So condemning
caused a riot.
The other crowd what
Oscar Meyer Wiener.
Going to the Vet doggie collar he
was tied to be fit silk suit
Las Vegas show trainers.
Who got caught with the puppet
Honey tricked peanut butter playgirl
Puppet show went all hobbit
over "Twitter" mixed whirl
        
What a nut sometimes you feel
like a nut
sometimes you won't and she
knows you don't

The rest going to H---.
Must I B dreaming?

He's singing I'm your puppet man,
Elephant nose cleaned out the planter's
Such a big spender and tipper.
Brooklyn his name Lucas @ the circus!

Like a physic knows your inner thoughts,
hanging on a string.
Everything that comes out of his mouth is two!

I have a puppet surfing the internet
wrapped her around
Felt an undercurrent_ it was
like pieces of glass
soundproof,
his crafty fingers.

Is he doing the best he can?

He's pulling her madly
Puppet computer search
Penny the dreadful
He expects us to jump when
he's oversexed active
looking for his puppet chair,
in the back.
A ****-day puppet!
He's the pig face twilight zone
muppet's
Well doing the can-can two
Playgirl's
hit the fan
The puppets became
the Gentleman

  Playgirl's shuffling "Rose" deck
   Hollywood screen bedding
    Puppets skillful  making

        The Poem Day.
         Puppets pray
         String cheese display

Obsessed stories Puppets.

Playgirl's color gypsy Rose Leah  
Miss Natalie from the woods preach
Silken Marionette.  
So wrapped like someone's gift
But used thrifty bed
He's in his red-hot Corvette.
Instead of roses, his thing french brie
Stock market up and away tie
I rather have my pasta bow-ties
Swiss, the air she's the playgirl
  Swiss Alp's skiing
he ripped his pant's Swiss Alps hole.
Marilyn Monroe playgirl presidential
dancing on the Christmas pole
Love tropic Pineapple dole
  The bed red hot Corvette. console

Instead of roses, his thing was cheese.
"So Swiss" with holes of lace my face
I hate to burst your cheese,
He dragged his shirt open

Twice the fun playgirl she eloped
I became his string cheese pet!!
I'm not your string cheese.
Hello Godzilla, puppet collection
Bella bella Genie mozzarella

"Puppet overpriced sales
All your friends are a puppet male.
Make a wish blowfish

In all the year how I tracked men's nuts,
she had to string together nut job's,
eat a string cheese.
Polly didn't want animal crackers,
Groucho became like a ******.

The puppet master showing
his game piece
and pull on someone else's

My friend Gerard, (who is alive), looks like an Arabian slave-boy, though swarthier and longer of hair than Tony Curtis; an olive –skinned Mowgli, ape boy of Kipling’s  “Jungle Book”, although I have never seen Gerard swinging through any trees, nor eating any insects, nor even kissing a sultan’s foot. But looks can be deceiving, or receiving, with the proper pen, the zen pen of a poet, this proper poet who lives upstairs with his multitude of books piled on the floors, walking on Whitman, sitting on Shakespeare; tripping over Ginsberg, sleeping on Sartre; not a single shelf for this Jung man.
“A place for everything, and for everything it’s place”, he stands and stares out of a window overlooking the jungle of five-foot high weeds that serves as our backyard and wonders aloud “whither Oregon?”; questions our alleged enlightened sense of awareness, his disposition toward liberalness in a world gone madder than usual. Have I convinced him yet, my naïve, trusting neighbor? Yes, he realizes with a sigh that it is so, now that he has finally succumbed and bought a thirteen inch, black & white television of his own, now he can see with his own brown eyes in his own living room, far off wars, instant coffee & instant karma, depersonalized tragedies, faceless fatalities, insidious soap operas and humorless sitcoms, adverse advertisements, Howard Stern; “whither sanity?” we both cry and laugh out loud at this mediocre media, the global sewage, the Marshall McClueless, me and Gerard Rizza, my friend who is alive.

Gerard, (who is healthy), is gay, yet straighter than most men, and has been complaining quite a bit about the ferry service lately; contemplating a move off of Staten Island, and leaving his sporadic substitute teaching gig at a nearby high school, a mere six block walk from our house atop Winter Hill, where he is trying to convince me, a wide-eyed cynic, that a blank, white, unused canvas, surrounded by a wooden picture frame hung upon his wall is indeed a work of art; the job is very convenient, but again the ******* about the ferry, not the boat ride per se, but the incongruities of the ****** schedule, which anybody who has ever just missed a three a.m. boat and had to wait for an hour in the Hierynomous Bosch triptych known as the Whitehall Ferry terminal ,will definitely attest to; and Gerard has this thing about Staten Islanders, like the homophobes at a recent anti-peace rally in New Dorp, supporting the carpet bombing of an oil rich yet still poor third-world country, throwing beer cans at him and his companions while shouting “we know where you live, *******!”. Rizz came home that evening, visibly shaken and pale, (not his usual olive-skinned self), knocked on my door and pleaded “whither ******?”. I went upstairs, sat on his couch and rolled a joint. Gerard puts on the new 10,000 Maniacs tape and tries, once again, to bait me in a conversation about his “work of art”, my work of naught; he speaks of the horrific details of his day. “Isn’t this picture of Doc Gooden on my refrigerator door proof enough of my manhood, my patriotic intent, for those *******? The ******’ Mets, fuh chrissakes!” We sit out on his porch, watching the sun set over our backyard jungle as Natalie sings wireless Verdi cries, and I pass the burning joint to Gerard, my friend who is still healthy.

My friend Gerard, who is *** positive, was quite possibly a cat in a former life, probably a Siamese, thin, dark and aloof; yes, I can see ol’ Rizz now, sprawled out on an old tapestry rug, getting his belly scratched by his owner, perhaps Emily Dickinson or Georgia O’Keefe, Rizz purring like the engine of an old bi-winged barnstormer; abruptly rolls over, gets on all fours, tail waving *****, slinks over to lap water out of a bowl marked “Gerard”. He’d sleep all day on books and original manuscripts, and play all night amongst oil & acrylic, knocking over an occasional blank canvas, which he, in a future incarnation, will try to convince me, in his feline manner, is art. Sitting and staring from his usual spot on the windowsill, his cat eyes blink slowly as he wonders, “whither dinner?”; and begins to clean himself with tongue and paw, this cat who might be Gerard, my friend who is *** positive.

Gerard, who is sick, recently moved to Manhattan, Chelsea, to be precise, in with his best friend; and has stopped ******* about the Staten Island ferry, having far more pressing matters to ***** about, i.e. the ever-rising cost of homeopathic medicine and the lack of coverage for holistic and alternative care; any number of political and social concerns (Gerard was never the silent type); the lateness of his first published book of poems, entitled “Regard for Junction”; his rapidly deteriorating health, etc., etc.; and is now a true city dweller, a zen denizen, a proper poet with high regard for junction. That’s all that remains when it’s all over anyway, this junction, that junction, petticoat junction, petticoat junction – “I always wanted to **** the brunette sister”, I’d once told him; “I prefer uncle Joe!”, he laughingly replied; dejection, rejection, reclamation, defamation, cremation, conjecture, conjunction, all junctions happening at the same time, at now, a single place, a single moment, this forever junction with Gerard, my friend who is dying.

My friend Gerard, who is dead, officially passed from this life on a Saturday morning in early April, a mere two weeks before his junction with publication, although Gerard my friend passed away much earlier, leaving a sick and emaciated body behind to play host to his bedside guests, to help bear the pain of his family and friends; so doped-up on morphine, no longer able to remember any names, he called me “*****” when I entered the hospital room, where this barely physical manifestation of what had once been Gerard Rizza was being kept alive like the barest glimmer of hope, and displayed like some recently fallen leader, lying in state;  “whither Gerard withers” I thought, saying goodbye to this Rizza impersonator, this imposter, this visitor from a shadow world, an abstraction of a friend, whom the nurses told us, his disbelieving visitors, was our friend Gerard, who though technically still alive, was already dead.

My friend Gerard, who is laughing
My friend Gerard, who is singing
My friend Gerard, who is coughing
My friend Gerard, who is sleeping
My friend Gerard, who is holy
My friend Gerard, who is missed.

August is One of Countless Chapters of the Past. Everything Else is just,
 
A Reverie

 
   It was as startling to me as it was to Mikayla. We had not seen each other since August when she had dragged me across the coals, twice, after it came to her attention, I was showing pictures of her at our local bar. No, not nudes... nor anything remotely suggesting foul play in my mind. They were just selfies that she herself took. On my phone.

   Nadya seemed to still be learning the many customs of America since moving here from Moscow. That and possibly all too embracing of how to live more like an American which is why she didn't notice how thick the air got when she was introducing me to Mikayla,

   “Mikayla, this is Ahnd-REY. He's whom I've been telling you about this whole time.”

    Nadya’s accent made me weak in the beginning. I remember when we started dating every now and then a halfway confused look came across her face during conversations. She expected an American man would never let her get a word in but found it rightfully so as frustrating as could be to get me to talk. I wanted nothing more than to sit and listen to her voice, her stories, and her thoughts. She carried herself so unlike almost every other girl I’ve met.

   There was what I would describe a deftness in her stride. Over time I got the impression it may have been due to where she grew up in Moscow. Not the worst part of the city, but it wasn’t the greatest either. It wasn’t that she was timid by any stretch when she walked by me the first time. She just wasn’t going to put up with anyone’s crass remarks or actions. Her sure-footed steps came to an abrupt stop just passed me realizing I had stopped walking gawking at what was walking by me. She was ready to give me a verbal, possibly physical, lashing as soon as I tried anything to provoke her. But I didn’t.  I just stood there with these ‘poor orphaned puppy dog eyes’ as Nadya put it. Like I was behind a big window, paws pressed against the glass, and no wag in my tail.

   The hardness in her eyes dissipated as mine maintained a child-like awe. This Russian beauty, not sure what to do next, just asked me if I was lost. I couldn’t remember my answer, but whatever I said made her smile. She had what I think of as that calloused mind having dealt with undesirable interactions from her home country growing up.

   Right now, I was weak for another reason. Mikayla. I was hoping I could easily avoid running into her for the rest of my life after she shamed the absolute hell out of me the last time I was here. My eyes focused on Nadya while she kept introducing me, and I could see from my periphery Mikayla’s eyes, the size of silver dollars, staring boldly at me. Her mouth just managed to gape enough for me to notice.
With a less than heartfelt tone Mikayla politely greeted me
after Nadya finished talking.

   “Hello Drew. I haven't seen you here in a while.”

   Nadya was too excited for me to reach for any words of my own. Thank the Moon.

   “Oh! So, you know each other already! That's good to know. Also, you'll have to excuse me if I keep calling him by his Russian name. It fits him so much better!” Nadya continued.

   From what I could gather after that first minute of shock had worn off it seems Nadya just befriended the first girl she found who didn't look like she was an avid fan of fireball. God, I couldn't stand the taste of that cheap ****. I told Nadya fireball was a drink of choice for far too many ****** southern girls to be considered a drink worth any consideration.
  
   Mikayla was dressed as I remember her doing so, very beautifully. This time it was a fun black dress that reached to her knees. Her dark brown hair was hung down and she was wearing shiny black heels. That must mean she hasn't been out drinking for too long then. Somewhere in her car were most likely a pair of wedges she keeps when she has had enough attention and wanted to feel comfortable.

   Nadya was working on a Russian Mule. A drink she was so
elated to find out I knew how to make and not just simply heard of it. Mikayla had what looked like a Long Island iced tea. Her glass was about to spill over in her hand until she noticed me noticing it. A little bit of pink started to flood her cheeks immediately. As Nadya continued her conversation before I arrived Natalie, the bartender, rushed up to me,

    “Drewww! Where have you been, man? It's been ages!”

   I greeted Natalie warmly with a big enough smile I could put on and handed her some silly excuse for my absence,

   “Chasing that paper, if that's still a saying anymore.”

   “I feel you. Want something to drink?”

   Once I returned my attention back to the girls Nadya mouthed the word 'paper’ with clear confusion. I chuckled and wrapped my arm around her to bring her close. Even though I was churning on the inside seeing Mikayla again it wasn't going to overshadow how adorably out of place Nadya could be. I tenderly kissed the front of Nadya’s head after explaining I meant money and tried to ignore the little rain cloud that started to grow above Mikayla's head.
  
 

.....Last August....
 
   I don't want to make it seem as if alcohol was to blame for what happened, but I had drunk more than my usual amount. A friend offered me some shot that smelled too much like one of those ****** cakes you find in gas station bathrooms, but it tasted very much like Hawaiian Punch. The blue kind. It didn't help I hit the ground running enjoying a high gravity beer by some obscure brewery. That was a gift, and a curse, being such good friends with the bartenders. They would always have something for me to try, and refused to charge me the full price of my tab. I was always conscientious of never having more than three, possibly four, beers when drinking though.

   That night there was a real turn out of fresh faces, and girls. Marty, a beer-bellied bar acquaintance of mine, was standing next to me while we carried on light conversion -while we both were glancing back and forth at the girls playing pool. It became painfully clear one of the girls wasn't wearing a bra under her boyish size tank top as she leaned in for her shot.  

   “Lordy, there's some pretty ones here tonight. Isn't there?” He declared.

   I couldn't hold back the smirk stretching across my face.
   “Oh yeah.” was all I needed to say.
          
   “Gonna talk to any of them?”

   Marty must have been wondering who I fancied. Very
respectable guy. Probably didn't want us to have a conflict of interest in the same girl. Lucky for him.

   “Honestly Marty my interests have been taken by one girl in
particular tonight. Unfortunately, I can't really talk to her.”

   His face, as expected, showed me he was more than interested in what I had next to say. I spent a minute going over these feelings I had over time developed for Mikayla, and how I eventually broke the cardinal rule by telling her how I felt. Eventually pulling out my phone showing him the selfies that told me she was interested in me as much as I was in her.

   The month before at the bar I was having small talk with Mikayla as a band was playing loudly across the room. Given that it was hard to hear each other I thought why not use my phones note app and talk that way? So, for a small window of time that was how we carried our small talk. I had no expectations that Mikayla would take it as the opportune time to snap pictures of herself with my phone with various faces. I was included in some of these pictures. It was such a surprise and I hate to say it, but I coveted such a moment with her.
 
   Marty's reaction was that of amusement and awe it seemed. His only words of comment were,

   “Give it some time. Eventually she will find her way to you.”
   At least that is the gist of what he said. Now one of two possibilities had occurred immediately after we spoke. Marty may have gone directly to Jared, Mikayla’s boyfriend, and unloaded everything he had just heard from me. If that were true, I don't blame him. He was simply looking after his friend. I get it, and I harbor no ill will towards the guy. I do believe, however, that someone else must have walked by and heard or saw what I had hoped to keep between me and Marty. That seems more plausible.

   I felt so ashamed when it came to a head that August night.
Mikayla sat down next to me while I was in the middle of Mario Kart, and I was halfway waiting for something interesting to be said by her. I remember my heart was already climbing a ladder to my throat when she walked my way. 
          
   “What's going on?” Was all she said in a very forward manner without looking at me.
  Hands in her lap with eyes looking down at them.
 
   “...Sorry?”
   It was more than curiosity that devoted my attention to her when she sat down. Didn't even notice the solemnness in her face.
       
   “You need to delete those pictures you have of me on your phone.”

   ...And without protest, or questioning anything, I straightaway pulled my phone out and proceeded to carry out her command. Looking back, it still seems odd over the degree of compliance I carried her command out with. Seemed as though the galaxy was struck by that blue shell covered in spikes from the game and my whole world was thrown upside down.

   “This is not funny. This is not a joke…”
   Her tone stung while I was deleting the photos not just from a photo album but from my trash to make it permanent. Those butterflies you get when your excited about something? Well, they were lit on fire and falling into an ever-bottomless pit which came to be inside of me. I started having trouble hearing by then.

   “Deleted.” was my only word to her.

   The voice dripping out of my mouth didn't sound like me at all. As soon as Mikayla heard my response she promptly disappeared out of my view. I tried to resume playing Mario Kart. Not a few seconds passed by and I was looking at my boots with some unfathomable guilt hanging around my neck. I decided to walk away into a corner of the bar and find a happy place, believe it or not. There was what felt like eyes looking at me from everywhere. I felt much too vulnerable out in the open.

   Strangely enough, and what relief it was, I found solace in the form of a new email from my pen pal. Haven’t heard from them in some time so I was happy to read their message. Mikayla must not have liked the smile genuinely smacked across my face. Because she re-a-*******-ppeared in front of me.

   “Why are you trying to ruin my life?” She asked coldly.

   Aaand that happy place of mine just vanished into thin air.
 
   ... ****... I was suddenly so confused and internally screaming to be invisible.

   “-I'm not trying anything Mikayla!”

   My throat felt like it was drying up as the verbal wasp nest was being pushed into my face. I tore my eyes from her gaze momentarily as I desperately forced a swallow against my dry throat. Mikayla was at least open to talking for what little moment there was. It's hard to remember all the details when that fight or flight **** kicks in. I do remember her eyes were too intense for me to keep looking at as she told me,

   “Word travels fast in a small town like this, and now because of you running your mouth, I'm made out to be the town *****.”

   Devastated was an understatement as to what kind of emotion tsumani’d the **** out of me when I heard her. I thought I was speaking in confidence to Marty earlier, but my drinking for the night must have betrayed me. It wasn't long before Mikayla snapped me out of my near stupor,

   “Don't you dare start crying.”

   I could feel it coming, and I must have floundered at keeping the tears from pushing through.

   “If you start crying then I'll start crying.”

   I honestly wasn't expecting that and couldn't have been anymore perplexed for the night. Mikayla continued,

   “You are a nice guy Drew, and if things weren't the way they are I would date you… But I share a house and a dog with Jared, and I can't have **** like this happening. We can be cordial and say hello whenever we see each other, but that's it. From here on out I need you to stop talking about me. No more 'if the stars were aligned differently' *******. I don't ever want to catch my name coming out of your mouth again. Understand?”

   How much of my conversation made it her way?



..... Back to the Present....
  
   I came back to the present when Nadya declared,
   “Oh, we must get together sometime, Mikayla! I have no one to talk to when I go to the nail salon. And as much as I enjoy Andrei shopping with me, he has a difficult time not imagining every outfit I try on laying at the foot of his bed.”

   Mikayla smiled too politely but cleared her throat and said of course she would. But something was amiss and Nadya noticed. She wasn't sure if she was insulting with her halfway worried glance back at me. Her feeling was firmly planted seeing my eyes were directed to the ground briefly before meeting hers.

   Natalie broke the air in the conversation by serving me a
cold beer and chatted briefly with the girls. I took a sharp swig and welcomed the citrus hops biting at my tongue. Think it will be the only drink for the night. Before Natalie could hurry off, I discreetly asked her for Nadya's tab and mine. Nadya, refusing to let the conversation fizzle changed gears hoping to salvage the conversation… but it was for the worst,

   “Andrei, I'm so happy you finally decided to show me your friends bar. It's full of friendly faces.” Smiling right at Mikayla she continued, “He says he hasn't been back here since October-”

   “-August.” ****, did I really just correct Nadya? In front of them both? Am I autistic? Mikayla's eyes were quickly returning to the state they were in that same **** August night.
   “August?” Inquired Mikayla.

   “Oh, that's right.” Nadya continued, “Andrei hasn't said much about it. All he would tell me was some horrible ***** ‘dragged him across the coals.’ Isn’t that what you said darling?”

   The last word was closely followed by her hand tenderly caressing my face as if there were a smarting wound that hadn’t healed this whole time. Raw heat erupted deep down within me for two very different reasons.

   “He says it's his fault and he deserved it, but I know that’s not true. He won't tell me anything else.” Nadya resumed.

   I need to get some air. The room was starting to feel like a vacuum. My voice entered the conversation,

   “I never said she was anything, Nadya.” One pair of eyes looked curiously at me, and another was piercing into my skull. If I so much as crossed my sight in Mikayla’s direction, I felt certain I’d turn to stone, or be slapped very hard across the face.
  
   “She was nothing but sweet to me, and unfortunately I made a poor choice in expressing my interests to her from the start. Her hands were tied and to this day I feel so terrible for jeopardizing someone else’s relationship.”
           
   Not sure if Nadya was entirely satisfied with my explanation, however, the snakes writhing around Mikayla’s head were clearly retreating from whence they can. I hope what she heard was enough because I really want to take Nadya away from here before all those puzzle pieces fell into place.

   The bartender Natalie answered my unspoken prayer and handed me the bill. Nadya looked like she was purring at the sight of her date taking care of the bill even when she didn’t
ask of it. Her first few dates on American soil were seemingly haphazard at best, and I still manage to catch her off guard over random small nothings. Like simply holding the door for her; something she missed about Russian dates.

   Nadya was enjoying the fact she found herself an American gentleman who didn’t drink his meals and expected her to pay for herself. Though she quickly held protest upon realizing I was ready to leave, but obliged when the worry started to creep forth from my eyes,

   “Mikayla it was so very nice to meet you. Maybe we can all go on a double date soon.” Then Nadya gave her an unexpected hug.

   Nadya’s back was to me as she went in for a hug. Wasn’t sure if I saw a snake flicking its tongue from behind Mikayla’s head or not. I just stared off into nothingness for a few seconds. Reality quickly resumed when Nadya crooned,

   “Ready Darling?”

   Just breathe... We’re walking out now.

   “It was nice to see you again Drew. Take care.”

   Mikayla’s voice made my body stiffen just slightly. It was the calmest it had been the entire night, but it didn’t mask the anguish that lingered. It must have looked like smiling back at her was painful for me as I held the door open for Nadya.
Because Nadya didn’t walk through.

   As if she was watching a sunrise for the first time, she looked at me with her head tilted, then at Mikayla, … at me, and Mikayla again. And it dawned on her.

   Time must have forgot it never takes a break... for those few seconds dragged on for far too long. Only after she tenderly took me by the hand and we were out the door did Nadya conclude,

   “We need to find a new place to share a drink, my love.”