Powered By Blogger

Saturday, September 4, 2010

puppet show.


Sitting under the stars, I look to the sky and wonder where you are. A glimmer flashes across the sky and my eyes close. I hide in my thoughts and make a wish to outshine the rest. Squinting, I catch a glimpse of a far off silhouette on the edge of the moon. Hand raised, pleading to be recognized. I lift my arms up, let my eyes close again, and go inside myself to a part I rarely allow myself to visit.

I feel the ground disappear beneath my feet as my body is lifted up. All of my energy is forced through my bones, skin, muscle. All in order to reach the space that you occupy in the clouds. Your smile fades as I climb the rope to where you stand. Tears begin to fill your eyes and the sun catches a flash in your hands. Reach down and cut me loose. Let me fall back down. I was so close. I was almost there.


But your heart had other plans, 
other ambitions, 
a hidden agenda.


The ground hits me harder each time. I try to reach for you but your life is closed to me. Your heart and mind no longer hold a chair for me. The place I used to have on your front porch is now home to a black hole. Trying to fill the space and I just get sucked back into the vortex.

Hope lingered in my throat and I had to catch it, not let it escape. I think I knew you would trick me. I think I knew you would hurt me.


You never mean to. If I look close enough, I can clearly see the thin strands that are now attached to your wrists and ankles. Puppet dear, use those scissors for something useful. But I can't tell you what to do. I can't voice my hope or my desire.

I lost that privlege long ago. 

I just want to know why you keep me here. Why your voice visits me in my sleep, begging me to join the stars time and time again. Just to be pushed off the ladder, just to fall back down. I can hear the smile in your voice through the reciever again, I can hear the longing for what used to be there.

Give it time, puppet. That longing will soon be pulled from your lungs and the smile will be replaced with a rasping cough, a feeble attempt to keep the tears from falling. Have you already forgotten that I know you well enough to know how it ends? Have you already forgotten that I know what it means the moment your voice changes? And my heart sinks every time. Like I expected something different. Don't ask why because I don't know the answer. I ask myself all the time.


So why do I keep hitting the talk button?

Because I don't want to let this go. I have enough pride and respect to know that what we had aside from our romance was real and true and you know me in a way that no one else ever will. Find yourself on my porch steps at the end of your life and you'll see me there, sitting next to a vacant chair. It's here waiting for you.

Whenever you're ready to accept it. 
Whenever you're ready to admit it. 
Whenever you're ready to answer that wish.


Don't make any promises though. Remember, I know how it ends.

Tuesday, August 31, 2010

somewhere in the middle.

Open your eyes and someone will love their color. 
Open your arms and someone will hold your body close. 
Open your mind and you are finally free.



I know that distance will soon be a factor again. I've lost before so I know how tightly I have to hold. Tight enough to keep you. Loose enough to let you breathe. My face will stay frozen, my gaze will never waver. But, I promise, I'm just as scared as you are.


I will take these moments and lock them away. Treasure each laugh, remember the taste of every kiss, memorize every inch of your hands so that I never forget how it feels to hold them in mine. I promise to make every step I make count because, in the end, it's one step closer to you. I promise to keep a box to hold our secrets. Don't let them know you're shaking. Make sure they see your head held high. Nights will be more than enough to yearn for. One more graze of your cheek, one more moment in your eyes, one more moment in between everything else.

I'm splaying out my cards for you. 
Take your pick. 
I will be behind you with whatever you chose. 


Do you like my hand? Do you like the choices? Or do you feel your stomach turn? Do you feel my heart racing? Trying to stay calm was never a card. I can't read your mind so let me in, let me feel what you feel. Open your mouth and lay a map of your uncertainties in front of me. I won't view you differently. You're still strong in my eyes.


Maybe we can create a road to meet in the middle. A barren, deserted road that only we can travel. Bookbag slung onto my bag. I'll bring my heart wrapped in tinfoil and exchange it for a kiss, a touch of fingertips, a memory to share.

We'll meet under the moon every midnight, picnic in the middle of an open field with a single tree to climb together. If we reach the top, we can pretend it's our own world, away from everything else.


Pick your favorite
-the brightest- 
star 


and we can wish for that road together.

If you close your eyes, you can create a house up on a hill somewhere far away. A place where we can run away to. A place for just us. A place to share our lives. And when we open our eyes again, we can pick ourselves up and move forward.

Move towards the tree in the clouds. The tree that holds our memories on each leaf. It's growing with every day that passes.


Survive the seasons with me ...
somewhere in the middle.

straighten up.

There are always people who make you really reflect. Always in different ways. My favorite is to reflect on friendships. It took me a while to realize that people have treated me like shit. People who I confided in. People who I cared about. People who I thought cared about me. And maybe they did. But they had the worst ways of showing it to me. Maybe it's how they were brought up. Take care of yourself and fuck everyone else.

Fend for yourself and survive ... or don't at all. 

Simple enough. 
But it breaks hearts. 
It hurts views.


All for one ...
fuck the second part.

Sometimes people walk into your life, stay there, and make no difference. Then others walk in for a moment and change you forever. Let's hold tight to the change and the cause. Meet me in the middle of the night, bring some coffee and cigarettes, and talk till the sun rises. Lose time with me and make me remember what it means to have someone who cares.


This is new to me because while I've always had friends, always got along with everyone, I always found it hard to be friends with and become "one of the girls". I lost a lot of girl friends when I came out and it scarred me, made me wonder if I could ever be truly close with someone like that again.

What are they thinking? 
Are they afraid I'm going to hit on them? 
Do they think I'm crushing? 
Can I compliment them without there being a hidden agenda?
Do they want the friendship I want or are they nervous? 
Scared even.


We share hearts, 
tears, 
laughter.

We aren't breaking rules beneath the stars.

We are making our own
rules,
inside jokes,
shoulders to lean on.


Stay here a moment longer. I want to lay in the friendship we've created; swim in the words we've shared. The ease is present as I open up and allow my words, uncensored, to flow from my lips to your ears and I can feel you listening to me. I can feel you taking it in. And you have no idea what it all means to me. How much I really appreciate it.


Take a drag of my mind.
Inhale 
my thoughts, 
views, 
experiences.
And I'll do the same for you.

Friendship caught in my throat.
You're making me feel again.

Tuesday, August 17, 2010

entre nos

From day one, I never gave up. So what has happened to me these past few months? These past few years?

Between you and me, I'm not a quitter. 
Between you and me, I want a better life.
Between you and me, I'm already on my way.


So here are a few new rules to live by, a few new things to keep world peace. I'm not one for rules and I'm not one for guidelines but drastic times call for drastic measures. And they're not so much rules anyway. More like something to stand by more often, something to work towards, something that will help me.

No more drugs.
No more lies.
Start working harder.
Stop trusting everyone.
Get a job.
Start school at Bucks and prove to him I'm driven.
Get a car.
Prove to her that I'm better than this.
Build a better relationship with my mom.
Stop caring what people think.
Don't talk to her until I move to California.
Start building a portfolio.
Get a video camera.
Get a photography camera.


And between you and me ...

Start documenting my journey.


Tuesday, August 10, 2010

electric from fingertips.

I stand in the living room and look out the big windows at the trees. All naked and scrawny. Not good for climbing. Not strong with thick leaves and fat branches you can swing up on and climb into and disappear. Sometimes from somewhere over my bed at night, I look down and I see me. I'm not that little kid anymore, I'm not all lazy and warm and bad. I'm just this bigger kid.


Shifting through the sands of time, like eternity can last only one small second in your mind. Flipping through the pages of an old, worn book that tells the story of millions ...

it's two pages long.  

The print is large but the book seems so small, clutched by a little boy of six who knows everything about everyone because he read the book fifty million times over. 


He read about wars, lovers, peace, hatred, sadness ... life. All in a few minutes. Just a few minutes of his wasting day, as the sands of his life drift slowly out of a large jar by his feet that has his name sketched in red on the front. He picks up the fallen sand and puts it back in, with hopes that by doing so, his life would last a little longer, but this only makes his life shorter. So he's stopped caring about the sand and just stands there, holding onto the book of time, a blank expression on his pale face. 

He's seen more than any child the age of six ever should but he found this book and pasted it to his mind; threaded the needle and fished it through his right hand, attaching himself to the book. Dry blood clings from his now old and worn hand; they're the first to age. His right hand looks that of an old man's who has been through far worse and now holds the weight of time, not the world (time is much heavier), in the palm of what would look to be an eighty-year-old's hand. He's counting down the minutes until it falls completely off his wrist and to the floor. When that day comes, he'll do his best to weave some more thread and lace himself with the book once more; maybe on his leg this time or his still young shoulder. 


Until that day comes,
he just waits,
ages,
and watches as other people's lives
slip helplessly and soundlessly
into a great abyss of forever.

The keyboard hammered into my brain as my complacent fingers soared over the strategically placed keys. I felt as though I was invading the spots that they held; each one cursing me as I typed. But in that moment, I didn't care, I had too many things that had to be said, had to be stated, had to be written down. My fingers outlined and traced a life that was once my own but now that it was down on the screen in front of me, it was no longer mine to claim. It took on a tactical life of its own and, soon, it had become something I no longer knew, no longer could affiliate with. I was only the typist; I was not the one in the story anymore.


Before I could release my fingertips from the enticing letters that drew out a story of heartache, love, mystery, and life, I knew that something was being created … and it was beautiful. The screen mocked me and challenged me to do better but nothing seemed to fit. I tried different words for the same meaning; life, existence, being, time, living, verve, days, weeks, years … but none of them could describe what the electricity was creating.

That's what I called it; 
electricity. 

My own personal current of time and space and, most importantly, thoughts. The words would form in my mind, move down through my arm like an electric current as it picked out pieces of the story it liked, and bolted from my fingertips to the keys that cursed me as I continued to hammer out the life that I was creating. The life of an atomic bomb, maybe. Or a child who lived in a far away county. Or maybe it was a fairy tale; a beautiful temptress with long flowing hair who tricks her lover into marrying her for his money; wait, that was my mother, not a fairy tale.

six years in december.

When you lose someone in a self-inflicted tragedy, you always wonder. You spend the rest of your life wondering. But when you lose someone in a self-inflicted tragedy and you're there with them when they pass, you spend the rest of your life, not wondering, not asking yourself a thousand questions, but remembering. You can't stop that memory from returning. You spend the rest of your days remembering. You remember their eyes, their mouth, the smell of the room, the last thing they said aloud. For Dan it was, "I won't be far." I remember thinking that he meant that he knew everything was going to be ok. But then I realized that he meant something so much more.

When I heard he was in the hospital, I didn't understand who was screaming until my father covered my mouth with his hand. That moment it was Dan who I thought I might lose forever and I wouldn't let anyone touch me again until I knew he'd live.

He didn't want to be cremated. He wanted to be buried with all his old rock records. Ron never knew what his son wanted. He always thought he knew better than anyone else, especially when he was drunk. He knew Dan was suicidal but he didn't care. I was supposed to be the suicide watch. And I think that he was disappointed in me that I couldn't save his son for him.

The shadows moved across my blanket, the wall behind me. People were just like that. We couldn't even see each other, just the shadows moving, pushed by unseen winds. What difference did it make if I was here or somewhere else? I couldn't keep him alive.

Dan, you used to make me smile; do you remember those days? Those days where we made root beer floats even if it was winter and played hooky every once in a while because you missed swinging on the swings with me. To this day, I can still feel close to the sky when I'm on a swing and I can feel you pushing me from behind. I won't keep talking about it because I'm supposed to be angry with you and I can't afford to break; I can't afford to cry.

Saturday, August 7, 2010

go to bed, damnit.

I got together with a friend of mine yesterday and while we decided to talk about decently mundane topics and recent gossip, we ended up touching on a subject that I now can't get out of my mind. Something that seems so irrelevant and even argue-free in a way. Youth curfews. Ok, ok. I know. Not something I would usually write about. But hey, I like debating. I don't always just write about love and family. I can dig deeper than that. Well, I hope I can. We're about to find out.

Believe it or not, there are many pros and cons for youth curfews and I would like to touch on a few of them.


Youth curfews are widely used in the USA to keep children off the street at night; a state of curfew makes it illegal to be out of doors between certain publicized times. In the USA over 300 individual towns have passed local curfew laws that vary in detail, but are all aimed at reducing juvenile crime and gang activity. In Britain a 1998 law allowed local councils to impose curfews for all children under ten, although none has yet chosen to do so. In defining the motion the proposition should think about the age groups at which the curfew is aimed, the hours it would operate, the penalties for offenders and any possible exceptions. For example, is it permitted to be out in the company of an adult?

You learn a lot when you live in two totally different places for most of your life. In my case, I've been bouncing from hickville (Morgantown, PA) to Leave-it-town (Levittown, PA) ever since I was about 4 years old. They are a single hour in distance from each other but going from one to another feels like traveling between two different planets. But despite all of their differences, youth crime is still a major and growing problem, often involving both drugs and violence (no matter where you're from). Particularly worrying is the rise of youth gangs who can terrorize urban areas and create a social climate in which criminality becomes a norm. Imposing youth curfews can help to solve these problems, as they keep young people off the street, and therefore out of trouble, and prevent them from congregating in the hours of darkness. Curfews are easy to police compared to other forms of crime prevention, and are therefore effective.


On the other hand, curfews are surprisingly not an effective solution to the problem of youth crime. Research in the USA suggests that there is no link between areas that achieved a reduction in juvenile crime and areas with youth curfews. Although some places did see a reduction in youth crime, this often had more to do with other strategies, such as zero-tolerance policing, or with demographic and economic changes affecting the numbers and prospects of youth people. In any case, most juvenile crime appears to take place between 3 p.m. and 8 p.m., after the end of school and before working parents return home, rather than in the hours covered by curfews. I think that this is because kids know that when mommy and daddy aren't home, they can get away with more. Curfew or not, kids aren't dumb. They know that they're more likely to get away with something when their parents aren't home and they're on their own instead of trying to sneak around at night.


But the use of child curfews can help to protect vulnerable children. Although responsible parents do not let young children out in the streets after dark, not all parents are responsible and inevitably their children suffer, both from crime and in accidents, and are likely to fall into bad habits. Just because you have the ability to create a human does not mean that you all of a sudden know how to take care of it or teach it or look after it. Society should ensure that such neglected children are returned home safely and that their parents are made to face up to their responsibilities.

Some say that youth curfews infringe upon individual rights and liberties. Children have a right to freedom of movement and assembly which curfews directly undermine, by criminalizing their simple presence in a public space. What right do adults have taking away human rights from children? Should it be allowed or is it wrong? This reverses the presumption of innocence by assuming all young people are potential law-breakers. They are also subject to blanket discrimination on the grounds of age, despite the fact that only a few young people ever commit a criminal offense and that adults too commit crime. Furthermore, curfews infringe upon the rights of parents to bring up their children as they choose. Simply because we dislike the way some parents treat their children should not mean that we intervene to stop it; should we intervene in families where religious beliefs mean girls are treated as inferior to boys, or in homes where corporal punishment is practiced?

All legal babble aside, aren't we forgetting that we're talking about children here? Not adults who have lived and learned and are able to make their own choices. There is no good reason for children to be out unaccompanied late at night, so a curfew is not really a restriction upon their liberty. They would be better off at home doing schoolwork and interacting with the rest of their families.


But what about the children in their mid-teens that have many legitimate reasons to be out at night without adults? Many will have part-time jobs, for example in fast-food restaurants or delivering newspapers. Others will wish to participate in activities such as church groups, youth clubs or school trips. Requiring adults always to take them to and from such activities is unreasonable and will ensure that many never take place in the first place, either because adults are unwilling, or are unable to do so. More sinisterly, some children are subject to abuse at home and actually feel safer out on the streets.


Child curfews are a form of zero tolerance policing, showing that a community will not allow an atmosphere of lawlessness to develop. The idea of zero tolerance comes from the theory that if low-level crimes, like graffiti-spraying, window breaking and drug-dealing (all common juvenile offenses) are not acted against swiftly and effectively by the police, then a permissive atmosphere is created where violence and other serious crimes flourish and law and order breaks down entirely. Child curfews can help to the police to establish a climate of zero tolerance and to create a safer community for everyone. If we are teaching our children at a young age that it's ok to engage in crime by not being able to see what they're doing in the darkness of night, what kind of generation are we creating?

But, as we all know, we can't break them by being curfew nazis. Youth curfews have great potential for abuse, raising civil rights issues. Evidence from U.S. cities suggests that police arrest far more black children than white for curfew violations. Curfews will tend to be imposed upon poor areas in inner cities with few places for children to amuse themselves safely and within the law, compounding social exclusion with physical exclusion from public spaces. These problems will also be made worse by the inevitable deterioration in relations between the police and the young people subject to the curfew.


Child curfews can help to change a negative youth culture in which challenging the law is seen as desirable and gang membership an aspiration. Impressionable youngsters would be kept away from gang activity on the streets at night and a cycle of admiration and recruitment would be broken. By spending more time with their families and in more positive activities, such as sports and youth clubs, which curfews make a more attractive option for bored youngsters, greater self-esteem and discipline can be developed. Give them an outlet and keep them off the streets and you are bound to see a difference.


Imposing child curfews would actually be counter-productive, as it would increase juvenile offending by turning millions of generally law-abiding young people into criminals. Already in the USA, more children are charged with curfew offenses than with any other crime. Yet, once children acquire a criminal record, they cross a psychological boundary which makes it much more likely that they will perceive themselves as criminal and have much less respect for the law in general, leading to more serious forms of offending. At the same time a criminal record harms their opportunities in employment and so increases the social deprivation and desperation which breeds crime.

Other schemes aimed at reducing youth crime are desirable of themselves but will work best in conjunction with curfews. If a troubled area develops a whole culture of lawlessness, it will be very difficult to identify particular young criminals in order to rehabilitate them. A curfew takes the basically law-abiding majority off the streets, allowing the police to engage with the most difficult element. Curfews are a tool in the struggle to improve lives in run-down areas; they are likely to be used for relatively short periods of a few weeks or months in order to bring a situation under control so that other measures can be put in place and given a chance to work.


A number of alternative strategies exist which are likely to do more to reduce youth crime. For example, rather than a blanket curfew covering all young people, individual curfews could be imposed upon particular trouble-makers, perhaps involving electronic tagging, breaking up gangs without labeling an entire age-group as criminal. A Scottish scheme puts plenty of police officers on the streets at night with a brief to engage with young people, deterring crime while steering them towards a range of youth activities available at clubs set up by the local council. Other successful schemes aim to work individually with young troublemakers, in order to cut their re-offending rate, for example by requiring them to meet with victims of crime so that they understand the consequences of their actions, and by pairing them with trained mentors. You've heard of big brother, haven't you? And, no, I'm not talking about the television show. Overall, governments need to ensure good educational opportunities and employment prospects in order to bring optimism to communities where youngsters feel that their futures are pretty hopeless.