When do we become content?

I have this idea of an old man stopping by a coffee shop window and looking in on youth on the inside. He’s cold and shivering because his coat is too thin and his blood doesn’t run fast enough. He’s slowing down, but won’t go inside to warm his chill. Instead, he tolerates the cold.

There is a beautiful girl with smooth skin on the inside. She whispers, “Hello, Sir.”

They never meet. He smiles back, maybe.

There’s youth and age. There’s warmth and cold. There’s a clear window pane that divides the two. But, what is between them other than years?

When did he become content? When does she stop wanting?

Degenerate

We let our guard down and look around wide-eyed and wondering what’s going to get us in the degenerate darkness that we find ourselves stumbling around in. It’s an unfamiliar feeling. Different and distant from what we’ve experienced before. The minutes race by as we look at and past each other and wonder why we ended up where we did.

—

Sit down. Silence. Listen to what the speaker has to say. Those were the rules when I went to church. You could say those were my intentions, as well, for five minutes of the sermon. But inevitably, my thoughts degenerated to musings less pure than the worship of His Holiness. As my pencil drew spirals on the timeline, I closed my eyes and tried to think of the color black. Memory Flashes. Memory frozen. Memory frames.

—

“I want to degenerate you,” he said.

“What does that even mean?” she said.

“Ha.”

“Shut up. You’re being stupid.”

—

Degenerate. Corrupt. Impure. Debased. Degraded. Vitiated.

I’ve never known anything to be absolutely free of these.

Pure. I guess it’s always associated with white. With this innocent glow that knows nothing, but isn’t it easier to conceal and overlook in darkness? I would rather hide in a black room than a white one. In a dark one, not a light one. That’s where I would go. What I would think if I wanted to get away.

—

This man had two hearts and one big smile. At parties his friends would often joke with him about the extra heart. They told him he was a nice guy. That he could love more. That he could run faster than Secretariat. He smiled at these prods, which he had endured for a decade now, and always responded by saying he was waiting to meet the right woman. Then he’d give her his heart. Or both his hearts. He hadn’t really figured out how this joke worked, but he chuckled and everyone around him laughed because they were drunk and the barrier to laughter had long since degenerated.

Excuse Me

I had gum on my shoe when you bumped me on the shoulder with your backpack and didn’t say sorry. I was standing in line waiting to order a turkey sandwich with mustard on white bread when you pushed me to the side and looked the other way. I was tired and cranky when you didn’t meet my glare. When you kept on walking when I tried to pull your hair. It wasn’t that you got away that pissed me off that day. It was that I couldn’t catch and I wanted to. I wanted to wrap my arms around you and tell you it was ok that you hit me with your pack. That I didn’t mind your aloof manner because it made my day.

What’s Up?

I’ve been busy-ish. Therefore, no updates in a while.

I went to Lake Winnipesauke (pictures) yesterday and toured the Castle in the Clouds. NH is an amazing place and driving around the lakes here reminds me of home. Except, I guess we don’t have mountains, which are a nice backdrop.

This past Saturday was Mexico’s Independence Day. It’s kind-of-like our Fourth of July, except there were only five of us celebrating and there were no fireworks. We made t-shirts that read, “Mexico 1810 – 2006″ (pictures) and made Mexican food.

The fall TV shows are starting to pile up:

* Sunday is Simpsons and Flava Flav
* Monday is Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip
* Tuesday is Boston Legal
* Wednesday is nothing. How sad.
* Thursday is The OC (11/2) and Grey’s Anatomy.
* Friday is the weekend.
* Saturday is football. Obviously.