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LoganLo On (or close to) Schedule |
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Tuesday, December 08, 2009 | |
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Got Lucky Location: surrounded by computer bits Mood: hungry Music: I'm just gonna sit on the dock of the bay  Him: How can you think like that, you're... Me: What? Chinese-American? A minority? It's not like we all get together on Tuesdays and decide to all think a certain way. Him: But you're obviously wrong. Just look around, look at the popular opinion. Me: Popular opinion once said that the world is flat. Popular opinion in Germany once said that Jews weren't people. Popular opinion once said that the life of a black man is worth that of a cow. Since when's popular opinion the voice of reason? Him: It's wrong. We shouldn't be fighting a war that doesn't concern us. Me: Maybe. But that's my issue: who's this us you're referring to? People or people that look like you? Him: (rolling his eyes) Americans, man...you know I mean Americans. Like us. Me: Like us? I'm only an American cause I got lucky. You too. Don't y'ever forget that dumb luck put y'here and not Somalia or North Korea. That's the only goddamn difference between us and them. There's only ever the lucky and the screwed. YASYCTAI: Be grateful for your dumb luck. (5 mins/1 pt)  Subscribe!Permanent Link :: 0 comments ::
Links to this post :: Posted by Me @ 9:04 AM :: |
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Thursday, July 09, 2009 | |
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The purpose of life is... Location: 18:30 yest, watching geese in the Hudson Mood: grateful Music: hold on, hold on let me get the words out before I burst  Let's play a game; finish this sentence and then I'll see you on the other side of this quick post: The purpose of life is ______________. ---------- Got an email the other day from out of the blue from someone I dated. ...and i know this is random, but for what it's worth, thank you for never having sex with me, when we were seeing each other. i wish i could expand on that further, but something tells me that i don't really have to, i know you understand. Also got an email and $40 from 0utre cause I sent her slim coin for a paring knife a few years back when I had some spare scratch. I took that paring knife with me everywhere. I won't ever forget your kindness to me then and now, may we meet someday so I can return the kindness once again in person in a more human manner. Kindest Regards. Finally, someone else wrote me and said, Logan, you don't know me - well, that's not completely true. I met you once and you mentioned the blog so I read you. And keep reading. The funny thing is that I find myself saying things that you said in your blog in conversations with other people. And I wanted to say thanks because you make me think of good things. Most things I read don't. ----------Everyone finishes that sentence differently. Here's the thing - how you finish that sentence shapes how you live your life (or vice versa). Consider how differently these guys live their lives:
Well, suppose that's a post for another time. Do wanna say that it was very different not that long ago when I was friends with the Devil and didn't have to unwrap my food. In fact, it was onea the above. Which one? That too's a post for a different time, yeah? But I wanna say thanks to the girlie I dated, Outre and my anonymous fan. Cause y'make me think that maybe I'm on the right path to fulfilling my true purpose. YASYCTAI: Finish the sentence. Honestly (and tell me in the comment). Extra half-point: ask the person y'love to... (1 min/2.5 pts) Labels: discussion, story Subscribe!Permanent Link :: 6 comments ::
Links to this post :: Posted by Me @ 12:01 AM :: |
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Thursday, July 02, 2009 | |
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...blue sea Location: 22:00, yest, scrubbing my cellar Mood: thoughtful Music: there's reason to believe Maybe this year will be better than the last  Just found out an ex had another kid. A boy. And Germany's on my mind again. And other ghosts from my past keep making appearances. Him: You're so naive, Logan. Me: The difference between you and me, is that I think people're inherently bad, but can do great things. You think people're inherently good - but y'like knowing how dirty they can become. Him: (laughing) Alla these Europeans and Americans so pissed off about their white Christian children dying in Iraq and Somalia for brown Muslim babies; they got no problem saving white Muslim babies in Bosnia or Serbia. But man, brown ones? They go nuts. That is, until they can't afford their plasma TVs. Me: Enough... Him: Why? Cause you know I'm right? The saying goes that, the things that piss you off the most (lowers voice) are the things you know, in your heart, are true. There's another saying that goes, it's always a choice Between the Devil and the deep...  YASYCTAI: Have a relaxing fourth of July if you're on my side of the world. Y'should have even if you're not. (48 hours/0.5 pts) Subscribe!Permanent Link :: 3 comments ::
Links to this post :: Posted by Me @ 12:15 AM :: |
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Thursday, May 07, 2009 | |
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Lies and Ties Location: 14:00 yest, being told to rinse and spit in Queens (again) Mood: still sick Music: The sun in your eyes made some of the lies worth believing  My brother's in town and he's helping fix somea the computers here. Him: Apparently somebody's been plagiarizing mom's articles and reprinting them online. Me: How can you tell? Him: (laughing) She told me...and she's a got a folder that's named, Someone copy my article. ---------- Heartgirl told me recently that she doesn't know what to tell people when they ask what I do for a living. S'funny, alla the women I dated've said the same thing. Mosta my friends don't know. It's...complicated, how I make my money. I've a particularly odd skillset but the funny thing's that I'm very good at a several, seemingly unrelated things. But if I had to sum it up to in one unifying idea, it's that I collect and process data. Writing, in fact, is an example of my processing data; I take various disparate concepts, weave them to one (hopefully) coherent argument and distill that to a printed page. On that note, I've gotta pick one of these skillsets sooner than later. Him: Y'said you're in for the next gig. Me: I'm thinking of being an officer of the court again. Him: (laughing) They're no different than us cept they wear ties.  YASYCTAI: Organize your computer files. (10 hrs/2 pts) Subscribe!Permanent Link :: 2 comments ::
Links to this post :: Posted by Me @ 12:01 AM :: |
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Thursday, April 30, 2009 | |
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Tres Vidas Location: 14:00 yest, being told to rinse and spit in Queens Mood: satisfied Music: hard to believe we need a place called hell  Dated several people who's favourite book's 100 Years of Solitude. Tried four times to read it but couldn't. Not my cuppa tea. But the author once said something that I think of often: Uno tiene tres vidas: la vida pública, la vida privada y la vida secreta. That's the first thing I thought of when I heard about three lives this past April: Philip Markoff, Susan Boyle, and Russell Dunham. Philip's this fairly attractive guy with an immense hidden evil. Susan's this fairly unattractive woman with an immense hidden talent. Russell was a fairly average looking guy with an immense hidden strength. I lived with a scumbag that murdered his girlfriend. People asked me afterward if we knew that he was capable of such a thing. Always thought that was a stupid question - as if he liked to manically stab at his food when ate. No, people're really good at hiding their pretty and their dirty. Alla those little bits of this 'n that, aggregated over time like piles of crumbs, cemented together by secrets. It's only when situations shift that our real selves cut through the chatter - whether that be by choice like Susan and Philip, or by chance like Russell. Our real selves're always there, just waiting. After the London bombings, some dude quipped something like, "Always wondered how I'd act in a crisis. Turns out I'm rubbish in a crisis." It's totally true. Everyone has three lives: a public life, a private life, and a secret life. Me? I'd like to think that my angels'd beat my demons. Ah, but who doesn't? Nobody wakes up hoping they're a friend of the Devil. An ex once said to me, If only your insides matched your outsides. Do her one better: If only our outsides matched our insides. Him: So, whatcha gonna do? Me: (thinking) Dunno yet...  YASYCTAI: Read about Russell. (20 mins/1 pt) Subscribe!Permanent Link :: 0 comments ::
Links to this post :: Posted by Me @ 12:13 AM :: |
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Tuesday, April 28, 2009 | |
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Thank you, it's alright Location: 9:00 yest, 14th and 6th Mood: sleepless Music: i have seen insane things all those grand historic paintings  Was picking up some legal papers from a potential new client the other day. The weather was perfect so I took the long walk home in the daytime. Walking past Grand Central, Dar Williams just happened to be singing It's Alright so I stopped to listen. Ducked into a clothing store nearby to look things I can't afford. Dido's Thank You was playing. Didn't realize I was singing along until the girl standing next to me harmonized a lyric and we turned and laughed at each other. Me: (sheepishly) Thanks for the song. Her: (laughing) Thank you. ---------- Went to Paul's housewarming that night. The boy lives in a 2,500 square foot apartment. Yeah, with three roomies, but still. He has a laundry room in his apartment. In Manhattan. Heartgirl and Rain swung by so we caught up. Heartgirl: (looking at apartment, turns to me) I don't know how to tell you this but I'm strangely attracted to Paul right now. Rain: (also looking at apartment) Y'kidding me? I'm attracted to Paul right now.  Saw Heartgirl for some Latin food on a sunny street in Jersey. Me: Y'know why they don't put lids on crab baskets? Cause they don't need to. When one tries to crawl out, the rest pull him back in. Told Heartgirl that I was trying to be better than I was. She said she believed me.  YASYCTAI: Summer's here. Time to make some more changes. (time/2 pts) Subscribe!Permanent Link :: 4 comments ::
Links to this post :: Posted by Me @ 12:03 AM :: |
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Thursday, April 02, 2009 | |
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Mrs. Reynolds, Johnny Handsome, and Psalm 33:10 Location: 4 hours ago, getting caught in the rain Mood: depressed Music: Now up and at em it's on, I was raised to be strong  Me: Hello, you don't remember me, but I was in your French class in seventh grade. My name's Logan... Ran into her last year grabbing a bite to eat near the rents. She was in a shop trying to get an old pair of glasses fixed. Pulled out this beat up purse and dug through for $20 to pay the guy. She was laid off years ago. No one wanted to learn French anymore. The only reason I did was causea pretty girlie named Yvey in her class. But I digress. She didn't have $20 and they didn't take Amex, which is all I had. So she put her glasses, held together with tape, back on her face. ---------- Me: I did terribly in French. You told me after the year was over that I was just one of those people that would never be good at languages. Her: Did I? I'm sorry, that was mean. Me: (laughing) Don't be. Because of what you said, I taught myself three languages. One I still sorta remember. (gently) Y'made me try to be better than I was. You were a good teacher. And you were nice to me - not many people were back then. Her: (quietly) Thank you. I wish they'd let me teach again. ----------Had an awful day today and thought of the above cause here's what I was thinking that day: I used to have coin. And now I didn't even have a lousy 20 bucks to help out this little old lady. My birthday's coming up. Never woulda imagined I'd be where I am at 35. Want so bad to be better than I was. Maybe it's not in the cards. Me: It's me. That gig still open? Him: Logan? Nah, man. But someone always needs a favour, yeah? So...y'back? Me: Yeah. Don't worry. Not gonna whine. Just lemme say that it sucks when you realize that the saying's totally true: Men plan; God laughs. And the Devil? He's always waits. YASYCTAI: Watch Johnny Handsome. Cause sometimes, they'll never let you any better than you are. (90 mins/1 pt) Labels: dialogue, disappointed, story Subscribe!Permanent Link :: 3 comments ::
Links to this post :: Posted by Me @ 12:33 AM :: |
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Friday, March 27, 2009 | |
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10,000 Outliers Location: 15:00 yest, a law firm off Grand Central Mood: quixotic Music: Heartgirl singing in Spanish  As I said, just finished reading Outliers. One very interesting point is that to be truly, truly skilled at something, you have to do something for 10,000 hours. Not cause someone makes you, but cause you wanna. 20 hours a week, say 50 weeks in a year, that's about ten years. Started this blog for a number of reasons. Onea which is to just write every day for public consumption. Cause when you write for public consumption, your writing's gotta to be better. Least it should be (see: Twitter/Facebook). Not saying my writing is actually good but it's the process. Been distracted from the process for the past year or so causa the theft and my business. But now maybe I'm back on track. Me: I'm calling to say, Thank you. For letting me out of the lease. I'm just curious as to why you did. Last time, had to go to court and it was painful. Him: (shrugging) Figured that with the market being like it is, you'd call me eventually. But you could have withheld rent or whatever, but you didn't. And you always kept your word - you don't know how many people tell me the check's in the mail and it never is. Your checks were. (pause) Plus I know about what happened to you. You deserved better than having that bitch screw you. So...I'm cutting you a break. Me: (nodding) Thanks. I do appreciate it. Him: No problem, Logan. I'll send some business your way when I can. You're a good guy. (holds out his hand) Good luck. I'm finally out. I'm free. Took me less than the 36 months I thought it would. Broke, but free. Deep breath. 10,000 hours. I'll be 46. OK, I'm game... ---------- ...and I finished my thesis... ...and I has new toof. YASYCTAI: 10,000 hours. That's what it takes to be the best at something. Whaddya wanna be the best at? (600,000 mins/100 pts) Labels: dialogue, hope, Malcom Gladwell, Outliers, story, troubles Subscribe!Permanent Link :: 3 comments ::
Links to this post :: Posted by Me @ 12:20 AM :: |
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Wednesday, January 28, 2009 | |
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Wish I never was Location: my pad Mood: sotted Music: wanna hear those sugar bells ring Wish me, love, a wishing well  Paul just left. We were in our fencing class and he stopped by for some rum. He just became friends with an ex of mine on Facebook; hadn't thought about her in a while. Mainly cause I remember what a lout I was to her and what she did to get back at me. Probably deserved a lotta it, if not all. My hands don't shake as much these days. In fact, can't remember when they last shook cause I get more sleep these days. My sister came by the other night while I was making a ton of food (chili, of course) and slept right through the racket I was making. There's this saying that a clear conscience's the best pillow. It's a silly thing to be jealous of but I am. Do you think I write alla this cause I'm vain? Doesn't really matter, I guess. But parta why I write is cause I've made made some dreadful mistakes and wouldn't want anyone to repeat them. Y'ever see Le Retour de Martin Guerre or Sommersby? It's about a guy that'd rather be hung as a criminal than ever be the man he once was. It's based on a true story. I get it. Cause a sound night's sleep's the reward for good people that do good things. And people like me? Man, we just lie awake with our terrible things, wishing we did things differently. Him: Nah. You can't wish that. Me: Why not? Never wanna be that guy again. Him: Cause you woulda never been the guy you are now, if you weren't the guy you once were. YASYCTAI: You should say you're sorry. If only for yourself. (10 mins/2 pts) Subscribe!Permanent Link :: 0 comments ::
Links to this post :: Posted by Me @ 1:35 AM :: |
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Friday, November 21, 2008 | |
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In front of you Location: at the rents, in front of the tube Mood: restless Music: get your plane ride on time I know your part'll go fine  Her: (sadly in Chinese) God doesn't care about me any more. I'm too old. 86. Me: That's not true. He's the one who put me in front of you. Saw an old friend for dinner last night. We hadn't talked in ages; he's now the senior VP at a major internet marketing firm. We talked shop and it was like talking to an adult after being surrounded by kids all day. Like Sheridan and somea the others, he believes in me more than I do, I think. Man, I gotta get outta what I'm doing and back into my old life. On the way there, heard an old Chinese lady yelling over and over again, "CHINATOWN!" on 37th and Lex. She reminded me of my grandma. So I went over and told her in my crappy Chinese that I'd get her there. She was visiting an old friend in a hospital nearby and got lost. Took her arm, walked her to the right stop, and waited for the bus with her. Me: (to driver) Hey man, this nice little lady needs to get to Chinatown. Can you make sure she gets off on Bowery and Bayard? (driver nods and smiles broadly at her) Her: (to me in Chinese) Thank you - your Chinese's not as bad as you think. Me: (laughing) Nonsense. But I'll let my dad know you said so. Told you - God put me in front of you. Hopped off the bus and made it over to the Shelburne. Afterwards, walked from there to Columbus Circle, just cause I can't sleep anyway. Thought about my mom - if she got lost, I'd hope someone'd help her get home.Speaking of home, Heartgirl's on a plane back as I write this. Was only two weeks but I missed her terribly. YASYCTAI: Help someone old. Cause you'd want someone to do it for your ma. (20 mins/1 pts) Labels: dialogue, long walk home, story Subscribe!Permanent Link :: 4 comments ::
Links to this post :: Posted by Me @ 12:01 AM :: |
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Wednesday, November 19, 2008 | |
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The California Sun Location: Santa Monica in my head Mood: tired but hopeful Music: something always comes up something always makes her stay  Me and my Mom Her: You're always seeing someone. Me: No, I mean I'm seeing someone... Her: (puts down hula hoop) Wait, what does that mean? (excitedly) Are you getting married soon? Is she nice? Does she want kids? What's her name? Me: (sighs) Clearly, I've just made a grave error in judgment. Me and my Brother Him: When I left NYC for LA, I had two suitcases and a guitar. Then when I left LA for Miami, had a house fulla crap, a cat, and a wife. Me: And now that you're moving back to LA? Him: Well (thinking) I still have a house fulla crap and the cat (pause) But I've since shed the wife tho... The cool thing about the people that you're close to is the shorthand language you've got. My brother used to sing in a bar while in med school. One song was about this singer in a bar that loved a waitress named Rachel who wanted to move to LA. The guy didn't know what to say, so he just said, if you find me one, I'd love a picture of the California sun. For years my bro said he'd move to LA. Always joked that if he ever did, I'd want a postcard from LA. Then one day he just up and left with two suitcases and a guitar. Spur of the moment thing. Poof. Week or so later, got a postcard with a picture of the California sun and not much else. Didn't need much else. I remember that I sat down on my striped sofa and cleared my throat. Then I cleared a place for it on my fridge. Somewhere through the years, lost it. Stupid roommates. S'ok though - lookee what I got today:  YASYCTAI: Send someone a nice picture. If y'got time, send me one too. (1 mins/0.5 pts) Labels: blue sky, dialogue, family, goodbye, story, traveling Subscribe!Permanent Link :: 2 comments ::
Links to this post :: Posted by Me @ 12:03 AM :: |
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Monday, November 10, 2008 | |
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Miami Location: finally back in NYC Mood: tired Music: Turning back she just laughs The boulevard is not that bad  Me: You look like a betting man. If I can get you 25 people, mostly girlies, will you get me a table? Him: I'll do better than that, I'll get you a bottle. Went to Florida for 20somthing hours over the weekend. Last minute decision; my brother's moving to Cali so he was having a last hurrah. Started out at the Chesterfield Hotel which was fulla doctors, nurses and booze. Lotsa booze. Onea the guys was getting frisky with onea the girls. Her: (to guy) Why are you touching me? I'm unclear on that.  Then we hopped over to a club called Cameo where, fortunately, some guy floated alla us in. Unfortunately, a bunch of guys in masks, dogs and guns stormed the club. Fortunately, they were cops. Unfortunately, they shut the joint down, arrested alla the owners and bartenders and, more dismaying, didn't lemme finish my drink. Him: There's some malfeasance going on.  The group decided to hit up another party but I ended up chatting with a promoter at another joint and managed to convince him to float us all in and comp us a bottle of vodka. He ended up buying me a buncha shots too. I like Miami.  The bartender leaned over and said she was buying me a shot of Tequila too. Told her that Tequila and I weren't on speaking terms but she bought me one anyway. At around 2AM, she pulled me onto the dance floor. Afterwards: Her: You're fun. (pause) Did you say you were leaving on the 20th? Me: No, I said I'm here for 20 hours. Her: Are you coming back soon? Me: Don't think so. Gotta head back to see the girlfriend. Her: Lucky lady. (smiles) Thanks again for the dance, Logan. Me: I'll let her know. Thanks for the dance, Lana. Crashed with everyone for a coupla hours. Woke up and ate, what I later found out, were cream puffs that were in the fridge for possibly a year.  Rushed to the airport, missed my flight, so went back to brother's. Try number two worked and I ended up in Newark airport at 21:15. Dropped my buddy Paul off downtown and zipped off to my favorite lady in the world. Him: Mom went to bed already. We'll get breakfast tomorrow. Nite. Heartgirl, my favorite lady whom I'm not related to, is away for a few weeks. In Africa. Think I miss her already. But it's probably for the best. The next two weeks are gonna be rough.  YASYCTAI: Go somewhere completely different soon. You need a change of latitude. (Two weeks/3 pts) Labels: dialogue, flying, random meetings, story, traveling Subscribe!Permanent Link :: 2 comments ::
Links to this post :: Posted by Me @ 12:07 AM :: |
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Monday, October 27, 2008 | |
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Strawberry Swing Location: home, and running late Mood: tired Music: without you it's a waste of time   Saturday, saw my brother for massive amounts of pizza. He doesn't live in NYC so whenever he's here, he gets his fill.   Met some nice people and one girl that asked, "Can we be friends?" Brought HEI a bottle of rum. We all almost kicked it that night. Rolled home at 2AM and woke up the next day without a hangover. Love that rum.  Sunday night, go with Heartgirl and one of her friends to see Coldplay in concert. Heartgirl doesn't like being in pictures. She does like being with me though. Fair trade. Duffy was the opening act. Spent $11.25 for a diet coke, pretzel and package of Reese's Pieces. Coldplay was amazing in concert. Seem like nice fellas.  Got home five minutes to midnight. Now I'm home getting ready to run out the door. And you? How was your weekend? YASYCTAI: Treat yourself to a small concert. The last major one I went to was 20 years ago. (90 mins/1 pts) Subscribe!Permanent Link :: 2 comments ::
Links to this post :: Posted by Me @ 8:46 AM :: |
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Friday, October 24, 2008 | |
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Glory Days Location: my parent's living room Mood: nostalgic Music: hope when I get old I don't sit around thinking about it  Inigo Montoya: I admit it, you are better than I am. Man in Black: Then why are you smiling? Inigo Montoya: Because I know something you don't know. When you get beat up as often as I did as a kid, you either get all decked out in black and go Columbine, or you just learn how to fight. And for those of you that know me, never do anything half-assed. Bryson's one of my best friends and was a striker like me. He outweighed me by 20-40 pounds but I was fast and flexible. We were always toe-to-toe. Until he started grappling. So I started too. Then, a little after 9/11, I got injured. A kimura gone horribly wrong. Doc said I could either get surgery and lose 10% of my range of motion or rehab it and lose as little as 2%. Chose the latter. He said it'd take up to four years. It took seven. Stopped watching NHB stuff cause it made me sad. Didn't wanna be one of those guys that spent his time talking about his glory days. During those seven years, Bryson worked to the point that he's a Pan-American Bronze Medalist. And he knew something his opponents didn't - that as good as he was on the ground, he was even better on his feet. I knew that. My jaw knew that. Me? I stopped. Got fat. Settled down with a girlie. The only place I'm still better than Bryson's with a sword. But even then, he's almost my match. We both know he's better than me, he's just too polite to ever say it. Some days, forget that I'm 35. Then my body reminds me. The last time I felt good about my right lead was in the mid-90s. We spoke recently and he told me that he just got a similar injury. He finds out next week if he can roll again. I understood. Told him that he got seven years on me and he agreed. Small comfort, I know. After we got off the phone, sat back and remembered when we weren't old men. Instead, we're in the muddy backyard of my college house. He'd swing on by, we'd laugh. Then we'd kunckle up and roll. Man in Black: And what is that? Inigo Montoya: I...am not left-handed. YASYCTAI: Look up an old friend. Cyberstalking's easy with Facebook et al (10 mins/1 pt) Labels: disappointed, discussion, nostalgia, story Subscribe!Permanent Link :: 3 comments ::
Links to this post :: Posted by Me @ 12:20 AM :: |
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Friday, May 30, 2008 | |
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McGuffins, Caterpillars and Pepe le Pew Location: home Mood: beat tired Music: tell your white knight that he’s handsome in hindsight With nods to a friend. According to Hitchcock, a guy on a train sees something above and asks another dude what it is. Guy2: It's a McGuffin. It's used to catch lions in Scotland. Guy1: There're aren't any lions in Scotland. Guy2: Well then, a McGuffin's nuthin at all.Used in stories or film, a McGuffin's just a device that the characters place meaning onto to move the story along, like in Ronin where they're all chasing after some briefcase but we never find out why it's important. It's just important cause they made it important. With the exception of health and family, I submit that a lotta of what you put your heart and soul with, it's nuthin at all. A lotta what I put my heart and soul into is nuthin at all. At the enda the cartoon above, the characters're the same; the situation's the same. The only thing that's changed is each character's perception of reality. But, man, that's everything, that's the whole nut, yeah? Heard once that, On the day he thought he died, the caterpillar turned into a butterfly. It's dorky, overly sentimental and hopeful. Like me. Speaking of which, y'know, I pretty much am Pepe le Pew when I'm out and about. And 'bout as successful. S'ok, I have fun...Bonjour Week-end! Où sont les filles? Labels: discussion, hope, story Subscribe!Permanent Link :: 3 comments ::
Links to this post :: Posted by Me @ 12:05 AM :: |
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Friday, May 23, 2008 | |
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Armed and Dangerous Location: my childhood bed Mood: wicked once again Music: another evil force tellin' me to do what I gotta do  Me: There are three types of people in the world. Single, sorta single and not single. Her: Not true, there's a fourth. Me: (puzzled) Really, what's that?Her: (laughing and flashing a ring on her left hand) An MBA - Married But Available. We all carry our homemade weapons with us. The everyday items that, when against the wall, we flick out and stab others with. My intellect instantly becomes arrogance; wit, sarcasm; focus, aggression. Faster than the blink of a teary eye. It's parta why I don't curse - that's just gas on a fire. At some point in every relationship, you got that split-second choice on whether or not to draw those weapons. Once those daggers come out, man, there's no going back. There's no putting toothpaste back inna tube. A monster, No. 6 once said of me. We'd such a bloody end; I said things no one should ever say. Then again, so did she. Just spoke to her not that long ago. My fine handiwork's still in her voice. Cause I'm the skillest with my sharp objects. The killest with my blunt instruments. Every fencer knows to take care when drawing. Cause you're always just as likely to cut yourself as your adversary. I don't recall a time I ever drew first and didn't cut myself more. Not once. And I'm never unarmed. The skillest and killest. It's a horrid gift. ---------- A different girlie: Her: Hey Logan. (pause) I'd like to be friends. I think we could be friends. Me: I'd really like that. Subscribe!Permanent Link :: 3 comments ::
Links to this post :: Posted by Me @ 12:02 AM :: |
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Sunday, May 11, 2008 | |
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Mother's Day 2008 Location: 20 mins ago, making a smoothie in my kitchen Mood: anxious Music: I still believe there's something left for you and me  Another weekend - pretty much like every other. Crashed a few parties, met a few girlies, the usual spring twirl. Spilled a drink on this guy that was too blotto to realize it. Clumsy me. Told you that I'm terribly clumsy, yeah? Fell down some stairs a few years ago and the left side of my face was crushed in. After some work, the doctors sewed me up. Met up with each of my family individually and they each said, I can't see it. But a second after my mom walked upstairs, she immediately, and wordlessly, burst into tears . The first thing she said was, I'll pay for plastic surgery. I laughed. Mothers know their kids, I think. When my drama first came down, she called me to tell me to come home. Told her I was too busy. But she demanded that I come. So I rummaged around for the best smile I could find and wore it home. You look great, my dad said. But my mom took one look at me and burst into tears. Like I said, mothers know their kids. She told me I could always move back home and that made me laugh. Great, I said, I'll be a 35 year old man living with his parents. (on the positive side, that'd certainly solve my dating dilemmas right quick). I'd cook, she said. That made me laugh even more. So I gave her a kiss and told her that if it came down to it, I'd do that. That seemed to make her happy. She says that she knows I'll be fine. Mothers know their kids so I hope she's right. Did I ever tell you my mom's a writer? She gets published a lot more than me. It's from her side of the family; my grandfather's a writer too. All this comes from her. Off to see her now.  Subscribe!Permanent Link :: 2 comments ::
Links to this post :: Posted by Me @ 1:02 PM :: |
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| Don't you have better things to do than read ridiculous small print from some writer? Oh yeah, © 2006 Logan Lo, LLC. All rights reserved. |
