Le Paon d'Hiver

2011-03-20T18:23:00.000-07:00

Yesterday, Austin was a bright diamond treasure. The night ran drunk, punctuated by loads of sweetheart friends and lovely performances by the mighty Two Cow Garage, Drag the River, Cheap Girls, Ted Leo, Glossary, Off, Surfer Blood, Austin Lucas, Cory Branan, WEINLAND, and Joey Cape. Revolution Bar became Plush, then Barbarella, twisting the cap on the Valient Thorr. Hugs were given and disappearances made, augmented by promises to phone after watching "Ice Cream Truck". It was a Saturday for the seasons, and though Shangri-La closed as we arrived, nothing seemed lost, missed or un-loved. As my eyes finally closed at nearly five, I held close the feeling that despite the insecurities and sometimes-pulls to the contrary, all art is essential.

alleviate

2009-01-21T21:27:00.000-08:00

it was a dwindling occupation, to be certain. the eyes, the hands, the hours--i couldn't have been more removed if i'd have tried. my fault wasn't one of plenty...it was one of ignorance. in the hatches that crossed the floor as the mid-afternoon sun became evening, i found a slant of simple hope; my eyes closed, the city drifting beyond the wall. my breath stayed steady as the skip, skip, skip of her heels became slightly more pronounced. by the time the key hit the door, it was over. a hint of whisper, the frost on the petals. i should have known better if i'd have only known at all.

redemption (or isolation)

2009-01-06T22:16:00.000-08:00

and in the morning, it came fast, streaming through the windows, its hollow arms done up in broken glass. i shifted quickly whereas not to feign any measure of fear or resurrection. the clock was still and the ailment was spinning...too many charges with too few reminders. my heart skipped - a motion not easily recovered - and i opened my eyes to the charge of the flailing current.

"have you heard?" she whispered, her legs bucking the covers.

"no."

my hands smelled of cigarettes. it was a quarter after six and monday and an abyssmal shade of gold painted the sky beyond the curtain.

"they called last night to say she wasn't coming home."

"what time?" i stammered, sliding to edge of the mattress, my voice raw with sleep and the dwindling hails of last night's alcohol. "wait," i continued, worse than before, "last night? where was i?"

"asleep."

"what?" i interrupted, squinting my eyes back in her direction.

"you were asleep."

she lit a cigarette, a crisp marlboro, fished from a white cardboard box, her slender fingers shifting quick like broken wires.

"i tried to wake you," she exhaled, "but you didn't."

"didn't what?" i followed, a frame of not-quite-intended agitation hanging just above my breath.

"didn't wake-up, asshole. you didn't wake-up."

her eyelashes fired several rounds on her cheeks. i could tell she was pissed as she pulled a stray grain from her tongue.

"well," i prodded, turning my head from her face, "what did they decide?"

"i don't know," she quipped, quicker and with much less finesse than i expected.

"what do you mean you don't know? i thought you said they called."

"yeah, they did, but they didn't give me any details. apparently, the doctor's not in until morning."

"this morning?"

"yeah, this morning."

i opened my mouth to speak just as she flashed, "nine o'clock. he comes in at nine."

"oh," i added, not really knowing where to go next. "nine, huh. well, what time is it now?"

i already knew the answer.

"six nineteen," she sputtered, crushing the cigarette on the sill beside the bed. "six nineteen."

i closed my eyes, rubbing my temples, my elbows resting just above my knees.

"i gotta go."

"you gotta go?" she countered. "where?"

"to the hospital."

i paused, still not turning to face her. "they'll be expecting me. i really should go. it's, you know, what i should do."

i waited. i wanted her to say something. instead, there was silence. i could hear her hands rustling the satin seam that ran across the top of the duvet, her nails scratching the threadline in a gentle, somewhat anxious manner.

"what?" i said, standing up with my back to her and the city. my eyes focused on the paint lazily chipping off the door frame - a shade of white like dirty cotton or a faded sand dollar.

she didn't answer.

"okay then," i continued, "i'm gonna go. if he comes in at nine i should really be there. and, there's gonna be traffic and the trains - i really should go."

i put on my shirt without even a whisper.

she broke the budding silence - the soft wisp of buses and cars drifting beyond the brick and cloudy windows.

"i just don't understand why you're going," she chimed, her voice trailing as she slipped back beneath the covers.

"because i'm her son and i have to."

i stopped. i couldn't turn around; i couldn't bare to look at her. i'd start crying, i just knew it. the past few days had been all i could manage.

"you know," she started, her voice muffled and apprehensive. she swallowed hard, sniffing and spinning under the sheets.

"what?" i asked, trying not to fall apart in the moment.

"nothing. it's nothing," she sighed, "just be safe, okay. i'm worried."

i turned and looked at her. our eyes met through the shifting amber glare, a treasured, though somewhat unwelcome trespasser this early in the morning.

"i will be."

i hesitated, wanting to say something to prove that i meant it, but nothing came to mind. no reassurance, no visage of occupation. nothing.

"i will be...i promise."

thoughts on alpha dog

2009-01-05T21:51:00.000-08:00

nothing stylish or too fierce...not today, at least.

at any rate, i got a chance to view 'alpha dog' last night. it's been buried in an ever-expanding netflix queue for a number of seemingly endless months. my initial attraction to the film stemmed from a rather embarrassing (at least in written retrospect) curiousity to see justin timberlake roll his hand at playing a less-than-thuggish, suburban, drug-dealing gangsta in a semi-true, semi-suspect film co-starring emile hirsch.

safe to say, i wasn't disappointed.

that said, the theme of this spill is not a review (all apologies to critics at-large), but rather a reflection on the state of the american ego, reflected through the lens of slightly anxious, slightly remorseful paranoia. the characters within the film (mr. timberlake's shadow, in particular) suffer from the ailment with an almost shameless reproach. the notion of identity poured through the strainer of belonging and this-or-that behavior, is disturbing, at best.

as an individual moves, from place to place, state to state, a subtle awareness of the effects and counterpunches of one's actions is an oft-overlooked necessity. the 'lesson' here is to attempt to maintain a certain degree of presence where one's own thoughts, ideas, notions and decisions can be viewed and embraced as momentary, as well as long-ranging, opportunities that reflect past and future. the here-and-now has value, but it inevitably begs conclusion with the ever-and-after.

hearts.