i am the prince of tides in my secret corners imperfect yet unbound words, feeble purple prose, naive expression
i am the boy with muddy sun-browned bare feet in the expansive tree looking below
the boy who loved his grandma and grandpa without limit yet spent so much time in the small yet limitless world surrounding their modest tarpaper and tin roof house
i am the man who is not his missteps, his past, or his obstacles
i am known by a singular letter, born of a rejected name, burned by the pitiful and pointless ashes of anger and addiction
i have amassed twenty thousand two hundred and sixteen days of life
each of them begins anew, though i find myself waking to the next almost without edit
i can speak in a foreign tongue, stand amongst strangers without fear, walk further than most, and yet still discover i am where i started
i am not gossamer, invisible, or silent, though all sometimes would be better servants than my nature
My pet dinosaur Redactyl sits looking out the suddenly barren fence line in the background. I know he will have a lot to say about it. He’s stuck staring at a lifeless, dilapidated scene now. Color once brightened his perspective.
I’m conflicted. I spent countless hours meticulously assembling the decorations for the longest fence where I live.
Nothing is permanent.
It was great fun, finding pieces and creative ways to use things that aren’t intended to be used in the way I chose.
It was also a lot of work. Work that put me in the zone and challenged me to keep going.
I heard nothing but delight from everyone about how much color and character it added to this ugly apartment complex and the area. Friends drove by or over to see it. Several people posted pictures of it on social media without me realizing it until much later. That made me smile.
This is precisely the kind of place that needs and needed color and something wild and different. Otherwise, it’s just a plot of land and a container that many find temporary.
Two days ago, in a blaze of adrenaline, I began to take the tiles, metal pieces, and assorted decorations off. It led to my shorts’ pockets being so heavy they were about to fall off, which led to the dreaded keys-in-the-dumpster incident. Hundreds of screws, washers, tiles, and assorted pieces. I wasn’t mad, but the disappointment grew as I looked at the fence. But seeing it this morning in the dim light made it dreadfully plain and lifeless. Nothing is permanent; I kept telling myself. But in the back of my mind, I wondered about minds so small they have to complain. 1% of me negatively reacted, given how much work and cleanup I’ve put into this place. We’re supposed to do that sort of thing without expectations.
On the other hand, I put in a proportional amount of work apart from the countless hours I spent brightening up the place. Most of my neighbors don’t do their share to keep the place better than they found it. It’s disappointing that someone took the time to complain they weren’t happy. Some people aren’t happy no matter what – and unfortunately, some take delight in ruining other people’s happiness. The problem with such people is that they will never be satisfied; they thrive on such effort. They are dramavores.
I will redirect my urge to color and brighten to something else in small places and wherever I roam. I’ve left dozens of decorations and pieces all over.
When people ask, “Oh my god, X, what happened to your art project on the fence?” I’m going to shrug and attribute it to the impermanence of everything. For a few weeks, it was something to behold. The entropy resulting from complaining took its price.
Now, as I look out onto the fence I repaired out of my pocket and with my labor, I see an ugly board fence, looking out onto a dismal parking lot. I think it traps us rather than keeps others out, especially now that an expensive home is being built on the small lot between us and the trail cut-through from Gregg.
In my head, though? I can’t look at the fence without imagining it filled with color.
As places like that should be.
I’ll put up a single tile in the middle of the fence at some point, one which will read:
“…Site of recent memory’s largest personal art project. It’s gone, but color remains if you seek it. X”
It’s almost 100 degrees outside, if you didn’t know.
Imagine how gross and smelly most dumpsters are this time of year. Well, the one at my apartment is horrible. I spray it often with pro-grade insecticide. I also keep the trash picked up. For some reason, the amount of trash has escalated in recent weeks. Some residents throw their trash in there without it being bagged. Including the home health nurse who takes care of an elderly man below. She throws dirty adult diapers directly inside. This is important for reasons I’ll clarify.
Today, I worked out in the hot sun until I was drenched in sweat. I wore a pair of black shorts, ones missing a top button. I accumulated so many screws and washers in the pockets that the shorts constantly began to succumb to gravity and work down across my hips. I’m not a plumber, so I can’t very well walk around like that. Plus, the catcalls from all the local women are a distraction.
I walked over to the dumpster and pulled out handfuls of screws, tossing them blindly into the open stinky dumpster. I eyed the dirty diapers with particular glee. The hot sun did them no favors.
I walked back to my apartment and realized I had locked the door.
A growing horror overtook me.
I knew with growing dread. That. I. Had. Tossed. The. Car. Key. And. Apartment. Key. Inside. The. DUMPSTER.
Before thinking too long or pondering the financial implications of replacing my car key, I ran over to the dumpster, hooked my foot in the grab-rail, and hoisted myself up and into the dumpster. I did my best to avoid the diapers. I climbed on top and leaned headfirst inside, my hands clawing at the things I’d just tossed inside. About a foot away from the bottom, I spied my car key. Luckily, I painted it spa blue, so I saw it more easily. The smell of farts and worse filled my nostrils. I knew I couldn’t pass out inside the dumpster, though given its temperature, it was likely. I leaned over as far as I could, like a broken half of a seesaw, and grabbed the key, then flung myself backward to avoid needing to touch any deliciousness surrounding me.
If you ask me if I washed my hands?
I think I drank bleach in my attempt to kill every virus and bacteria that might have attacked me.
My cat prowling the early morning landing around 3 a.m. To the left you can see my new set of mismatched blue bottle lights. They are very vivid! I am afraid to leave them twinkling or flashing. My neighbors all tend to get nervous when they see blue flashing lights. No one would come out of their apartment for a week.
I will write a happy, fun moment in time. Lord knows we all need one. Some moments are especially sweet precisely because of the bittersweet swirling around us.
I pulled into the convenience store near the interstate. Two boys were wheeling around on bicycles, happy and carefree as young boys often are, when they have freedom and mobility. You don’t see boys like that galavanting like you once did, especially on bikes.
I went in to get a soda and watched as the boys excitedly decided what to buy with their precious dollars. When I went to pay they were behind me.
I received my change and turned and handed one of the boys a $5 bill. “Don’t take money from strangers!” I said. All of us laughed, even the clerk. The boys’ faces lit up as they realized they could buy additional unexpected bounty.
It cost me $5 to make us all smile.
I waited outside in my car to watch as the boys exited.
The train horn sounded in the distance. A curtain of insects chirped and announced their presence. The surprisingly cool air enveloped me as I sat on the landing, my cat uncharacteristically sitting next to me so that I could scramble his ears with my fingers. A cup of coffee set precariously on the landing rail in front of me. Below me, a neighbor coughed as he sat in the chair facing the shadows and the dark parking lot. In front of him were the remains and carcass of the failed air conditioning that had been replaced. As the train passed, its horn was replaced by the sound of industrial trash trucks doing their daily rounds. You would think the urban sounds would be a distraction. They’re not. Though I sat motionless, already dressed for work, I wanted another minute or another hour or another day to remain there. Thinking, but motionless. I looked up into the clear sky and watched stars twinkle. My inertia of the moment was almost insurmountable.
Color. Magic. The universe inside the bottle lights reminded me.
Early this morning, not that 5:30 a.m. is not early… The wind was really howling. It felt amazing if you were out there for just a minute. After a minute, I would compare it to standing in a oven being heated. The ancient Greeks were alive again they would certainly add air conditioning to their list of deities.
‘It’s better to stand corrected than to sit wrong.’ – X
‘And especially so if all the chairs are made of nails and traffic cones.’
“People generally see what they look for, and hear what they listen for.” ― Harper Lee, To Kill a Mockingbird)
What will you be listening for on this hot sweltering day?
Life can be so hard so if you see this post and get irritated at me, take a moment and remember: I don’t know about you, but a great deal of my problems are a result of me taking myself seriously. And from worrying about appearances.
Just being a good neighbor! Since the original neighbor and his new roommate galavant around with no shirts on, they might as well up their game. I, of course, am here to help. Anyone who needs a really poorly made sign for this kind of purpose can reach out to me and I will hook you up. These neighbors did not ask for my help. I just see a need and compassionately reach out to offer my assistance. Ha! Please indemnify me from the consequences though. I have enough tomfoolery and shenanigans to fill my plate.
The drug shed in the back corner of the area I’ve painstakingly cleared… A tenant, long gone to greener pastures, put it there. The years have not been kind to it. Once I found used syringes inside it, the impetus toward disposal only increased.
I gave people more than enough time to lock it, haul it away, or 4th-of-July the thing. (I carefully worded that due to FB’s ridiculous interpretation of jokes.)
This week, I accelerated the process of taking a few hundred screws out, fighting off an army of spiders, and compressing the supports and metal for disposal. I hope the neighbor doesn’t notice that the back of his pickup is full of discarded metal; or, if he does, that he can’t determine w-h-i-c-h butthead might have placed it there.
Reaching this point, I realized that I’ve managed to get to the level of ‘redneck gazebo.’ I’ll sell it as is for $5.67. Spiders included. At least the snakes have abandoned it.
If no offers are forthcoming, I’ll attempt to remove the top of it. It’s very heavy and though I’ve sprayed it repeatedly, the spiders seem to have gained superpowers by ingesting the professional-grade insecticides I’ve sprayed on them. I’m pretty sure one of the spiders was actually smoking a cigarette.
If you’re wondering if the chest in the picture holds anything valuable, the answer is ‘no.’ There were things of value in there. But the weather and people of dubious reputation ruined everything. This shed is an excellent example of entropy. And inattentive landlords.
I don’t know what day the urge to potentially crush myself under the rest will strike me. So act fast. I hope you like spiders.
If you climb a tree way before the sun rises, sometimes a magical moment happens. The dormant fireflies that believed their night of intermittent luminescence was finished… they will take flight as the jostling and vibration startles them into motion – especially if you shake your cell phone to cause it to flash. For anyone who has never thought of this or carefully ascended a tree in the dark, it’s one of those childhood moments that never fails to delight. And if it does ever fail to cause my lips to curl upward in a smile, I will climb to the very top with abandon and launch myself to the bottom.
The images from yesterday, the ones that reached back billions of years, they were beautiful. But there are things hidden in plain sight all around you. Sometimes you just have to look or be willing to do something different to see them. Close your eyes for a moment and then open them. There will be something fascinating around you. If you want there to be.
PS It’s pointless to caution me to be careful. Such advice is practical, but at my age I’ve learned that even the most cautious and careful people don’t have to look far to be besieged with calamity. The universe is not a fair place.
P.S. Parenthetically Speaking 