Thursday, February 19, 2009

just something about my dog.

"I swear to you I wasn't" I had pleaded.
"What? No, you were" without giving me the chance to speak, as if she had forgot there was another side to the story.
Dialogue had continued, I wish I had recorded what was said, but the periods, exclamation points, and letters and words flew over my head as if i had nearly dodged a bullet in battle.
"I'm sorry." I uttered politely.
And that was it, just mere silence after my phone slammed shut, I then my phone down on my cold growing sheets, and hung my head.
That was the end of the nauseating aroma of cinnamon and freshly cooked waffle cones, and the end to soar wrists, the end to those never ending nights when christians from around the corner demanded their ice cream, and never spared even a penny for the goodwill of a tip.
My stomach sat flat way down in my body, my stomach roared as it churned from the never ending emotions that consumed me as I sat in guilt and shame.
I slowly turned over in my bed and tried to sleep it off.
That was that.

I couldn't sleep. So, I picked myself up and of coarse, dressed, put on a pair of beat up shoes and meandered outside.

My backyard contains nothing but an empty worn out pool, half- full from the rains, and plenty of green shrubbery that was rich with the rain waters, and of coarse, bailey was outside.
As I sat in the grass to pull out a cigarette, Bailey, my 2 and 1/2 foot tall golden lab/ golden retriever, puppy face and all, comes slowly pacing towards me.
What happens next might make you feel a little bit warm inside:

As I'm sitting in flat out depression, my dog walks towards me and attempts to paw my arm, with his big wet nose, and his ever so pink tongue he starts to lick my face.
I can do nothing but accept this offer, and bear through the stench of his saliva on my cheek, and notice his tail, ever so happily wagging back in forth.

Somehow he could tell, because quit frankly he usually doesn't give a damn, he usually just sits there and stares or minds his own business.

My dear friend once said "Dogs represent everything good in this world", I don't have any doubt that this statement is falsifiable.

If you happen to have a dog, I urge you stop reading this, and go pet the pooch, because maybe one day he'll return the favor.

Dogs are great, and you should own one.


As I crept outside to return to my patio for my evening smoke I had a feeling that I would see something unusual tonight. And as I always do, I asked God if he was around to show me something that I had been eagerly awaiting ever since I had moved here.
So, it was there that I sat.
As the breathe from my lungs and the smoke from my cigarette danced in the cold air while rising to take it's place in the atmosphere, from the corner of my eye I caught a twinkle, an ever so faint shooting star burning bright, burning its gases and fumes while displaying it's ever so significant tail.
I was in awe, so much so that I patiently pleaded for another one, and there another one shot, this one however, soared across the night sky, my eyes tried to catch up to it, much like at a ball park when the crowd tries to catch a glimpse at the home run ball as it peaks and falls.
And then I asked for another. And it so happened that my plead was heard, and out of the sky fell another star.
And then it was over,
I asked for more, but as long as I sat there, there was nothing.

I then contemplated this thought: Much like the stars, there's a driving force behind nature, and it so often manipulates these displays of beauty to happen. These displays of beauty come and go, and in fact, we humans often plead for another one.
Why can't we just wait? I mean, with shooting stars, we pretty much end up just waiting for the next one.
My only challenge to myself, is to savor moments much like the one I had tonight, because quit frankly, who knows the next time you'll see something so spectacular.
Maybe I should stop smoking.


Monday, February 16, 2009

the tow n of Bradford, England is set in a valley of which many people migrate or just simply are dropped off at, much like tide pool creatures awaiting the next big tide to drag them out into the big open ocean. Historic landmarks usually have their place in Bradford, of which many people tend to pass by not noticing the beauty and awe of what has happened there. Various nationalities are seldom seen in this wild yet horrific place, either you are to be a local or a tourist, or just dropped by to visit a friend to tell them about the outside world. Muslims make up a close fifty percent of this town, and it's odd when talking to them, simply because you would assume that a Muslim would carry a middle eastern accent, but in fact, they own up to a raw English accent, in which it almost would sound as if he or she were mumbling. The town has an unremarkable claim to it's reputation, many locals try to work their way out of the place, and others have no means of leaving, their stuck, much like a simple barnacle to it's lonely yet desolated post. It's always cold in the town of Bradford, scarves and mittens are seen on everybody but locals, so it's easy to point out someone who knows not yet as to where their going, it's funny. There are plenty of houses that create a suburb-like area in the town of Bradford, and either way traveled is a hill in which one would have to heave their way up or caution them self down. The surrounding towns are much better then Bradford, but it's an adventure to get out. The sun is seldom seen, it's either hiding behind the clouds, or somewhere over beyond the horizon or covered up by the hills and mountains covered with houses. Fog sticks like glue to the buildings in the main square in Bradford, and the cold air and wind never seizes to let up, as nostrils and fingers grow cold, and one's breathe is a normal thing to see.
Down the main road as to where the only church is in Bradford, there's a simple convenience store, and across the street lies a lonely park, with fresh green grass, and a lonely carousel, in which the only person that's normally at this park works there, and is usually hung to some type of drug.
And within this park, a local resident by the name of Sin, floats in and out much like the trash that sits on the grassy field cause on a random bush, and all of a sudden, somehow the wind picks up and blows him away.
Sin was a tall man, it was obvious that he was a Muslim, he wore a turban on his head fit snug as it may have never was taken off of his head. He had unusually dark skin for a Muslim, and didn't care about what he looked like. He wore the same thing every day, torn up jeans, and an off white sweater that had unremarkably noticeable stains, they seemed to look like coffee stains, or something, but nobody ever knew, or really cared for that fact. His breath smelled, and his teeth resembled that of an opossum. His eyes were deeply set into his face , and to stare into them was somehing only a brave young soul could conquer. He didn't have any friends, and it seems hat he was bitter at something that's not so distinguishable on the surface. But if someone had started him up, he would openly admit to things. It was obvious something was wrong.
He would wake up early mornings, buy a bottle of beer, a big one, maybe it was hard liquor, he would carry it around in a brown bag. And almost everybody would admit to seeing him stumble around Bradford everyday.
His spot though, was in front of the carousel, there was a bench that literally had his name on it, because he was the only one to occupy that bench within the past 10 years of his life. So in the early morning he would take his place at the bench, drink his beer, and by around noon, he would stumble down to the convenience store for another one. He'd return to his bench, and do it over again, and by night time, he would return to the place at which he rested his head.
It was his life.
He was the city's ghost.

The town of Phoenix, Arizona will ever stick into memory as a hot and dry unusably small city, a trade mark Hyatt stands as the tallest building noticed by passerbyers speed along the highway. Restaurants usually flaunt their air conditioned atmosphere and offer a soothing mist system to coax tourists and business men to come in and fulfill their appetite. The Jamba Juices are always busy, and it's likely that one might just be able to catch a little line, but that's seldom seen. The heat pushes people to speed up their pace, and become a bit pushier.
The buses in Phoenix were always busy, sometimes they became cram packed, the people often resembled a can of sardines, and to see the buses unload was a riot.
One faithful attendee however, was a young lady named Dusty. She was a local, she was white. She had long brown hair that she decided to hide so it wouldn't attract the strangers she struck up conversations with. Her teeth however, didn't resemble your tipical American, they were stained in her past life ( which is one she does not choose to brag about), but her smile could be seen from a distance, and it's a warm smile that could, in fact, be your cup of coffee on a cold Bradford night. She wasn't all that tall, but her confidence sometimes stood as tall as the Hyatt in Phoenix. And a smile was always slapped on her face. It seemed as if she was the happiest person in Phoenix, and she often credited that towards her God that she claims saved her life. She often was responsible for converting random strangers to Christianity, on a good day she would win over about 10 people. And it seems that it was her full-time job. She never had to worry about money, it seemed as if money would just fall over her lap, much like that feather in forest gump at the end of the movie that falls somewhere significant.

Dusty would not know what was to hit her yet, as she stepped on the plane to travel to a lonely city in Hungary.

To be continued?....