the aforementioned card was prepared and put with a bottle of bombay sapphire wrapped silver. the card was small, about 3"x4", and was made of thick red paper, cut and folded by myself. the front was stamped three times with "RECEIVED" in red ink. in the black laser jet inside, bold type was word processed and printed in times new roman, no caps. the card read:
"
comrades come in waves.
against our will, drinks blur, tides change.
thanks for everything. love,
matt
"
Thursday, April 24, 2008
Sunday, April 20, 2008
it was on both of our birthdays
the day after yours, the day before mine. we met to toast the future, to kill our insecurities for just a bit and justify having problems that seemed lame in comparison to those around us. i'm sure we shared that feeling where we wished we had important drama and not this mundane, pointless shit.
fast forward a year and a few weeks. fast forward the drinks as well. sitting in the same bar with different company, though more solid in stature. slightly less drunk. a bottle as a gift is being thought up in my head, wrapped with slight spite, to be given to last year's laboring. card reading: "condolences. sorry to fuck over your friends and family, thanks for everything. Love, Matt". no, i think i'll change the card, for apologies and forbears mix to trite judgment.
rode back to the room in a cab. saw my father's face peer out the window at the tall buildings, and for a second saw him as a child. i feel this often still, helpless but exploring, and forget that we all feel it at times, even the best of us, no matter what. on the way up we passed a club. i remember peering at leather jackets and short skirts during adolescence and thinking, "wow, those people must know exactly what they want", being intimidated by their freedom, their smiles and deviations. now having been in that position, joining the ranks to compete for sex etc, i realize that nobody REALLY knows what the fuck they're doing. i mean, we DO, but then we have those moments that take out our earth from under us and leave us landing, like, "what the fuck". humbled, i walked up to the room. slept in swank with friend and family. went back to my own apartment the next night and realized i live in a vacation apartment, now and for the next week. it's a funny but nice feeling.
the blaring dawn is a white wall's only enemy.
fast forward a year and a few weeks. fast forward the drinks as well. sitting in the same bar with different company, though more solid in stature. slightly less drunk. a bottle as a gift is being thought up in my head, wrapped with slight spite, to be given to last year's laboring. card reading: "condolences. sorry to fuck over your friends and family, thanks for everything. Love, Matt". no, i think i'll change the card, for apologies and forbears mix to trite judgment.
rode back to the room in a cab. saw my father's face peer out the window at the tall buildings, and for a second saw him as a child. i feel this often still, helpless but exploring, and forget that we all feel it at times, even the best of us, no matter what. on the way up we passed a club. i remember peering at leather jackets and short skirts during adolescence and thinking, "wow, those people must know exactly what they want", being intimidated by their freedom, their smiles and deviations. now having been in that position, joining the ranks to compete for sex etc, i realize that nobody REALLY knows what the fuck they're doing. i mean, we DO, but then we have those moments that take out our earth from under us and leave us landing, like, "what the fuck". humbled, i walked up to the room. slept in swank with friend and family. went back to my own apartment the next night and realized i live in a vacation apartment, now and for the next week. it's a funny but nice feeling.
the blaring dawn is a white wall's only enemy.
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