Write, Mind

The Boss’ study. Jerrald sits behind his desk in his leather chair. His phone sits beside the ashtray. Every few seconds he taps the home button on his phone as if expecting a message, growing increasingly annoyed with each empty screen. Opposite him sits Jack, cool indifference on his face. He watches Jerrald for a minute before speaking. Jack: (Lights a cigarette) She’s not going to call. (Takes a long pull before he begins blowing O rings) Jerrald: You don’t know that. Jack: (Exhales a fine line of smoke) Jerrald, look at me. (Jerrald reluctantly pulls his eyes away from his phone) Yes. I. Do. She is not going to call. You wanted me to handle it right? Jerrald: Yes. Jack: Well, I handled it. And I’m nothing if not thorough. Jerrald: Yeah, but-- Jack: But what? We are not doing this again. I’m serious. I thought you called me here to talk about real matters. If not, I go. Jerrald: Fine. (opens the drawer to his desk, tosses the phone inside, snaps the drawer closed)...

Anguish : v. Be extremely distressed about something.  That’s a funny word right? Anguish... You stand on the wrong side of a door emblazoned with neon directions for everyone but you... and you feel anguish.  You consider yourself a master of wordplay when you’re me. Not in a Shakespearean sense, but a master of saying exactly what You know will make them laugh, make them think, make them cry. And when you’re me, you say these things because you believe them. “I feel nothing,” you say.  Not realizing you’re sensitive to a pin dropping on your emotions. Not realizing that what could’ve been a moment to learn and grow, is instead a moment you’ll think about for the rest of your life. And you feel anguish. They’ve got you pegged, right? A list of “ists” longer than your arm... Narcissist and Fatalist and Egotist and Ist and  Ist and Ist.  At what point do you become a realist? You think this, the neon placard searing her handwriting into th...

Mais bon à la guerre, Donc j’ai souvent floue les lignes, Et brûlé les ponts À mon coeur Au moins deux douzaine de fois J’ai trouver réconfort en disant Je savais que cela prendrait fin Alors répondre à une autre Avec les yeux « viens ici », Et voilà que ça recommence Un terrible spin, Ou faire du vélo à travers tous mes défauts vicieux Stupide Cupidon utilise un fusil et oblitérer les mœurs de l’amour Dame Chance abandonne moi Juste après les préliminaires Puis j’ai chercher et il y a une autre Confus, cus, qu'il est allé de travers Voir ce qu’ils aiment est ce qu’ils vont détestent, Et ce que je déteste Est que je ne mens pas Je dis que je suis têtu, Dire que j’ai froid, Dire que j’ai un côté plus sombre, Dire que j’essaie d’être un honnête homme, Mais la lutte avec ma fierté, Et avec les mensonges qu’on m’a dit par ceux que j’ai adoré Qui a laissé ou mort Donc je suis Prudent avec mon coeur Une seule touche Il n’y...

Louis C.K. said something once that stuck to me like the skin I wear. “When a person tells you that you hurt them, you don’t get to decide that you didn’t.” I try to live my life by basic principles of right and wrong. The notion reads easily enough, but right and wrong, like so many other things in this world aren’t clear cut. Because this world isn’t black and white. The world isn’t shades of grey either. We live in a techno-colored ball filled with billions of people. Each having their own ideas about why they’re experiencing the emotions they feel. My personal ideas about right and wrong are simple. If I cause harm to another person, whether physically or mentally, on purpose, I’m wrong. If I cause harm under the same guidelines accidentally and refuse to acknowledge I’ve caused harm, I’m wrong. Simple. There are no “buts” or “what ifs” or “in this situation.” History is filled with loopholes contrived by people who clear their conscious by setting parameters that make thei...