Steaklatechip Cookies Chapter 2

By the first week, Griffin had been annoyed by the lack of space in his car due to the aforementioned oversized dresser. Annoyed so much, in fact, that he decided to procrastinate no longer and take the damn thing apart. He had received it as a moving gift from his grandmother, along with a plate of the best meatballs this side of Genoa. Tawny had been on his case all week about the dresser, but when he suggested she take it apart, she merely acted annoyed and walked away. The hinges were rusty from the vapor of bruscetta and plate after plate of Christmas cookies, making it increasingly difficult to remove the sticky bolts and hinges. Without any help from Tawny, Griffin dismantled the beast and moved it piece by piece to their second floor abode. One flight of stairs felt like three.
Meanwhile, Sal was putting up his Ziggy Stardust poster, predominantly displayed opposite the bedroom doors.
Griffin, armed with the front left cabinet door, passes him. ‘That’s tacky dude.’
‘You’re tacky.’ Sal elaborated, ‘Its a reminder that today is it. That you don’t get another today until tomorrow, but that’s another story.’ Sal would not consider the significance of this until much later, when his story was quite another indeed.

It was the sunset of summer, of one to be forgotten, of one where the destination is unimportant, but the path is everything. The past few months had succumbed to the post-adolescent changes. Griffin sat on the stoop with his feet on the fallen tree. He thought about that day in the park, after school let out. He thought of Tawny; the way her fingers fell across her lap during economics. About five weeks before that day in the park, he sat beside her. He would never forget those fingers and the eyes that met his when she noticed his staring; they hinted at innocence hidden behind an ulterior motive. Those deep eyes were made deeper by then black hair killed him in the park that day.
‘go up and talk to her man, don’t be a pussy’ Sal urged between long drags of a cheap cigar.
Griffin was never good at these things. Everyone always told him to ‘act naturally’, but he could never be himself at times like these. What is ‘natural’ anyway? We’re creatures of habit, but also of circumstantial behavior. What is natural is what pertains to the moment. At this moment he naturally wanted a stiff drink. No such luck, Griffin. He whistled a relevant alice cooper song in his head with his hands in his pockets.
Tawny was like his first kiss in his parent’s basement. Yeah, Tawny was like that, but at the same time she wasn’t. The opposite showed through; even throughout her consistency she imposed on herself, she held a surprising amount of spontaneity. The monster truck tshirts and yearlong construction boots did not scare him anymore, nor did they define her character to him, like it did for others. He pushed the cigarette into the gravel and threw it into the flowerpot his mother had given him. Like his first cigarette at 16, his last had tasted of the pressure of others. Pressure to conform, pressure to perform. Tawny seemed immune of this. He thought it was just the motion of putting his hand to his mouth, but he needed it now. Vitamin N. He laughed at this to make light of the situation, out loud, for there was noone to hear. He did this too much; Trying to balance things. But balance is not performing.

Yet I Don't Know What to Do

After a fuck
with a loved one
it is quiet in the room
and our bodies stretch out
across each other
to dry the sweat.

Outside,
wind hammers the outer walls
rain slams against the windows.
It sounds violent
and tumultuous
and I can't help but think
there are cats
and dogs
that must be out there tonight.

In my comfort, I realize my shortsightedness.
"You fool," I laugh
"there are humans out there too."

It is quiet in the room.
It is so warm that I can stand naked
smoking a cigarette
comfortably.
There are people out there too.

Inspired by 2008 predictions and pop music

1: Has 1 hrd of Rivers Cuomo?
Cause he like revitalized
Rock and roll
In the late twentieth century
He did it with lightning
And nineteen fifties shades

He wrote a book once
No a bible, about rock
And roll and songwriting
Apparently he studied
Guns and Roses
And Nirvana
And knows
He knows
How to make the perfect
Song.

2: A girl with a crutch
That I used to know
When I went to bars
And got real drunk
On weeknights
And missed class
Said hi to me
In a coffee shop
Off campus
I enthusiastically
Responded with
“Hey.”
I used to think
This girl was cute
Now I can’t
Remember her name

The bar we used to
Frequent had this way
Of making her face
Look beyond beautiful
Almost fake
I saw her in daylight
At her work
Making smoothies
And saw her face
During the day
And not buzzed
Off two for ones
Or two dollar specials
And she had this make
Up of epic proportions
Strewn about her face
At that moment
I realized why she was
Beautifully fake
In barlight because
Her face was smothered
In paste and white and creams and moisturizes
Seriously grotesque
Riddled with scars

I felt bad then
That I had liked her for her face
And not because I thought
She was interesting
Just a good lay
I stopped seeing her
At the bar
I stopped going
And I saw her studying
In a coffee shop
With two crutches
High on pharmaceuticals
Studying identity.

1: I like Kevin Barnes
As far as entertainers go
He is without compare
As far as his generation
Is concerned

Glam seemingly has not
Lost its initial definition
From the late seventies
Early eighties and he
Embodies it successfully

His voice is something
Of a miracle. Semi-monotone
Suggesting a subdued
Personality altered in slight
By chemicals or weed

Which I think speaks
For a certain number of
Those in (between) youth
And his theatrics mimic
Our mutual escape from reality.

Into fantasy
And shenanigans on stage
That make us all believe
We’re not living. We don't
Breathe despite lungs
ing

Nineteenth Century

I do not believe in God.
Not yours or your father’s
Or Chaucer’s or Gaius J.
Caesar’s I do not believe in
A higher power
But I believe in you
Your words and Nature

Why not begin again?
Like you proposed
New gods for a new era
New Traditions to follow
New scenes of the picturesque
Where I’ll walk with you
Beyond retrospection

Yet time moves and has
Since your days of youth
And I’m sorry I’ve read
Your psalms a century
And a half too late to
Believe in your god
Your concept of faith

But I do believe in you
Your thoughts, your pen
Timeless
In an age where everyone
Believes in themselves
Endlessly
I think of you, dearest Emerson

As I sit and watch the tide come in
And the moon wane
And the ants bear weight
And the children play
And the birds wade off the vibrant
Green banks of Lake Michigan.

Dream Predictions for 2008

1. A woman wearing all black asks me where "Yoko" is. After deducing that she is talking about Yoko Ono, I tell her I have no idea, and she remarks "She is gone."
Translation: Yoko Ono will die in 2008.
2. Between philosophical sips of coffee in a public park, I found myself suddenly overwhelmed by a feeling of desire for a breakfast sandwich that somehow worked avocados into the mix. The details came slowly, but eventually I created the finest brex-mex creation this side of the mason-dixon.
The 2008 Brex-Mex:
-Texas toast, toasted.
-A poached egg.
-3 slices of pepper smoked bacon.
-One medium-tall slice of avocado.
-Two slices of tomato.
-Sauteed red onions.
Translation: This sandwich will be served at restaurants across the nation in 2008.
3. Dennis Kucinich offers me a bong rip.
Translation: Dennis Kucinich, after being ignored in the race for the U.S. presidency, will head the secession movement for the Republic of Cascadia. After succeeding, he will smoke a bong while addressing the new Republic.
4. A four-eared, two-nosed, no-handed monster chases me through a slop forest.
Translation: The social mores surrounding the practice of nose and ear picking will be considered outdated.
5. I am faced with a stack of bills for energy, loans, rent, tuition, and credit cards. A man in a suit, carrying an extraordinarily clean scalpel tells me that "We can take care of this in one simple procedure."
Translation: The voluntary sale of human organs will be legalized, following a suit that piggy-backs on the existing laws around abortion.
6. Two women walk toward me in a party, they laugh to each other and whisper, they come closer into the light when I realize that they are both about 80 years old.
Translation: Make-up will continue to make girls look hot from a distance, and expose them as nasties up close. Seriously.