The Devil Himself
2004-11-27 5:22 a.m.
Dinner was absolutely perfect. My girl and I went to my boy R�s to spend it with him and his girl. After a good 14 - 16 or so hours of cooking and they spend a good 6 � 8 hours, it took us all of about 15 minutes to get completely full.In the final preparation (reheating my food and R and his girl finishing theirs), we cracked open the shrimp and cocktail sauce we brought and R and I finished that bottle of Black Label that got us ousted from the Bowling alley on my birthday. We made a few jokes about that night and I divulged my secret plans to get pictures of the guys who turned us away: start a site called IHateBouncers.com and distribute press releases to every major publication delivered within 50 miles of New York City. I�m not that spiteful, but entertaining the thought was quite that� entertaining.
Within an hour of arriving, we had this incredible spread� Some Swiss soup (R�s girl is Swiss), a perfectly baked chicken with damned good stuffing, stuffed shells, a crazy chicken salad thing and a delightful pear desert. That was their end. Mine was that of steak, shrimp and lobster for fajitas, a tub of guacamole, a big thing of grannie�s hot sauce (the recipe was enough for half a gallon, which I�d realized AFTER I was done making it, so R got some, I got some, and the sink got the rest), some gorditas, a big tub of my beans (sans the secret ingredient that my store only has on occasion- not this one), a rag filled with flour tortillas, some great white wine and a fireplace filled with candles a la my favorite lil bar on the West Side of Manhattan.
We all tried all of about 3 bites of everything on the incredible spread we put together� Then we kicked back with some mojitos with dark rum, which turned out very good. We talked some shit for a bit. R showed me his new Stratocaster � the technics 1200 of the electric guitar world, and within 3 hours we were all near comatose.
I hadn�t enjoyed thanksgiving (my favorite holiday of the year besides birthdays) this much in at least 5 years.
Today, I�ve been switching between reheating leftovers, drinking light beer and sleep. A good day to spend some time with my girl. We don�t mention it much, but our days are somewhat limited. We�ve already talked it all out a few times. I�m all about communication, and this entire thing has been laid out on all ends. We know what�s coming. It�s a sad and phenomenal thing. There�s more to it, but that�s for some other time.
But now I feel the introspective cloud gathering above� These late hours when I don�t have a deadline to rush towards. It can be a dangerous thing to get me alone with a drink in my hand. You would never believe the thousands of incredible and devastating stories floating around in my head.
I�ve been here before. I remember my last few weeks in Chicago. A nostalgic tidal wave devouring my being. I was stoned with memories. I nearly fell to tears a few times, just thinking of all that I would miss. I made a few people promise they would visit me, knowing it was a tall order, that wouldn�t take flight.
I�m not quite there yet. Although the dreams are starting. I still get the vivid dreams about the people closest to me and more about those who were closest to me at another time. Some are of redemption or sacrifice. Others are of shared dramatic moments gone a different way. Some are of anarchy and rebellion � subjects I�d held dear for quite some time.
It�s something I�ve retained from my mother�s mother. Throughout her life she would dream of things and within days find herself in situations directly related. These days her dreams are far more depressing. She dreams of friends - days before they meet their maker. I was haunted by her stories as a child. Ghost stories, but very real. The cynicism of wanting to be normal numbed me to them, but on secret occasion they still give my spine a chill.
I get my heart wrenching dreams and regular dejavu from her. My mother asks her mother not to tell her about her dreams anymore. Too depressing.
So I don�t share these dreams as they are for me. I sit through my sleepy remembrances of the past and my awakened memories of things that never happened in silence. Keeping that glaze over my eyes while I could swear I know what�s about to happen next, if at least for that moment. I�ve avoided this power handed to me for so long, that I�ve grown to not notice - besides at times like these.
It used to spook my closest friends out. I�ve even had a few call me the devil himself, but I think that�s more due to my attempts to convince people to enjoy selfishness. A terrible thing religion has done to our minds. It�s allowed us to deny ourselves so much pleasure that a reasonable bid to enjoy one�s self is seen as an evil influence that should be avoided and cursed. I must be cursed.
And what if I am the devil? I took 3 months of my life at one point to ask this question of myself. I read the dialogues of Plato and some shit about eastern religions and I think the Celestine trilogy gripped me for a moment at the time (the first book wasn�t bad, but those 2nd two were such a waste of tree and ink). I avoided the hundreds of people I �knew so well� at the time. I sat back pondering of the world around me� trying to figure out why I never quite fit in.
I didn�t know those people so well. But not the way you might think. Back then I was well confided in. I was trusted far more than any human has the capability of being trusted. I could never be a news or magazine writer as I�d never given enough of a damn about other people�s business. Not that I wouldn�t listen, as if my ears and opinion were picked, then they were attentive. No, their stories were mine, but their business was not.
And I was not the one to divulge their business. It wasn�t mine to give. So when so and so came to me and asked for an alibi, I gave him one. I called a couple heads to add to the story and squander the evidence. I let him crash on my couch for a couple days. And weeks later, when question by authorities, it wasn�t my business.
And when another so and so came to me with his torn marriage, I heard it all out. I called her, got to know her, and sat with them. I said nothing. A silent referee. It was a lack of communication, which tends to be the grandmother of all problems. They�ve since split up, but she wasn�t threatening his life anymore. Both of them are happily married elsewhere now and are good friends to this day.
And of course, when another so and so caught a case. I made the efforts to find him sanctuary elsewhere and off he was. Haven�t heard from him since, besides an occasional postcard. But it�s just not my business.
These days I don�t carry that trust. Maybe it�s my momentary reputation which has finally dwindled. Maybe it�s this city. Maybe our age. For a while, I enjoyed the silence. No more stories haunting me. No more drunk dials from dudes I hardly knew to ask what they should do about being caught fucking their girl�s best friend. No more brick-shattered windows in attempts to exorcize the demon within me to convince them to do such things. Ah yes, consequence is always the fault of others. Those who know different are cursed.
Yes, I am that evil bastard. The king of free will. I live within consequence. When in a quiet public setting, I often *giggle to myself about all the crazy shit I could do at any moment.
A good friend mentions often that she could deal with free will and consequence better if wasn�t so much drama involved. But for me, that drama is the definition of our lives. Without drama, we have no love, or hatred, or sacrifice. We are no better than the machines I ranted about the other day.
I was the devil, not because of my enjoyment of consequence, but because of my ability to help others understand and enjoy their own. In my three month journey behind my thoughts, I found solace not in solitude, but in solidarity.