I rolled right through my first week of Fuzz. Results may be hard to come by,
as its descent rather than a climb. Middy slops down the chicken and taters while I am in the corner, back snapping my thumbs for entertainment. I quelled my photo thirst in classic Keystone Light fashion, removing all sense of old memories and tired faces staring at me from the walls of my bedroom. I took down Erika, Keely, Ali, Lauren, the other Erica, another Ali and even Arianna. Photos I hung up two years ago with hopes of motivation and success, trophies of pretty girls, friend and family, to keep me friendly in the lonely nights. I slugged some Keystone Lights, got beat on a straight draw at my poker table and then came upstairs, not wanting to see those faces tonight.
Right then and there I decided it was time for new views. Ansel came out in calendar form, his black and white vision created so long ago. I’ve taken to his eye in much of my work. Colors are too hard to control and those beautiful shadow lines disappear. And then I am adding a large portrait by Wyeth, brown in color and “Open Window” in name. Create in front of the creative, I say.
Got a Facebook invite and a message in the past two days. Ignored them both. Had a face to face conversation and a reunion of an old friend. I’ll take the latter and the process it took to get there.
Of course this is just the first third of my Fuzz truck. L. Loke on the other side of the office has tossed a couple of old chairs over the side, unsturdy challenges each.
Submit my works – its coming. Need to find the right place. If you know where that is at, I am all ears. Maybe I need a fancy web site. No, that’s what this is. And I run one. Let’s go to contests. Submit it up.
And then she wants me to control my social life. I think that’s a nice way of saying, get a social life. I’ve manned up,
went on my first blind date and am tracking down a match for the Foo Fighters on Thursday. I resume control. I resume a task. Learn more, see more, listen more. New people are everywhere and I plan on meeting all of them.
In fact, for your treat here is a poem I wrote about a brown-haired girl named Brenna I met last May on the Main Line. (got her number and she said she was leaving for Africa for the summer, never got the chance to go out with her).
Brenna In the Black Dress 5.19.07
My pen feels empty
in drained and gone.
The blanks need to be filled,
my imagination
trying to out-run itself.
Can’t scratch the lottery ticket
need to back-pocket this one
let it simmer.
I speak literally
in this poem
read not into any of it.
Hoped to get one page of words
layed out on the lines
before I took another look.
Let me get some water….
The eyes melt me
looking in and out
I let go, all I can be.
I hold nothing back, free from doubt.
Your song, I want to hear
every note, hopefully twice.
Leave for a month, leave for a year
that one smile will suffice.
I’ll save the ticket
scratch away no more.
hopefully one date, a landing I could stick it.
At Kelly’s by chance, praying you don’t walk out the door.
A bathroom to the side
Wildcat seniors sway the tide.
I met an NBA guy in one place
got to talk to a beauty
with such vigor amongst grace.
More than any I saw
shine and polish be damned
her smile so giggly and raw
My goal of goals
you leave me in awe.
Your dark dress fell all around
soft skin, I had to try
keeping my feet on the ground.
–VC
