Monday, July 14, 2008

It would be difficult to frame our relationship without misconstrued elements of homosexuality being present. We live in a culture that thrives on friendship and mutual presence yet, given the current societal state, it borders on the impossible to communicate what it means, to give it definition without hints of effeminate or outright deviant tones. Women are given to addressing their others as girlfriends, yet the same by no means applies to men; curious isn't it? We are the boys after all; the guys; men. We aren't given to such lofty notions as companionship, we don't seek out someone to communicate the troubles of the world, we grab a fellow at the bar, at the party, in class etc ad infinum, then discuss matters of utmost importance: beer, women, drugs, sports. The general consensus is that if the subject at hand isn't somehow tied to one of those four, we are at a loss, incapable of communication until the prior subjects resume. The sick sad fact of the matter is I have found myself in that very loop more times than I really care to acknowledge.

I threw the cord into the backseat of my car, pondering its future. Will a home be provided or will it simply be caught in the same loop of being owned and re-owned until he no longer has a use, then left to rot, but never really die. I feel a chuckle well up but only allow a smirk to surface. I can't help but wonder back to the topic of manliness. Is that what I did it? Was it simply an extension of my own sodalital senses?

Wednesday, July 9, 2008


How does it feel? The question is posed on an indefinite, intermittent loop, rolling with the time of day and people I come across. Anymore, fine is insignificant. i go to work only to maintain continuity. I work in a state of complete decay. More robotic than the machinery I use, or that use me at this point. I am far past despair, entering a form that can only be described as having Pavlovian origins. The public school system never really gave me the privilege of knowing Pavlov, he did. The man who bettered me. Guided me. Though a year apart, it felt more times than not like he was ancient, imparting wisdom to me when the situation arose. Often times, I took our friendship for granted, going about my life as though perfection finally found its place among the tragedies of my life. In retrospect it should have felt unnatural, this idea that I could spend so much time with my significant other, reaping the benefits of my aptitude for attachment, and the moments where she was working or otherwise preoccupied I could easily (for the most part) find myself in his company, enjoying whatever tastes arose or simply discussing the politics of existing. He found me a job. In that respect he helped house me and escape the self-imposed perdition that was my father. Always a smile between us with not so much as a squabble arising.

"That will be 32.50 Mr. Barlowe." I handed her two twenties and told her to keep the change. Not like I wanted it anyway. My thoughts were elsewhere.