Shots

In a normal mind you'd be out already, laid waste by song lyrics and small recipes. Did I use those coupons in time, what is the next important birthday, who else is out there? There is a certain satisfaction in lingering, in the back and forth. I can obscure fickleness and kid myself as much as you do. I'm better at it, I've had more practice. The cementing of something is never much fun anyway. The possibility of an adventure is always better than buying the equipment, packing, training, getting your shots. The moment when you arrive and realize it really isn't like the books, it really isn't all that beautiful. It is a real place.

Levels

Maybe I'll text you later.

A million and one nights have been made, been broken, hinged on these words. The possibility of a day turning into a night into a late night into a morning into a relationship into a life. Put the period wherever it pleases you. And we always do. We put in the period, make it a certainty, make it a promise, and leave the resentment for later.

Out with friends. Bar hopping. Clear your schedule. Find things to do around the house. Find booze. Pace yourself. Wait for confirmation. Wait for information. Down a few quick shots. Get on their level. Never, not ever, be on a level all your own.

We've all spent nights hovering in that grey limbo, suspended in the uncertainty of an ellipsis, ready to pounce on a person or a bed. We've all fallen asleep and been fallen asleep on. We've all sat around in sweatpants and a nice shirt. Curbing every drink with water, hoping we haven't hydrated ourselves too much.

The Secret to Happiness

I asked a zen master to write down the secret to happiness, so that I could always carry it with me. He took a piece of parchment and wrote, "Grandfather dies. Father dies. Son dies. Girl you like texts you back promptly."

I look at him. "For true."

Smile

OK, but, like, when I say "smile," like... Like what if she has a great smile, right? Like, is it such a bad thing to smile? I don't think I would get upset if someone told me to smile. That means they must like my smile right? Like, if a pretty girl asked me to smile I'd immediately think, "Oh shit, this pretty girl wants me to smile because she likes my smile so she must like me!" And I'm a handsome dude. I mean, I'm not Guy Pearce or anything, or whoever people like these days, but I'm an all right looking kind of guy. Not that she has to smile because I'm attractive or anything... But how many things have I done for attractive girls? How many drinks that I've bought and meals that I've bought and cabs that I've paid for? I don't think it's the worst thing in the world to ask for one person to smile at you. I'm not asking for a limb. I'm not asking for her fucking teeth. I mean, ha, if I did, then she really wouldn't smile.

Real in My Head

I had a list of things for us to do but I never asked you so I never did them. Music went unheard, art unseen, places un... Went? Gone? Places I didn't go to, they stayed there while I stayed here looking at your name etched into the underneath of my table. But in my mind we heard that music, we danced to it, we talked about what that art meant to us. The real thing could never be as real as what's real in my head. Like the they don't show you the murder in a horror movie. Only I can't think of when anyone's tried to do a good version of that.

Your Side

Nobody asked if it was her idea. They all assumed it was mine. What an asshole, they called me, what an animal. I didn't want the pictures to be taken at all. I had to be talked into all of this. I took my comfort zone and blew the thing to hell, I reinvented my idea of what it means to trust somebody. trust them in a way I'd never trusted anyone, a side of trust I never wanted to explore. So when those pictures made the rounds and every stood staring, laughing, pointing, calling names. And making statements. Without so much as a, Now what's your side of things? It hurt. And it hurt coming from them. But it hurt when she said nothing. When she realized she'd gone too far. And when she took me aside and said she was sorry, I said there's nothing to be sorry for, you did nothing wrong. We did nothing wrong. Still. It's just certain things you want private, and certain things you want public.

Living Room Revolution

He was lucky. He got to sit on his couch and watch the world do great things. He got to see the revolution and the revolution was televised and he even paid for it. He got crisp picture quality and had sound surround him. The colors were vibrant and the crowds were so real he could touch them. And he could have touched them if he'd wanted to. He could stand and walk and run and talk and shout and cry and sing and be a part of something. He saw the people and the people looked like him. He saw the people and the people looked like strangers. They looked like friends. They looked like people he thought were enemies, people he'd never thought of before. They looked the way he felt inside. They did the things he felt like doing. And he got to see them all, listen to them all, watch them all, and he didn't have to go anywhere.