BILL sits in a mostly empty room. He is dressed like a stereotypical college student, wearing a hooded sweatshirt, jeans and Pumas. He sits at a table that has some decoration to it, but nothing too fancy. It should look lived in, the room, the table, and BILL. He's our everyman here. CARLOS walks into the room. He is much like BILL only a little bit better dressed. He carries a white box underneath his arm. He walks with purpose. BILL lacks any sort of purpose, and thus they are meant to be foils for each other.

Bill: Hey Carlos, my man, what's hopping?
Carlos: Nothing much Bill. How about you?
B: Oh man, I had this great day. I woke up at like 3, I watched some TV, made myself a burrito, oh man it was so good, like, it was bean and beef, oh man, so good.
C: That's nice...how's the job search going?
B: Oh yeah...you know man, I'm looking, looking at things.
C: What sort of things?
B: You know...jobs.
C: What kind of jobs?
B: The ones that pay, obviously.
C: Bill.
B: Look man, I'll get around to it. Like, I'm not in any sort of rush man, I just want to relax for a bit, take the scene in, you know? Like, I'm not worried,
C: I didn't say anything about being worried. We just have this rent to pay, you know?
B: Yeah man. Don't worry. I still have some money saved from that summer I spent cleaning dead animals up for the city. Man, shitty job, but I made a bundle. It's amazing how many people don't want that job.
C: Maybe you should go back to it.
B: Maybe.

(BEAT!)

B: What's in the box?
C: It's an apple pie.
B: Awesome man, I'm so hungry.
C: It's not for you, it's not for me either.
B: Who's it for?
C: Well, it's for this certain lady friend.
B: Like your mom?
C: Nah, Caroline.
B: Caroline eh?
C: She loves her pie.
B: She loves her food man. When was the last time she saw her feet?
C: What the fuck? Why do you have to do that?
B: Look man, just because you're dating a fatty doesn't mean I need to be nice.
C: Well you should be. Seriously, that's not cool, not at all. How would you feel if someone made fun of you for something you can't change?
B: Well man, like, she can change.
C: She has bad genes for that sort of thing.
B: You bring her pies. Whole pies. And all sorts of sweets.
C: So? She's a sweet girl. I want to do good things for her.
B: Man, you're enabling her, you're like, fattening her up for something...are you going to bake her into a pie? I mean, man, that would be so Shakespearian of you and shit...ironic too. You feed her pies, and then you make her into one. The pies come full circle, that's so yin yang it hurts.
C: Look, she's got a problem. She's really a nice girl. You should give her a chance.
B: I would, but I'm scared she might take a bite...
C: Whuh?
B:..of me.
C: Bullshit.
B: I heard she had a sister.
C: Bullshit.
B: A tasty sister.
C: Look. I love her.
B: What?
C: I love her, and I want to give her my pie. I went all over the state to find the best baker. All over. Up, down, left, right...I went where ever I could. I wanted to do right by her...
B: Do right by her?
C:...I'm going to tell her tonight. She's coming over here. We're going to eat, and I'm going to tell her I love her, tell her how I truly feel.
B: You've got it pretty bad, don't you?
C: You might say that.
B: Ok. You want me here or not?
C: I'd rather be alone with her, if you don't mind.
B: Ok. Just save me some pie.
C: I can't make any promises.

Time passes. BILL goes to a bar and gets good and drunk. CAROLINE (stupid me, why'd i pick that name? now I can't just do B and C...now i need to abbreviate. Goddamnit) comes over, and CARLOS talks to her. (AND FUCK! they're both CAR names. I am a stupid bastard. Next time I should plan this out instead of writing off the cuff)

Anyway, they're in the room. I should expand the room. The room has a table, the main door, and a door to a kitchen area, which we can see into. That gives us much more to work with, now doesn't it? So CAROLINE (ARGH) and CARLOS are in the main room. The pie is in the kitchen, and BILL is soon to come home.

CARL: So Caroline, how was the dinner?
CARO: Mmmm GOOD!
CARL: I'm so glad my sweetest cake.
CARO: CAKE?

Ok. It should be noted that in my mind, as I'm writing this, I'm picturing CAROLINE as something akin to Jabba the Hutt, with green slime and everything. CARLOS totally digs her. Bill has never actually seen her. Boy is he in for a shock! HAHA! SITCOMS!

CARL: Oh no my larger than life lovely, not cake.
CARO: Not Cake!?!
CARL: Oh not by a long shot.
CARO: NO CAKE!?!
CARL: No my dearest...I scoured the land, the whole state...
CARO: BLAARHGLE!
CARL:..to bring you something special tonight. For someone who is so lovely as yourself, so sweet and endearing, I wanted to give you something that you have never had before. I wanted to make tonight stand out, like the braile on the ATM placard of life. I wanted you to know that I feel for you, that I feel more than you think I feel. Oh my sweet, I love you so, with all my heart!
CARO: No Cake?
CARL: No my love! I have something special for you, something you will not believe, I have pie!
CARO: PIE!
CARL: That's right! But not just any pie, no. I have the best pie in the state, and perhaps the world. Hold on now, I shall fetch you a piece, a piece of our pie!
CARO: mmmm.

CARLOS scurries off into the kitchen. As he leaves BILL walks in. He sees or large lady and is sort of shocked.

BILL: Whoah.
CARO: Hmmm?
B: I just.
CARO: PIE!
B: I'm going in here now.

BILL enters the Kitchen and talks to CARLOS.

B: Who...what is that?
C: That's her! That's the love of my life!
B: Oh no.
C: What?
B: Look man, I knew she was fat, but come on.
C: What?
B: SHe's like a blimp. She's visible from space. When she goes to the beach southeast asia gets really nervous...
C: Stop it. Stop it right now. She may not be the prettiest thing in the world, but love is not about that. Love is deeper. It is something that you can't explain. It's something that just happens. I don't know why, but I love her. Everything about her is just amazing. The way she says my name, the way she walks, talks, sings, dances...everything.
B: She dances?
C: And sings. Oh, her voice is like a choir of angels on uppers...just so sweet.
B: But man...
C: She's my love. I don't care what you think, what you say. I love her, and that is that.
B: So it went well?
C: Very.

CARLOS gets the pie and heads out to CAROLINE. BILL follows.

CARL: Here you go my sweet.
CARO: Mmmmm. Pie.
B: So you're Caroline. So nice to finally meet you.
CARO: Meet?
CARL: No honey. Pie.
B: Yeah.
CARL: Is it good my dear?

(she nods emphatically)

CARL: I will get you more!

(he runs off to get more pie. mmm pie)

B: So...where did you guys first meet?
CARO: Food.
B: That's nice. Um.
CARO: Tasty.
B: What's wrong with you?
CARO: I like food.
B: I understand that, but you don't really talk. Like, I just see you eating more and more, like, he's bringing you a pie.
CARO: Who are you to judge?
B: Excuse me?
CARO: Who are you to judge me and the way I am.
B: I just...
CARO: Look. I used to be rail thin, I used to work really hard to keep that way, running and biking everywhere, watching what I ate, but I realized that I wasn't happy. I realized that I was beating myself up to try and be what other people wanted me to be. I realized that I was living for everyone else in the world, and not for me. So I gave in, and I started living for me. You may not think it, but right now I'm the happiest I've ever been. I heard what you said in the kitchen. That wasn't very nice. I like the way I am. Carlos is a little misguided, but he loves me for me, not because I'm thin, not because I'm fat, not because of any of that. He sees me as someone he likes for no other reason than that I'm myself, that I'm me, who I want to be, and not something I'm not. He loves me, and I feel like I couldn't be luckier. This is the happiest moment of my life.
B: I'm...sorry.
CARO: No you're not.
B: I really am. I had no idea. I just thought you were some sort of ravenous vacuum cleaner that just ate all the time. You showed no signs of even being able to form a complete sentence until now...I just...
CARO: Don't worry. Just don't.

CARLOS comes back in. On a seperate note, if this seems disjointed from now on it's because campus safety just came here and made me wake up brian so that he could move his car. some asshole backed into the fender, or under it, i should say. CARLOS has the pie.

CARL: Oh my sweetest dumpling, here is a pie for you, to quell your divine hunger!
CARO: PIE!
B: This is so fucked up, just so incredibly fucked up.
CARL: What?
B: Just this, like, man, it's not making any sense whatsoever.
CARO: Good!
CARL: You like it? Oh I'm so glad, eat the whole thing! Eat it baby! Yeah!
B: Carlos man, seriously, that's creepy. Like, really really creepy.
CARL: Yeah!
CARO: Yeah!
B: Yeah..look. You guys are really great. Carlos, I've known you for years man, you've let me crash here, you took me in when no one would, and even though I pay rent, I really appreciate that fact that you would open your door to me. This place isn't big enough for two people, especially now, but like, you took me in, and made it for two people. Sure I sleep on the floor, but you gave me so much. I'm really really really quite disturbed by this whole situation, but like, you love her man, and that's beautiful. I'm here for you, and about what I said in the kitche? Just ignore it. It's cool. It's all cool.
CARL: We're cool now eh?
B: Yeah man. Like fruit.
CARO: Fruit?
CARL: Not yet honey.
B: Maybe later.
CARL: So...how cool are we?
B: Really cool man.
CARL: Yeah?
B: Yeah. Man, you're starting to freak me out again.
CARL: Well it's just that...
B: Just that what?
CARL: She's always wanted to try something...
B: What do you mean, "she's always wanted to try something"?
CARL: I mean that, well, she's wanted to indulge in the pleasures of the flesh.
B: No.
CARL: Why not man?
B: That's just...man, like, you're like my brother! That's just freaky man. And I don't like her in that way, not at all man!
CARO: (whining noise)
CARL: It's ok honey...Bill, look, I've never asked you for anything ok? Look at it this way, it's just a little thing. It won't hurt a bit.
B: I'm not having sex with you two, and that's final.
CARL: What? Oh no man, no. Wow, I can't believe you thought that. I mean, I guess with the whole, "pleasures of the flesh thing" you would think that. No I meant she wants to eat a person. As in you.
B: What?
CARO: Bill!
CARL: Get him hun!

CAROLINE grabs BILL in her oily clutches and takes a bite out of him. He screams and bleeds and all sorts of shit until she eats his head off. Then CAROLINE and CARLOS look at each other.

CARO: Carlos...
CARL: Wow...I'm actually surprised you ate him.
CARO: Well, I didn't eat the whole thing. Just his head region.
CARL: Can we get rid of that (the head)? It'll start to bother me after a while.
CARO: Ok...my...
CARL: Yes? What is it my...
CARL and CARO: Love!

The two of them embrace, covered in blood and preferably pie remnants. The hold each other and then start to kiss. She nibbles on his ear with a sinister look on her face, but then it turns to the widest smile imaginable. BILL'S HEAD talks to us.

BILL'S HEAD: So what's this all mean? To be honest, I can't really tell you. I don't see why I was decapitated by a morbidly obese woman. To be honest that part sort of came out of left field. But there is one thing that I learned, well, more than one thing. Firstly, love isn't something that you force. It just comes on. Where there is love, there is something amazing, and somethign that cannot be broken or beaten. Love binds people together in ways that we will never really understand. It makes people do things that they would never normally do. In this case, having your lady eat off your best friend's head. Maybe he wasn't that good of a friend after all. Ahem. The second thing I learned was that you should be really careful about who you move with, and make sure that they are of sound mind and regular temperment. Carlos was a nice guy. Like I said, we go way back, but this, well, I didn't see this coming. I guess you never really can tell about people until after the fact, until after you get hurt or hurt them. Hindsight is 20/20, as cliche as that is. Sometimes you hear things about people that you ignore. Take the advice. I heard something about Caroline eating her sister. I thought it was a joke. I kind of believe it now. Well, not that it matters much at this point. As the little bit of blood runs out of my head, of me, I will leave you with this. Love is a wonderful thing, in all it's forms, but boy, can it hurt.

with that BILL'S HEAD blinks a few times slowly, then stops. Maybe his body should be spurting blood on the couple that's making out. That would be quite the lasting image.

(so what the fuck is all that? I don't know, but it's something. it was started at 3.21 am and finished at 4.50 am, with a break in there while brian went and dealt with the campus popo. When I wrote this I wanted two guys to fight over apple pie...didn't quite end that way, but I did get to work in the girlfriend eating a dude. The dude. Man, this was an odd piece. Enjoy it, or not, it's there, and it's one of those things i am definately proud and a little creeped out to post)

-ccm

"I know I know, I said that I would quit.
Alright I promise no more after this.
You don't know how I tried to forget what it was like."

So I am intoxicated now, as per my usual, but then again this is a special night.

I'm not really sure at this point why it is a special night, but it just has that feeling. THough, while it does feel remarkable in a way, it also feels empty. ALways feels empty.

But this is interesting. Tim got down while drinking some, about some personal things. We walk out of the bar to some friends, and this fellow claims that Tim bumped into him, making him drop 1 of his 3 slices of pizza. I don't agree with this kid. Tim says he is sorry, but the kid is irate. Adam James steps in and calms the situation down. Tempers flared but they cooled.

However, this is the first time that I have ever been intoxicated and full of rage. This man was yelling at my close friend, my brother, and I swear to God (if there were one) that if he harmed so much as a hair on Tim he would have been in such a bad way. I've not felt so protective in such a long time, but to feel that way in such a primal nature felt good. I really care about the kid.

Because of that, or maybe I just realized it then, I have this odd fraternal bond to my man Tim. He's such a good man, in spite of what some people might tell you, he's really on the ball and honestly a person that everyone should know. His honesty and character make me envious, and really push me to try and be better. He's honestly one of the people here that I always want to know, and I feel truly amazed that I've been able to get to know him.

He's like a brother to me.

But moving away from psychotic tangents for a second...it was Earth Day today. I did my part. I drove to campus, hung out at the festivities all day, then drove back hom. I am killing the earth by being such a typical college student. I think that's great in an ironic way, but far too typical. Hey, what can you say to someone who knows that they're being a dick anyway? Once you realize you're doing something horrible, it kind of takes the fun out of pointing it out.

But anyway, I should sleep soon, while the rain is still falling and the fog has our campus in a loving stranglehold. I wish certain people were here right now that I could wax poetic to. Maybe the time for that has past. Maybe there is no longer that outlet. I hope it still is there, because it was great and always will be great.

Nostalgia for anything is a bitch and a half, and honestly will cause you more trouble than it's worth. The past is full of smiles and tears, but we can never get the past back, so we should really move on. So move on, for me, you, those you love, and those you will.

Not making much sense, as usual, but just throwing my thoughts out there for you

-ccm

sickly and salty
terribly awkward
helping out friends
tying up loose ends
thinking of the water
maybe somebody's daughter
and the shower to come
not to mention the $5 I won

Blagh. You ever been gambling and you get up on your money, you break even? Always walk away. Take the money and run. For a bit at least. Even if it is only $5, it's something.

-ccm

Wow, the post i made last night so did not get posted. Kind of a bummer, but not that big of a loss. It was just me being morose about leaving, seeing pain in people's eyes, and thinking what goes on behind us all.

Today I am seeing the Handsome Boy Modelling School. Dan the Automator is one of the main men in this crew, and to be honest, it'll be weird seeing him live. This is based mainly on the fact that I wrote this big paper on Deltron 3030, a project of his, Del's, and Kid Koala's. If Del is at the show, I will die. It'll be like meeting Elvis, if he were on heroine and a rapper.

But today I will think about how experience is different for each person, or experiences, I should say. They can be so altered by substances and different things that we can never really be sure of ourselves, of what really goes on, or what is reality. I'm not really thinking in the philosophical sense here, that's not my realm, but I am thinking more in the sense that we can misconstrue things, read too much or too little into situations, and generally make asses of ourselves over a plethora of situations.

We can't really be sure or good about anything until it's past. Either that, or we have other people bear witness to our deeds, our misadventures, and remind us forever how they failed or succeeded, how we died or lived, how we go on. We need other people to know that we indeed do exist, and that our experiences are our own. But wait.

"Write in recollection and amazement for yourself" - Jack Kerouac

So what does that say? We may not be sure of what goes on, and we need people to exist, but in a strange way, our own perspectives make things more interesting. I've told and heard a story about myself and my friend John almost getting into a massive fight with some kids about 100 times. It's a great story. Thing is, the details change depending on who tells it. I go for a more subtle approach. We were quiet, and this unsettled them (the adversaries) and they left, even though they outnumbered us 8 to 2. When John tells the story, I'm a frothing mess and he is holding me back. I yell and scream and he's telling them to run.

"What sticks to memory, often, are those odd little fragments that have no beginning and no end"
-Tim O'Brien, "The Things They Carried"

We lived the same situation, but we each tell it differently. It reflects our personalities. In him I can see that I exist, that I was there and things happened, but through our stories we see things we missed, and it makes me question life. Was I really frothing, ready to kill? Were we really quiet? There are some consistensies in the stories; attires, numbers, a bike, a cigar, etc, but the action changes. The outcome is the same, but really that's not the point.

I guess what I am trying to say is that in life there are so many ways to see things that we can never be sure about any single event. We can find what we want everywhere, and we can fool ourselves into believing things that are not and never were true. We are wonderful beasts for this ability, yet ultimately damned, as hope can be the crulest mistress of them all. When hope is there, and fades, it is the saddest of all things.

Here's to hope.

-ccm

I have an odd shaped head to neck configuration. Just noticed that. Meh.

It's a beautiful day on this campus and in New London. I hope it stays this nice. I am looking forward to a warm rain though. That's possibly the greatest singular weather condition ever.

-ccm

Tonight I am empty
tearing apart frat boys trying to lay a girl
defacing academic buildings
walkin with tim
being a college kid
with woes galore
and alcohol abundant
thinking of all those things to do
but thinking that i will do them
and get them done
I will graduate
and fuck the system
I will be amazing in their eyes
disenfranchised over the loss of my mentor
and the direction of my academic life
derailed by better works to be done for people less fortunate
inspired by those who are here and brilliant
examining those who are not
and wondering
why the hell am I here, and still coming here?

-ccm

Man, I would make a shitty combat photagrapher. It also shows up really well in movies when you've been holding your arm up for 40 minutes and you are constantly looking away from what you are doing to protect yourself from moshing kids. But hey, the audio came through.

That was for Head Automatica. They had been off for 6 months thanks to their lead singer's bout with Krohn's disease, but they are back, and in incredibly fine form. I taped their show from right up close, and even with some help from a very determined and drugged out girl named Karen, it was still shaky as fuck.

But hey, let's back up some.

The day began late. Woke up about noonish with no real plan or intent. Well, I had a plan for later, but not at that point. Bummed around for a while before getting the call to action, and before you knew it, and 1 parking ticket from campus safety later, I was on the way to SUNY Purchase for a free show to end all free shows.

Adam, Tristan, and Ryan were my compadres on this journey into the other state, the Empire State, and into infamy. Or so I hoped. We didn't quite become the scourge of SUNY, but we did manage to have quite the interesting time. The drive itself was uneventful, full of traffic and wind, but our arrival was not put off for long, and we made good on our intent to have a great time.

You're dropped off in a strange place, where you know no one and not what to do in case of emergency or trouble. Your only contact is a friend of a friend who has been described to you as "fucking crazy". I asked Tristan if Karen, his friend was , "Kitten killing crazy". He said no. He was right. The first thing she asked us was if we wanted any drugs.

WE go to her room. We have a backpack full of beer and a little bottle or raspberry vodka. Converse Allstars abound, being the shoe of choice for the indy crowd that populated this school like roaches in a subway. These kids, my age and younger, were doing cocaine (The Albino Smurf as Ryan dubbed it) off of a blue credit card, or perhaps it was an ATM card. There's an emblematic quality to that, but I'll let you think about it. They snorted, they drank, they smoked.

The strange thing was that I was expecting people on cocaine to act like they do in movies, which is to say, I expected them to get hit with an immense headrush and suddenly act very hyperactive. It may be the fact that these kids seem to do a lot of coke (or smurf), but they seemed remarkably sedated on the powder. It was very surreal indeed.

To digress from drugs for a minute, we were all very hungry. Being manly men (menly men?) we marched over to the local food shed. The concerts we were there to see, Cage and Head Atuomatica, were being held at an ourtdoor stage set in a green surrounded on all sides by dorms. The green was in turn outlined by food stands selling all sorts of unhealthy things. We opted to split a blooming onion 3 ways. it costed something like 5 dollars. Adam gave the man a 10, and he got 15 back. Somehow, we were making money.

Daughters, or Daughter was on the stage when we hit the green. They are noisy. Grindcore is perhaps their genre, but I cannot say for sure. The one thing that I can say is that their lead singer was fucked out of his mind. "You guys want to see my cock?", he shouted to the crowd. "Too bad. This is a free show. I ain't showing you shit!", her replied to the apathy of the indy audience. There was a major moshpit to the noise coming from the stage, and slight looking man in black, with "Maine" on the back of his hoodie was forcefully propelled a great distance in the air and landed awkwardly upon his ankle. We all kind of ignored him for a bit, but then Ryan (a gentle soul) went over to check on him. The kid's ankle had ballooned up to an insanse size in just a minute, suggesting a possible break or sprain. I came over (being an authority on fucked up ankles) and suggested ice. So Ryan and I went to the beer tent to get some ice. A security guard stood in the way. Instead of giving us ice he went to the injured kid and told us to carry him to the tent. I've never seen a man with such a horrific looking ankle injury get up and walk away so quickly in my life. He would slump by the tent later, but that cop scared the shit out of him.

"So who are you a guest of?", he asked us. Thankfully, Tristan was on the phone arranging for us to get guest passes, which we lacked at the time. To be chronologically honest, this part happened before the cocaine, so we had met Karen yet, and could not get our passes. But we would, and we would be fine in the long run.

Things settled down after the coke and cripple. We ended up getting lunch at this vegan place, and I learned that Boca burgers are not only good, but great. Mmmm. While eating there Adam and Ryan get starstruck when the notice that Head Automatica just walked in with Cage in tow. Tristan flips his shit.

Tristan had been given the chance to interview these people, but had pretty much given up hope of them ever getting back to him. Through sheer dumb luck we stumbled upon the gold in the river, and Tristan could perform his interview. Head Automatica was like a huge orgasm waiting to happen to the kid, but Cage, he was another story.

Cage is a white man who raps. He was institutionalized and does many, many drugs. He sings about violence and death and is very graphic with his lyrics. Tristan was convinced that he was going to incur his wrath and leave the show on a stretcher. Reality would defy convention, and it would turn out that Cage was not only a good interview, but really open with our fair lad, in fact giving him the scoop on an unpcoming project that he is working on. Head Automatica was also incredibly cooperative, and Tristan was visibly shaken and smiling after the experience.

More coke, more indy people, more booze, cigs, pot, etc. Orgy of drugs. That card sure got a lot of usage. Mutliple uses. You take the cash out with it, then snort it up. It was time to rock.

Cage went on first. I swear to god he did a line before one of his songs, he was so sedate and contemplative. He was really great. His hype man was kind of a dick, but his name is something akin to "Yak Balls", if not that exact name, so what can you expect?

Head Automatica was just amazing. Their energy and life were stellar, and the crowd just blew up big time for them. My three buddies got to see the show from front and center. I hung back a few rows to film. I went into total self defense mode. I would hold the camera up, then look around, check the picture, look around. I was ready to get hit, but sort of by being so ready to take a hit, my picture suffered. Oh well. It came out pretty well, in fact. The most interesting moment for me had to be when a mosh pit sort of materialized around me, and I had to hold onto the camera for dear life, trying not to hit anyone with it, drop it, or let people hit it. I kept filming, and though you can really only see black forms, you can still hear the music.

The return trip was full of guy talk about the obvious things, and it was very good indeed.

The guitarist from Hatebreed was at the concert too, in the green room with the bands, where we did the interview. He is the scariest man alive.

"I'm gonna burn down your house like a Talking Head" - Cage

-ccm

Hendrix always helps me remember.

Numerous nights I have been wasting away in a wash of alcohol, and though they are pleasant, they are empty. The memories from them are often hazy, not unrecallable, but not me, not at my best, not what I want to remember as the best times of my life. The sad thing is that this is what I do all the time, and it is fun, but I want more from this place.

It's a nice thing then that I'm on my way out. I've wanted far too much for far too long, and time has caught up with me. Cheap novelty was never my thing, as much as I do adore it, and the novelty is wearing off, things are wearing thin, and a part of me asks, "Is this it? Is this as good as it gets?"

What if that is it? What if right now I am the happiest that I will ever be. I am surrounded by people who I absolutely adore and love, I am getting to know more people as time goes on, I have a roof over my head and food readily available. I can waste away my nights in alcoholic hazes and the days recovering and wandering from encounter to encounter. Work is there, but not that much of a burden. This may be it, in terms of excellence.

But then there is possibility. What if all goes well and I get the jobs I want, if I move with the people who I adore to a place that I have always wanted to go? What then? Regardless of how good the future is, I shall leave a piece of my self here, and that is something I can never really get back...this place has changed me so much. For the better? There is only the better, in my mind.

There is no stopping at this point. I see so much there now, and so much I will do and enjoy. People are what I love, and people I will enjoy. Maybe not now, but in a few days. Maybe not ever. That's the pessimist in me talking.

I'm whining about the thing that all seniors are thinking. I'll never see anyone here again. I'm going to lose touch. I am going into the big world with nothing to offer and no certainty. We're full of those cliches, those terms, and all that trepidation, but we can't stop that. We can only keep on pushing, hope for the best and expect the worst. That's where I am now, and that's where I will stay.

Hell, I've always been there. I just want some fodder for stories. Life after all is all about stories. I can't tell them in person; my particular sense of humour and absurdity really makes me like stories that lack punchlines but present odd situations. As much as I love these tidbits, other people don't. But I like to think that I can write, I really do. I've had some evidence in the past, and hopefully it continues to roll in. I always felt much more secure doing my talking with a pen or a computer screen than with my mouth.

But when I get going, I feel like I can really say some great things with that mouth, that often missused and unloved orifice on my body. I think that I can wax poetic with the best of them, but I never really can do that. I need to open up to someone in the most intimate of situations to be able to say that. Other than that, I need to be sobering up, lacking inhibition, and full of love for the world and all the things in it.

I can make people cry. I did that once with nice words. I really think that was an amazing moment in my life. Well, I did it once to someone I love very much, and once to a good friend. The love was very sweet. She was having a bad day, so I got her a small chocolate and took her to this parking lot that overlooks the town. I told her all the things I love about her, and the moment, the nature and the nurture, all of it that I could think of. She cried, and I worried. She was so happy.

The second time was when I was describing the lost love to a friend late at night. I said some very true things in quite an odd cadence that I develop sometimes. I write with my mouth when this happens, and she was moved. I didn't mean to make her sad, or to move her, but it happened.

Desperation shows what we are truly made of. I am desperate for something in my life, but I can never really figure it out. I think that it's something that I will never really find, but I don't really mind this as much as I used to. When I find it, I'll know. I can't hope for anything else, and to be perfectly honest, it would destroy me to have it any other way.

Desperate and divine I will wander through this life, living, and thinking of things that could have been, never were, never will be, and may be. I will think on this, looking for that elusive luster that my life lacks, the shine, and not finding it. I'll give up. I'll laugh. I'll cry. I may die, but then be reborn in my journey, just wandering for that speck of hope. Maybe I have it, maybe not, but the fact is that I am alive, and will always be. I can't die, not yet, not now. Not unless I say so. That's it. I'm not dying.

I wish that were the case. I wonder about that sometimes, and really, it's not worth it. Just enjoy the ride.

I'm rambling, as per the usual. I am full of this feeling of letting my soul out of my body, cracking the ribs and rending the flesh. I want to scream out this energy, to use that atrophied mouth and tell a good story. I want to live a good story.

If you followed this, you are remarkable. It had no form, nothing to it, nothing to give or gain. It was just pure masturbation. That's what this whole thing is to me. Just a virtual penis to be stroking, hoping that someone is watching. I feel bad about posting here, but I'll do it anyway, over and over again. After all, we all need to get our rocks off somehow. Maybe this is it. Yanosy (english teacher who changed my life) said all writing is masturbation. If this is the case, I'm some sort of perverted sex fiend.

I hope you enjoyed this, and I would recommend that you bring a towel next time.

-ccm

A fool in the night
longs for things not to be had
sees beauty on a stage
and ponders
what does it mean?
what does it do?
who is it for?
what can I do?
The dance is a cloud
I fly through it
and get nothing,
yet somehow it all makes sense.

More sober and coherent reviews of the dances that I saw coming soon. Mostly positive, and by god, some of them really struck home.

Until the beer wears off (thanks Pat and Becky),

-ccm

MOM: Chris you're young, enjoy every bit of life out there. Do and explore fill your self with memories and when you get old you can tell stories of all your adventures to your children and grandchildren.

MOM: And when you get real old you can look back satisfied that you did what you wanted to do, saw what you wanted to see and shaped the world in some way.

MOM: then you can die in peace

thanks mom.

-ccm

Really, I'm all smiles right now.
Things have settled down some, and dancing is fun, even if you are really, really bad at it.

-ccm

TOPOFF 3 and the Little Engine that was Bombed by Terrorists

Shocked awake at 12.30

"Hey man, still want to go see the terror attacks?"

Tristan. I told him I would go. I jabber that I need a shower, but think better of it and decide to meet him at lunch. We're in New London. We're going to get some terror on film.

New London'd not the biggest city in the world, or in Connecticut, not by any means, and after just a few minutes of searching we find out terror. Well, not really. We find where the terror SHOULD be. Lots of cops, piggies in blue, standing around looking bored, but at the same time very on edge. In the car we jokingly talk about who we would call to front our bail, just in case we do get arrested. Tristan chooses his girlfriend. I choose Piya, because I figure she would get a kick out of it. Later that night she reminded me that she slapped me over the weekend. We have a funny relationship.

Parking. Where to park. The waterfront seem like a good idea, and we ditch the car in a 2 hour stip. It's 1 pm, and nothing is happening.

"Maybe it's not going down today. Maybe this is like the warm up. What if today's a mirage, like, to get people on edge, but ease them into it?", I say to Tristan, who looks around for any sign of activity.

"I was really expecting a lot more shit to go down, like explosions, cars flying, people walking around with shrapnel in their faces." He sounds dissappointed.

"Maybe we missed it?"

We didn't in fact miss it, as a loud explosion informs us. The concussion hits my chest. Not powerful from where we are, but enough to get my attention. A lovely cloud of black smoke slowly ascends to the heavens, and fast than it rises, Tristan and I fly to the car. After all, the camera is still there.

We perch on the pier. We watch the copters, the sirens, the trains going by and wait for another explosion. Or aliens. Just something to come about. I think. When I woke up I thought of three things, though I told Tristan only 2. The first: Gonzo journalism and the colour orange: how are they related? In reality, I don't think they are at all. The second: "I wonder how much it hurts to get hit with one of those police clubs?" I figured this might be a good thing to consider before going into battle, so to speak. The third: "I don't want to get arrested. It looks bad on a resume." I am a soon to be unemployed senior, after all.

Those points considered, things are pretty ok. Tristan and I are paranoid out of our minds for undercover cops. We saw some unmarked car, and everyone who comes near us is suspect. We film some. An old woman comes up. She's a late 50s hippie, with a point and shoot camera and a pair of japanese binoculars. We talk about the state of things, and what's going on over there, in the terror zone.

Before going on, I must frame this scene for you. The sky is blue, a perfect day for terrorism, if you ask me. I am in black boots and pants, holes in the knees, with my "Hunter" hat on. Tristan is wearing almost plaid looking pants (stylish) and a jacket, looking very indy filmmaker. The old lady (she's not that old) has long scraggly hair, mostly grey. She's stout, about my height, and smells of something I can't quite place. We stand on a pier. Across the harbour there is a clearing, very close to the Pfizer building. Here the US government has decided to have a mock terror strike. It is really only about a mile away, if that.

So the hippy woman gives me her specs and I see a legion of people marching en masse below an American flag. I look again and see the same thing. Tristan tapes it. The woman scurries to her auto for another pair of specs, a more powerful pair. She reminds me of my high school latin teacher. We bid her farewell soon after this, then never see her again.

Think like a terrorist. That's my internal mantra. The lady told us to check out L&M Hospital. The decontamination center is set up there, in the ER. Tristan and I think of a way to get in there. I suggest hitting my head on the railing of the pier, but we decide against it. Driving by, there is a row of "real" press and about 10 cop cars, all manned and ready to chase down vagrants and or people of arabic decent. I'm sure either would do for them. THey wait, and we roll on by, looking, but not filming. We cruise by the water, looking for a vantage point. We find nothing, and whilst turning around become part of a convoy of emergency vehicles, slowly heading towards the terror site.

"Decontamination truck. Do not come withing 500ft"

Well fuck, I think, as we're tailgaiting this monster beast of a vehicle. Well fuck indeed.

The rotary points us away from the terror and towards protesters, some from our school. Tris knows them much better than I, and we decide to hook up with them. Parking is an issue, so we ditch near Carlos' Market. Hiking up the road some, we wander around downtown looking for a good vantage point. We make our way to Howard St. when we see a man filming traffic. We head towards him.

As we gain on him, he books it, calmly. No words said. I think he got my picture. Wonder what one would do with that? Maybe I'll have a big folder in the pentagon someday. It'll be big, but not thick. I'll be happy that way. I can do so much more without a thick folder...but we take his place and hang out behind some office buildings. For the large amount of police that are around, blocking the roads, there are NONE behind these buildings. Camera in his hand, Tristan and I look for a good vantage point, coming dangerously close to this scene. More sirens and flashes than one can count are over the ridge, all sorts of fed, medics, cops, coasties, and all sorts of nasties as well. We sit there and get some shots in passing. We can't muster the balls to charge the ridge they're on and get a good shot. We sit and think of climbing a building, or a tree, but think better of it. We leave.

As we leave, we see our protesting friends. We hook up, get mobile, and head towards the hospital again, to show them what we saw. We can't actually pull up to the ER, which makes me think how much it would suck to be bleeding right now, so we cut through the hospital and around. We drive by once, and drive by again. On the second round, Tristan lifts up his camera, and tapes. I slow down so he can get some good shots. I get to speed ASAP, go past the cop blocking the road, and join traffic. Smooth.

"I need all your liscences, your registration and your insurance"

Right. He pulled us over next to a fire hydrant. It was yellow and rusted. What if there were a fire? What then? That cop would've been responsible for the loss of so much property as well as the potential destruction of a hospital...man, he would be hanged for that. But there was no fire, all there was really was a car full of youth and a cop. He was actually not as bad of a fucker as he could of been. He warned us against the fed. They, he said, don't give a shit if you are a college student with a film department. THey, he said, would stomp your camera in front of your face, while you and the baby jesus cry about it, then they would slap jesus, noting the seperation between church and state, and drive off with your virginity. They like to look big, he said, in my words.

Not even a warning. To Ocean Beach we go! Driving backroads, as to avoid and APBs for a Black WRX, we get lost. We end up at a bowling alley. It's 3 something right now, and I think that bowling would be fun. But the Ocean holds many secrets, and when we get to the beach, we see that these secrets are not really secret, but giants.

The cop at the park entrance assures me the beach is open, and lets me check it out for myself once he looks at my driver's liscence. That sure was nice of him. So we park between the Carvel and the Kiddie Rides and hit the boardwalk. All around us are correspondents for VNN, the Virtual News Network that is mock covering this mock terror attack. They are not alone. On the beach are many, many cops. In the water are 2 zodiacs, or something like them. They have Coastie colour and M60s on the fronts. One comes over towards us and points it's bow directly down our throats, giving us a good look at his cannon. We look at him, and he at us. This goes on for a few minutes.

"He must be really bored"

The boat goes away. Makes me wonder if they could hear us talking. Wandering the boulevard, we hit the mini golf course and the sands themselves. The place is closed and feds are everywhere.

Plus the water's cold. No day for a swim. Too early in the year.

So we pack it in and head to the car. A cop stops us, nicely in fact. He wears an orange vest and a hat that reads "TOPOFF 3". Quite a nice hat. Daniel wonders where he can get one.

"How'd you boys get in here?"
"Through the main gate."
"Yeah?"
"I showed him my ID."
"What were you doing here?"
"Walking on the beach."
"Where are you going now?"
"To our car."

I wanted to tell the cop that we had indeed parked betwixt the Kiddie Rides and the Carvel, as the large map of the beach behind him showed, but that might have dampened our moods. We leave. We retreat to our refuge of academia. I drop everyone off at campus, then go to my apartment. I sit there and think there. I didn't get hassled too much, not at all, but just enough to bother me. Terrorists are underestimated by these men. If a bunch of college kids can figure out what you are doing, and where you are going to take people to be treated for contamination, then I think that someone with malicious intent most definately would know where to go to blow shit up.

The public nature of the excercise bothers me, as well as how private they tried to make it. If we were all invited to watch, I would be ok. But they are making this whole terror attack a little too real, and there were more than a few people on the streets that had no idea what to expect, and were quite irked by the lack of information they received.

I was angry when I got home. Angry. I felt like those cops really were the enemy. I wanted to just yell and gnash and do all that childish stuff. I wanted to change the world. I was worked up like no other. Then I get a message from a friend. He can tell I'm steamed and inquires why. "Man", I tell him, "It's that fucking TOPOFF 3!"

"What the hell is TOPOFF 3?", he says.

WE ARE NOT AFRAID
Mock
Terror
is a
Scare Tactic
New London April 4-8
www.riverridgerecord.org
(a sticker given to me by the CCLEFT kids)
(I live on River Ridge Road)

-ccm

moving towards the future
good samaritan
avoiding questions i do not want
looking that way for love
this way for hate
and riding a wave of intoxication towards the point of tolerance
wanting to spill my guts
knowing better of the move
taking lessons in dancing from tim
and lessons in fashion from josh
anal or oral, that seems to be the choice
and people like anal, it would seem these days
is that beyond? it that too far? it's what i hear
no names to be mentioned
ever again
but people are into so many things
and things that they are into
are there own
so this night
this morn
i lose an hour
of sleep
i help a friend
i feel puffy
i think of what was not done by few
think of hunter and the wonder
think how i want to be him at times
and how i want to be the next me at other
and get over it
get done
get gone
get good
and have a nice morning
without a hangover.

-ccm

Sin City today, and as the sun rises, I sleep.

Thinking.

-ccm