russians

the pinata ascended haltingly up the backyard cable, a blue donkey rotating slowly in the air. blindfolded, vlad knelt below it like a knight before battle, his head bowed. the russian had already burnt his hand on the grill, and held the wooden pole with some difficulty.

as he sprang to action, i saw her coming toward me, carrying a bottle of chilled vodka. "we chase it with a pickled tomato", she said. "you hold it to your mouth and squeeze."

vlad had been flailing at the air for some time now, and the little donkey seemed to be smiling at him. its orbit becoming more and more eccentric as the pole sliced through the air, coming dangerously close to the laughter around him.

"be my designated driver", he said as she led him inside and up the stairs. the darkened room began to turn slowly as he lay beside her on the futon. pouring a shot over her, he licked the vodka off her stomach and squeezed the tomato chaser into his mouth. "you are what you eat," she said.

the party had moved indoors now, their voices rising from downstairs and breaking free of gravity. he was behind her now, their rhythm merging into the blackness. time sped up, and they fell spent onto the covers.

in the morning the russians were gone, the broken pinata stuffed in the trash can. he staggered into the kitchen and pulled a carton of orange juice from the fridge. tilting back his head to take a swig, he saw a mark on the ceiling, a sneaker print. closing his eyes, he saw vlad cartwheel into the night.

escape

sitting on the fire escape he looked down, eight floors to the ground below. concrete, stone and steel, the city, tough and relentless. a lighted neon cross blared "jesus saves" from the street front mission, car horns shouting as traffic rushed up to the stoplight, people hurrying along the walk.

slowly he took a drag from the cigarillo, warmth and fire pulled into his lungs. he closed his eyes and felt the smoke inside balancing out the cool blasts of wind which buffeted him high up the city's side. he felt himself slipping into a dream, of soft grasses and flowing water under a canopy of trees.

she climbed through the window and sat beside him, her legs resting on the steel bars. "this is kind of nice" she said, and he opened his eyes, looking up at the softness of the sky and beyond. she poured sangria over ice in the plastic cups and handed him one. "to nice" he said, and tipped his cup into hers.

school

in first grade, he threw a rock that hit a girl in the head. it was an accident, he was just enjoying the way the rocks spun through the air when he threw them. her platinum blonde hair erupted in blood, and next thing he knows, the teacher dragged him up the hill to the classroom, where the principal came and read him the riot act.

one day in second grade, the teacher, a grumpy old woman, lined him up with all the other boys on the playground and swatted each one as she went down the line. he never knew what offense led to this, but all the girls in class were laughing.

in third grade the kids were all playing baseball during recess and he was the catcher. he knelt down to catch the pitch, and just as the older boy swung the bat, she caught his eye. whammmm!!! he's crawling along on the ground, stars swirling around his head, and blood gushing from his cheek. seven stitches later, he returned to class.

fourth grade saw the class moved to a portable building, and he sat behind a cute girl with pig tails. he thought it would be funny to whack her over the head with the plastic tissue bag she kept under her seat. whackkkk!! she started screaming and crying. uh-oh, he thought, there was something hard inside of the bag. the teacher reached in and found an empty cosmetic jar. grabbing him, she dragged him out of class and hit him repeatedly with her ping pong paddle.

in fifth grade the kids liked to run around back and smell the honeysuckles on the fence. one day as the girls were chasing him, he ducked around the edge of the building. cutting a little too close, he sliced his head open on the aluminum trim. this time it only took four stitches and a partially shaved head to return to class.

his last year in elementary school, sixth grade, went smoothly. he kept mostly to himself, until the end of school field trip. at the miniature golf course he thought it would be really cool to slam the ball hard and make it fly off the astroturf ramp. zoommm!!! the golf ball flew through the air, its trajectory on a perfect arc to the side of the girl's head, the one with long straight hair.

next year, seventh grade, he moved to junior high and a new school. he stopped talking to the girls for the next few years and began to focus on his trumpet playing.

(since my baby left me) the well's run dry

refrain:
since my baby left me,
the well's run dry,
said she didn't need me,
the well's run dry,
got a man 2 <3 her right,
the well's run dry,
oh, pobrecito.

1. i been comin' late 2 work,
took tha' blame 4 some jerk,
now the boss man's fired me,
the well's run dry (refrain)

2. fed my dog a bunch o' scraps,
she went 2 moanin' in the nite,
now she's gone up 'n' died,
the well's run dry (refrain)

3. the ride she's rough got 4 flat tires,
now i walk 'n' don't get far,
the repo man he towed my car,
the well's run dry (refrain)

4. since the twister took my home,
far 'n' wide i do roam,
just like a rollin' stone,
the well's run dry.
(refrain) (refrain) (and out...)

- a little ditty from uncle krishnaremus

purgatorio

down, down he trudged, through thick smoke, exhaust mixed with the tinge of human sweat and rotting waste. the crush of bodies pushing against, some moving upward, some down, eyes averted each in their own self-made inferno. a few more steps and there he lost his balance. turning in the air it all came to him, every suffering he had inflicted on all of these, the loved and the unloved. falling only a moment yet interminable, he knew it would hurt, and then he hit bottom. blackness, and all around a fog, lying on the mix of footsteps and grime. it was then she came to him, a movement so slight, a gentle touch in this blindness. grasping, lunging, lost in the foul air he felt himself lifted up and against a firm shoulder and the softness of her skin. lowering now, he moved in close, enveloped by her as blackness closed in again.

* reverie *

 

He ran out ahead to the playground, hoping to get to the monkey bars before the other kids. But there she was, stopping him in his tracks. He can't remember how, maybe someone pushed him, but there he lay flat on his back staring up and into the face of an angel silhouetted by the bright autumn sun. She stepped forward and stood over him, fists clenched against her hips, staring down at him. The breeze billowed her pleated plaid skirt and passed cool on his face as he looked up and into the mystery of darkness and beyond.

in love there is no consort with doubt

as quickly as it all began, it was over...whammm, a hurricane blows through your life leaving behind a trail of devastation. that and a question to the universe, how? and why? a new year beginning in ecstacy and immediately after falling into a feverish state of delirium. waking in the night to sweat-drenched sheets and open sores, seven days in purgatory lying on her sofa, alone with your thoughts. and that, that is the downfall of many a man: "are you sure?" "are you REALLY sure?" synapses going into overdrive as you realize that somewhere someone's despair is balancing out your joy.

for in love there is no consort with doubt. when it gets a foot in the door, it kicks its way into the room. and there you are, intuition laid bare, sliced open and left to bleed out by a moment of questioning. in its wake trust dissolves, connections disconnect, and you are tossed out and back into the world of samsara...and after you hang on as long as you can, but...only now just past the sleepless nights, the turmoil, the chemically induced numbness, left to sort out, to reflect and (maybe) begin again. yet you still find gratitude and blessing, for experience, for failure, for each step along the way, for the brevity of perfection, together spinning on the great wheel of the all.