Upstairs Wherever

I'm listening to Citizen Cope and talking to God and my mom at the same time. Its interesting. I wonder if you can say stuff out loud and everybody in heaven hears it if they want to. I wonder if she's sitting on a rock looking down in my life and the rest of my family's lives. If she just saw me pick my nose. Yes, I too do it. I wonder if there's nosepicking in Heaven. Maybe that's only in hell, 'cause as enjoyable as it can be, sometimes you just irritate the nose. I wonder if my mom gets to see me now, like I really am. She gets to see all the sick stuff I do or think when I'm alone. She gets to see the whole picture of me. What percentage of me could she have known on this earth? Probably like sixty or seventy percent. Maybe more. Maybe she understood more than I realize. But what's she doing now? Is she watching me? Or are they too busy up there worshiping God? If its timeless, I guess there's no darkness, which makes me think they don't sleep. So what do they do all the time? My Heaven is full of mountains and greenness and running water and perfect temperatures with slight breezes and birds that make it sound like easter all the time. Nobody ever gets winded when they climb the mountains, and there is endless, unexplored wilderness. You can eat if you want, but its not necessary. It just tastes good. There's alcohol, but it doesn't get you drunk. There's coffee, but it doesn't give you a kick. It all just tastes good. And there are pretty girls. But you don't lust after them. You just admire them. And they smile as they walk. And so do you. Because you're in Heaven, and that's what Heaven is. All the good without any of the bad.

The Man Across the Street

"I was headed along the sidewalk, almost home, when I saw an old man reaching into a trashcan. He would pull out a bottle, bring it close to his white whiskered face, and either place it into his cart or back into the can. This was nothing unusual. I'd seen plenty homeless people search through the trash. He was just like all the rest. His hair was matted here and there like he'd been dunked in oil. I could even imagine the exact smell he was giving off, even from across the street: a mixture of beer, sweat, and trash. This was all so typical. I had probably only given him a few seconds of my attention before I looked back towards my own path. And that's when I heard it, "Josh". Did I know him from somewhere? Maybe he wasn't homeless. Maybe I was just wrong. I kept walking in case I was mistaken, "Josh!". I whipped around and there he was, ambling across the street after me. He had an empty glass coke bottle in his hand and was waving it irrationally so I kept moving. "Now wait, hold on, now wait there just a second" he threw out desperately. "Sorry, do I know you?". He cocked his head a little to the right, "no, no I suppose you don't but you'll be getting to know me real well here presently". "What's that supposed to mean?" I put back at him. "Oh, I just, well listen, its not quite that easy. Mind if we sit for a second? I don't have as much breath as you do" he said as he delicately sat upon a low concrete wall. "There we are. That's good. That's good".

"I don't mean to be rude-"

"Then don't be."

"-but...what?"

"Don't be rude if you don't mean to be."

a few cars pass by

"You're probably wondering my name. I'll tell you that one in a minute, once you believe I'm not crazy."

"That might take a while."

"(laughing until he begins to cough) Yes, yes!"

"So I take it you're not homeless?"

"Well, that wouldn't be entirely correct..."

"Whattya mean?"

"I don't have a home. I mean I do but I imagine its not mine anymore."

"Why? Did you go bankrupt or somethin'?"

"In a matter of speaking."

"Okay what does that mean?"

"Can I tell you a secret?"

"Uh, sure."

"I'm not from here."

"You're not from here."

"No sir."

"Then where are you from?"

"Apparently that's still being decided."

"Like by who?"

"God."

"God?"

"That's right."

"Okay" and with that I get up to leave, but the old man grabs my hand.

"Wait! You can't leave! I was sent to help you!"

"Just...let go of my hand first of all. Yeah, now see, I dunno what you're talkin' about but I have to go. Goodbye."

"You can see her again you know!"

"What?"

"She's still alive. Kind of. Something like that."

"Who?"

"Oh I think you know who."

Emoting, unnecessary to read.

Why can't I defeat myself? The habits I've learned come and go, but they never leave. My lust seems inconquerable. My fear never far. I want to know what's on the other side of life. I want to know what its like to live in total union with God. Which has made me wonder how things would change if I spent months alone, speaking to Him in the wilderness. Would I start to really hear Him? I want to live completely. I want to live to the fullest capacity. I want that. I want to know if He is the perfect answer to the brokeness of my soul. The biblical answer is yes, but I don't feel that I've ever gone far enough, that I've ever devoted all of me to all He is. God, save me from my flesh. If I could just run away. Start new. Somewhere in the middle of nowhere. But really, the path I'm on, the path I think of running from, is in me and not around me. Wish I had the discipline to follow the example of Christ...

The Last Time

"My back's to the wall Mike. Tell me what I'm supposed to do. Tell me" says Mickey. And as he stands there, wet white tank clinging for dear life, eyes drifting into some hell, a pigeon lands on the ledge.

Mike reaches to shut the window, but Mickey cuts him off "leave it."

"You kiddin' me? I hate those pigeons" says Mike.

"Yea, so do I. But what's the point anymore?"

"What is up with you?"

"What? I can't let a pigeon hang out on my window? That a problem?"

"Easy Mick! Just don't wanna see that bird leave no bird stuff on the carpet. Its all over the streets and its all over the sidewalks and its all over the cars. Just tryin' to save the carpet! Okay?!"

"Yeah. Its all gettin' that way ain't it? The government should set up some sorta branch or somethin' to clean it all up. 'Cause it ain't gettin better. That's for sure. Am I right?"

"Yeah Mick. You're right. Now come on. Drop this mood you got cookin' and lets get to work."

"This is the last time Mike. The last time."

Scientology: a comedy

I'm probably going to be followed for months by talking about this. Maybe even find that a smear campaign has been started against me. There'll be posters with my picture and some sort of "dirt" on me in storefront windows throughout America. But that's okay. Because, hey, Scientology is just too much fun NOT to talk about. Last night(more correctly this morning at about 2am), I watched a BBC investigation into whether this "religion" is unjustly vilified or truly an absurd cult. Do yourself a favor and take a few minutes out to get a brief history and slight glimpse into L. Ron Hubbard's brainchild:

http://youtube.com/watch?v=Lr-Yaw1TTrI

A Gentleman's Review

Well I'm home now.

You might ask "where has he been?"

To that I'd say, "the movies my children! The movies!"

Then you might ask "what did he see?".

"The Bank Job my children! The Bank Job!"

"Was it any good" asks the little freckly boy in the corner.

"Well, that depends on what you mean by 'good' my boy."

To which the boy replies "just tell me if you liked the #$#@#$^ movie".

"If you ever use that sort of language with me again, I will tear you apart like Christmas morning!"

The boy gets real quiet. So I proceed.

"The movie was fun and entertaining. There is nudity and I don't promote that, unless I'm alone, walking around in my apartment..."

A low murmur from the children.

"Anyways, I laughed a lot. I do believe the film had the potential to grip me more fully, but it was abundantly plotholish and spilled over a bit too much with humor. I wouldn't ask for my money back, and probably not my time either(especially since I'm learning to mimic Jason Statham's sexy voice), but there are many movies that could have had a greater impact upon my soul, be they comedy or drama."

The children break into thunderous applause as they, one by one, offer a standing ovation.

"Really. Not neccessary! Thank you! Thank you all!

Gregory Dawson

The fluffy tumble of words from his mouth
Make listeners hurry and scurry for the south
Every so often a gem of wisdom
But never enough to solve the tension.

Gregory Dawson washes the clocks
he abhors the monotony and lack of talk
Every so often his mother passes by
But she cannot hear, "she is blind!"

The Song of the Epex

The end nears with the call of the epex. Beyond the glow of a great many stars, a great many people have encountered a terrible truth. The temperature is dropping permanently as the light of the sky begins to fade. There is no hope. A dying star is incapable of help. As the light slips away, the call of the epex becomes increasingly brilliant. It is here, in a valley between two balding peaks, that the creature sings her song. At once broken and then dutiful, the notes float into the air as a collective cry for the nations. Music cannot save them. And that was never the goal. But the simple song, with its simple performance, has softened the silence and brought the moon to tears. Life will carry on, just not here.

Who What Where?

What am I doing? Where am I going? Am I wasting my time? Will I end up unsuccessful? A washed up underachiever? Will my wife be less pretty and less impressive than what I dream of? Are the dreams I have going to unfold in time or will they simply float off into the world's sea of undone aspirations? What if I could tie up all the lose ends in my life? If I could get to bed earlier, finish writing my first screenplay, my first novel, truly allow myself to fall in love with someone, win the lead role in a movie by my unimpeded passion, live morally impeccably, have a full blown sixpack, call my family everyday, learn to play the guitar, journey around the world into every nook and cranny, learn italian, german, chinese, french, spanish, swahili, japanese. Would I be happy then? Would I be happier then? What is stopping me from accomplishing all this? Forecasts of low quality product? Less than stellar work? Marginal talent revealed? But would that really be so bad? Is it safe to assume most people never learn what they are and are not capable of because they never push far enough? Would the joy of searching for those walls in the process knock them down? I cannot be certain, but the idea is definitely exciting.