Time

Some people run, some people crawl.
Some people don't even move at all.
Some roads lead forward. Some roads lead back.
Some roads are bathed in light. Some wrapped in fearful black.

Time, oh time....where did you go?
Time, oh good good time...
where did you go?

Some people never get, some never give.
Some people never die, and some never live.
Some folks treat me mean, some treat me kind.
Most folks just go their way,
don't pay me any mind.

Time, oh time....where did you go?
Time, oh good good time...
where did you go?

Sometimes I'm satisfied.
Sometimes I'm not.
Sometimes my face is cold.
Sometimes it's hot.
At sunset I laugh.
At sunrise I cry.
At midnight I'm in between and wondering why.

Time, oh time....where did you go?
time, oh good good time...
where did you go?

---Pozo-Seco Singers.

old man Reno

This was a few years ago. I remember it suddenly now and it seems interesting to me, important somehow. It's just a little story about an old man I met.

I was coming home from the sex clinic, cuz I'd been fucking around and I needed some doctors to inspect me for dirty diseases. So I was in a pensive sort of mood, hating myself for being such a careless risky moron. I mean when I'd fuck around, I knew it was dumb to not be safe and the thought of getting a sickness seemed terrible but I was in such a miserable headspace, I was completely immersed in sorrow, and the pain of my existence could probably become even deeper but I'd already experienced pain over the limit and beyond what I could handle and I just couldn't be afraid of anything bad anymore, any type of bad happening, the shit was just coming at me and at me and at me anyhow. The world was full of shit but there was so much light and beauty and love out everywhere too so I couldn't let go and die, I just took it all in, I just figured I would be fine anywhere. I would live. Even with the stupid hurting evil shit. I would take anything. It was all interesting and meaningful and complicated and I just embraced life despite my despair but still I was lost and scattered and messy.

It's not like I had much fun fucking around. I just had this huge desire to make men cum. I was obsessed with dick power. I guess it actually was fun, honestly, I did enjoy pleasing the men, that really was the whole point, and it was almost beautiful to me, but it was always corrupt. And I didn't want to be touched by them, to get my own pleasure. I didn't want to connect like that. I was only playing with the idea of intimacy.

So I was coming home from the sex clinic and I had to take the bus so I walked over to the stop on my route but the bus wasn't due yet so I sat on a bench and waited for it. I had a bible and my diary with me. I had a bible cuz basically I was going insane with greif over the mess that was my life and I wanted some kind of comfort from God. I had parts of it marked, where the words were helpful. I decided, while I was waiting there on that bench, to write down the parts I liked in my diary. There were other people around me waiting for the bus too. One of them was an old man. And he watched me writing. He was sitting right beside me and he was peeking at my diary and he made a remark about my penmanship. I have a billion different handwriting styles. It all depends on how I am approaching the subject I'm writing about. Sometimes I am really calm and my writing looks so elegant. Sometimes I am so emotional I can barely control the direction of my letters and I nearly veer off the page trying to express myself. At that moment I wanted to be simple, and sane. I wrote very small and neat and quickly. It looked nice.

I don't know what we talked about, how I ended up giving him my address. You really shouldn't give out your adress to perfect strangers if you value your life. You really shouldn't open up to a lot of perfect strangers the way that I have time and time again. But anyway. His name was Reno. He didn't want to come over to my house. He had something he thought I would love, he just wanted to mail me something. It turned out to be a dvd with a bunch of shorts, you know, like little movies that people made together. Artistic, thoughtful, intense people. Each movie was like ten minutes long at the most, some of them were only like three. There were ones with actors and whatnot but there were ones that were just drawn. Demented cartoons. Some of them were odd and erotic, some of them were childlike and clean, but it was all extremely cool. Fascinating and raw and moving. I haven't watched that thing in ages. I can't even say where it is anymore. Maybe I lost it. Damnit. I want to watch it again so I can describe it better. And I want to find my diary with the bible quotes, so I can show you some of what I documented, so you can see where the bible helped. It did help, it was something good to hold onto when I needed something good to save me from the bad.

This guy was awesome. We never met face to face again. We wrote one another short letters but mainly we just sent stuff. I would draw things for him and mail them in very decorated envelopes. He would praise my efforts, he said I had a fire in me, a talent and a soul. He said he'd keep my gifts and value them forever. That he'd never had such a terrific pen pal before. We didn't last very long. We had maybe a few exchanges. He sent me that dvd and an empty book. It was red with gold trim on the pages and the paper was all blank and glossy and begging for me to write and doodle and glue or tape or staple stuff in it. I loved that gold trim because it made me feel like whatever I put in that book was really important. It made me feel really respectable. It looked so classy. And on the cover was a picture of two angels carving a woman out of white marble.