I love Intelligence.
The desire for knowledge and the pursuit of it in all things.
Learning, teaching, knowing; these are things that matter.
Especially when they entertain.

I love the Creative
The creation of something honest and new.
Raw and exposed, or controlled and hidden; The true art lies in their applications.
As we try and explore the unnamable.

I love Music
The more bizarre, the better.
The cacophonous din of sound; our brain forms order from it’s chaos.
The magic which lies within.

I Love Words
Their cadence and tenor.
The way we can perfectly phrase something to give it an advanced meaning.
Trying to find something phonic in something so structured.

I love Fiction.
The telling of our hearts through obfuscation.
The characters and their honesty; they tell their tales alone to themselves.
We just follow along for the ride.

I love Science Fiction
and its hope for tomorrow.
The way it assumes and plays with concepts.
An island of indefinite, in an ocean of uncertainties.

I love the Vintage
The grand view of the world
What was important to them has lost its significance to us, but the quaintness still holds true.
The delicacy and ephemeralness of society and life.

I love Film Noir
With its exploration of the sub-conscience.
Where the people act as they will and impulse control be damned.
They epitomize what it means to be modern so much better than the modern.

I love Love
Especially for my friends.
When I think of them I smile.
Regardless if they want me around.

I love My Depression.
It’s the only thing that I could count on.

I love…

I will always love.
Long after I die.
For my words can be shared with anyone who has eyes to feel.

I lay on my stomach on the cushioned board they laid out for me. They tell me it’s the best way to access the controls and, truth be told, I really wouldn’t be able to tell you if I was laying down or standing up when I’m out there. There’s no such thing as weight.

They minimize the space I occupy to maximize the equipment available inside the machine. They say that it was all different when it was countries and programs, but now I’m just a small fry in a big carton. The corporations tell me my job, and I just do it. What other options do I have? I was born on a platform.

I glide the machine into my position on the line. We’re harvesting pure hydrogen. They still use the pure stuff on haulers like mine. There’s really no other way to get the kind of thrust necessary to safely land and lift off planetside. When we’re up here, it’s all solar engines. Expelling small patches of methane to get out of the way of the mess if ever we need to. I mean, we humans inadvertently produce it and it’s waste. There’s really nothing else to do with it..

I think of my boredom as I touch down on the rock. I’ve been doing work like this for 15 years, give or take for inaccuracies in our calendars. I hear that’s been happening more and more on ships like ours. You can never accurately tell time so the ship steals a little away from you. You come back and find out your 3 year contract was really 5 years; “Computer Error”. I don’t even understand why they do that. They could just tell you your stays been extended and you couldn’t say peep about it. You can’t request a new assignment and you certainly couldn’t leave the corps. They raised you. That would be tantamount to matricide.

The machine goes to work. Reaching out with long-armed recoiling tendrils and digging into the rock. It cuts through it like butter and releases the selected materials. Those materials are gathered in a small compartment right under my belly; I can feel it rumble. The only thing I really need to do is watch the indicators and select the area to work. The rest is done electronically. I’m not even sure why they put people in these things. A prevailing theory is that the only reason we have to be in them is so that they’re not left behind in forgetfulness. Humans are supposed to be naturally predisposed to not allow their fellows to die. So we go in the equipment to make sure the stuff gets back on the ship. I don’t mind it; it’s something to fill the time and more than anything I just listen to music and think about my family. Sometimes that doesn’t matter, people still get left behind.

I’m looking at my sensors and thinking about Dora, when my screens go all wonky. They’re flashing red as can be. I look at them and I’m thinking I probably hit a heavy carbon patch. If I’m real unlucky it’ll be diamond. That stuff is useless and way too abundant in these astro-patches. But the thing is showing something amazing. It’s showing water present. Now that doesn’t normally form without a proper atmosphere and the nearest planet is far enough away for me to think this thing couldn’t of gotten here too easily. It’s showing something very strange within it. Something organic. I look at the outline and I notice what it is. It’s a fish.

It must have come from that planet. But not naturally. I report it to the main ship. They send back an order for immediate return. I start wondering why, but dutifully ablige. I look closer at the rock as I start to recoil the appendages. It seems very strange for some reason. There is an unnatural glow to the thing under me. It starts to get brighter and it seems to be gathering something from the space around it. It’s just then that I notice a sudden-

I don’t know what I want.

She sits across from me and yammers; her mouth forming a constant stream of syllables in a fixed rhythm, only changing for the occasional multisyllabic word. She’s not really saying anything of value. She talks of herself; her likes and her dislikes, her many accomplishments, where she’s traveled, what she’s doing for the culture. She’s involved in a youth group, her college’s young republicans. She asks me a question. It is rhetorical. She waits for my response and then continues going on. She never gives me the space to talk.

I don’t know what I want.

We stop in front of a store. She looks in the window at the small trinkets they sell. “A store like this is so hard to find in this state.” She’s not wrong. I look at her hair dangle over her shoulder into the cool winter day. She has an inner light that shines for me when I look closely. I make myself look. “You don’t find a lot of places like this in this State. They’re really a dying breed, you know?” Again, not wrong. But who cares?

I don’t know if I want.

We chat nonchalantly on the dating site. It feels very natural. I’m making jokes and being very bare with her. Telling her my insecurities in the best way I know how. I expect this to be something pretty amazing, she seems to acknowledge my fears and pains with a casualness I could never have with myself. I think of that as something amazing. I become excited about this person. She looks attractive in a lot ways. I will certainly give her a shot.

I just want closure.

On the ride over, I think about all the things I want to talk about. My music (Did you have an opportunity to listen to it?) and the bands we have in common, books (Could you love a man who loves Nicholas Sparks?), cooking. I like to cook. I’m very complicated. I never got the chance to sell myself.

This was a mistake.

“So this was nice.” I say at my car. “Yeah, I had a nice time. Maybe we’ll do it again sometime.” She says looking at hers. “Ok,” I say it like a skier at the mountaintop preparing himself for the ride down. I take the leap; I lean in and give her a hug. “I might call you again sometime, you never know.” She finally laughs. I waited the whole day for that. I must look shocked. Then I get in my car and drive home.

I don’t want that.

The wrinkled fabric carried the rain on her clothes. Small little globes of liquid, hanging on the precipice of little tiny fibers, like little realities she was hoping for. I sat there amazed at these qualities. She beamed at me with pure joy. A splash of the color called love in a world of beige. I lifted my eyes but not my jaw and looked upon her.

I had been crushed by the day. In that chair, I had accomplished nothing. My eyes stayed stuck to the minuscule TV, watching the endless stream of black and white movies. I’d seen five. It never dawned on me that it had rained. Looking upon her I felt guilt

She lost her smile as she gazed upon my face. She walked past the television, me tracking her movement the whole time, and into the kitchen. I listened as she fumbled around. The cabinet; the sink; the microwave. She reentered with a mug, placed it in front of me, and sat on the couch.

“You’re still feeling it.” She looked upon me with sympathy, I could feel her emotion. I couldn’t return the favor. My eyes focused forward, struggling to not feel the connection. That was more effort than I could handle.

I looked in the cup. There was a brown liquid within. It was very viscous, it smelled of chocolate. It took a minute to make the connection. I reached out and grabbed it, lifted it to my lips. Everything was so slow. I would hate to be her looking upon me.

“This tastes good.” I looked over at her. She smiled back. I slowly reciprocated.

“So tell me what you’ve been doing.” She brought her legs up under her, so that she was sitting on them.

“This.” I gestured at the television. I reached to the arm of the chair and turned the damned thing off.

“That’s it?” Her smile softened. She was disappointed in me. She had an angry streak when it came to things like these. She’d go running for a friend, but stuff at home was just too much for her. It was times when she acted like this that I was sure she wouldn’t be able to handle me too much longer. I just needed her a little longer. Her face came back a bit towards compassion. “How have you been feeling?”

“I miss them. I miss work. I miss the people. I miss myself.” She softened up a more. She knew about what was going on, the loss I was going through. It had been two months at some of the most trying times of the year. The loss of everything was hard anytime of the year. But I had someone to help me through it. Two grandmothers and my career, what a mess.

“Think how I feel, I….” She kept talking and I stopped listening. Pain can do that to a person. I was lost in memories of the times before we were awash in emotions. When the autumn was spectacular and we sat on that park bench outside the mall, listening to music through a tiny speaker I held in my hand. The soft murmurs of Jim James, his understated belting of his feelings were a perfect reflection of mine. Arms intertwined and hands clasped; true happiness. I started to well.

“Yeah. It’s hard for everyone I guess.”

On Tuesday, Mary told me she liked the little oranges with the seeds better than the ones I bought. I hated her for that. She nitpicked every little thing I did. Never giving me the freedom. Sitting in her little couch in this spotless room. I cringed as she watched her reality television programs. Her house looked much like it would have in 1960; the rug overly plushed, the walls covered in a crinkled yellow flower print. Her home looked like my grandmother. I hated my grandmother’s house.

She placed herself next to me. The closeness was uncomfortable, her smile was worse. I watched her as she panned back to her television and slowly placed soggy popcorn in her mouth. I resented her with every fiber of my being. I wanted her to release me. I looked at the screen and watched as the images moved across it. Its light was making me nauseous; it’s sounds more so. She spoke to me during the commercials. I got up and used the bathroom.

I walked through her tacky hallways and into her yellow-lit lavatory. Random products were left around the sink and placed in bins on the toilet. She was so familiar, like I was visiting my mother. I really felt awkward some times. I looked myself in the mirror. I was amazed by the face that stared back. It betrayed my emotions. It looked vaguely happy. I could see hope and possibilities in those eyes. What were these secret thoughts I could not access now. I could be happy with this girl.I walked back into that room. I sat right back down next to her and contemplated my situation.

I was lost. When I was found, I was being touched on the hand. She led me to her room. She grabbed me in just the way I liked and I was being engaged. Before long I remembered why I make this trip. Why I suffer through the horrors of reality television and why I hate myself fully afterwards.

It was unsatisfying. As it always is. She complements me on my performance. I kiss her mouth and leave her house. I never see her again.

I know I haven’t posted anything in like a week, and some of you are greatly effected by this.

You miss me. I miss you.

I know, I’m sorry. I’ll make it up to you. Until I do, I recommend you read this. I loved it.

http://www.dibache.com/text.asp?cat=51&id=173

Also, I love you. Believe it.

I pushed him in the door. Sometimes I felt like it was what I had to do. Jerry couldn’t remember how to walk on his own two feet most days. He was a waste as a child. I worried he would be a waste as a man. He groaned at me as I pushed him into his mother. Her face painted with bitter disappointment.

                “Do something with this child. You’re raising him to be a faggot.” She stared at me with eyes that were so accusing. She just couldn’t understand that what I was doing was for the better of that miserable boy. She sighed at me and ushered him off further into the house.

 I stood in the ballroom and waited for that blasted girl to arrive. I couldn’t imagine what was taking it so long. I stomped my foot loudly on the hard marble floors. It echoed through the place. If I could I would have made it bigger. No one had one anywhere near as big. It better stay that way. It cost me a fortune to put this place up and establish my dominance in the area. It had more rooms than I personally cared for. But others cared more about the amount of rooms, it was important to the people back east. It made you more respectable, or so they tell me. Maybe I would run for office one day.

It finally arrived after I had been standing there for a good five minutes. It uncoated me and apologized immensely. I struck it across the mouth and ignored its excuses. None were needed; none were acceptable. It walked away rubbing its mouth. It muttered something. I never remember what it says.

I headed towards the master bedroom. There were only three rooms I occupied; the bedroom, the dining room, and my study. I walked past the library on the way. I watched that idiot boy sitting in his chair reading some nonsense. I stopped and leaned on the door. He looked up at me and gestured a hello with his book, The Iliad by Homer. I wish we never taught that boy to read. I wish I never bought those blasted books. I sighed at him and shook my head. I caught his disappointment as I left. Don’t worry boy, I felt the same.

I headed further down until I reached the master bedroom. Natalie was waiting for me. She was lying on her back wearing the latest slip I purchased for her. She batted her beautiful lashes at me and gave me a come hither look. This was the way I liked to come home. We rolled around for a while

My wife entered shortly after. “Hello Father.” She nodded at Natalie. “Hello Natalie.” Natalie curtsied at her and left to dress. I looked at that wife of mine with utter disdain. She looked back at me with pleasantness. I hated her for it.

“I left something for you on your study desk.” She smiled lightly at me and headed for her nightstand. She sat down and began to brush her hair. I married her for that hair. The first time I saw her, it was bouncing in the wind as she ran. I was a young man of sixteen and her, a girl of twelve. I arranged to have her. Her father gave opposition, but ultimately relented.

“It’s not another one of those Harvard applications again is it?” I groaned. She smiled at me. “I don’t want the boy going to that school. School never did nothing for an oilman. He needs to learn to stand on his own feet if he’s going to succeed in this game.” I started to get up off the bed. She turned and motioned for me to stop. I held my spot. I have no idea why.

“You can’t make all the decisions for everyone around you. The boy is good at using his brain. He can do those complicated adding problems and he likes to read. Let him do what he wants. It’ll be better for him in the long-term.” She put down her hand and gave me her kind eyes. I looked deep into them. I saw them like I saw them the first time we were declared husband and wife. She was very dainty in that dress she wore; the whole church wailing to see her married off. She was beautiful. She was mine.

“No.” She lost her patients and exhaled hard, rolling her eyes off of me. “The boy will not go to that school. He will work on becoming the oil baron I want him to be, and that is final. I never want to hear word of this again.” I was yelling it. I’m pretty sure the majority of the house heard it, as they should. She stared at me in defiance for some time; then she stood up and stomped out of the room, muttering a final, “Yes Master,” before she left. I liked that.

When it came time for dinner, we all sat at the same table. The table was a monstrosity. It was much too large for the small family of four that we were.  So there was a great distance between the participants of the meal. We had a tendency to group. Natalie and I sat furthest away from the kitchen, which made it very entertaining watching the house girl try to bring soup to us, and Jerry and his mother sat on the opposite side facing us. We had never had guests over.

                No one was permitted to speak at dinner. At one point the boy coughed, and I saw red. Natalie put her hand in my lap to calm me down. The meal was lousy.

                After dinner, we all went our separate ways. Jerry to wherever it was he went, Natalie to her quarters, and Myself with my bride to ours. We stayed up a little later and she told me about her upbringing. She must have told me that story sixty times. I didn’t respond throughout, but I followed very carefully. She asked me about mine again, and I changed the subject.

We spoke about the McCulla claim and its sudden yield. I told her I was worried he would have a serious run at being my competition if he held his success. She listened very carefully and reassured me that no one could really be my rival. My achievements were the result of hard work and his the result of stone luck.

She was right. After marriage, I had decided I would make it rich. I worked all my efforts into scrounging up enough money to purchase a land claim and make it a mine. Some people had to die to make that happen, God would accept that as long as one of his chosen was being bettered. We gathered ore in that mine and turned it into another one. After that I heard a story about the usage of this oil back east and decided to start working on it. It made me a very rich man. I planned to stay that way.

We dressed for bed and went into it. I thought of McCulla and his workers. I thought of the lives they were currently in possession of and how easily they could lose it. I invented elaborate histories for them in my head, their families and past accomplishments. I decided that at least ten of them were escaping from the law back home. They had murdered and raped some women back home, real Jack the Ripper types. If they died fighting Indians all the better. Justice was served at the end of the tomahawk. So what I was doing was right.

She was lightly snoring next to me. I joined her. We slept side by side until the rooster crowed and began another day.

A hole punched right into the core; oozing and bubbling. It started as a spurter. But the pressure died down as that surface relented from their prodding. If you look closely it was sickening; goopy and sloshing. On a global scale, it was pure money. I had to control it.

I looked at the well with disdain from the small tower some 30 yards away. That could have been ours, and by all rights it should have been mine. I owned this entire land before they did the remeasuring. This was all mine, and it should have stayed that goddamn way. I killed my share of Indians for it. Now, this horrible piece of shit from back east thinks he can make a living off what I fought for. That’s not going to fly around here. He’s going to have to pay more than just money for that. McCulla; what kind of shitty Irish name is that, anyway?

I turned around and handed the spyglass to Jerry. He looked surprised as I swung around. He was probably picking his nose of something stupid like that. I only took the boy on because I knew his mother didn’t care if I knocked him around a bit.

“Look at this nonsense. That carpetbagger already hit a vein. We’ve been working at this spot for the past 6 months and we haven’t drawn a drop.” I looked at the assembled group and made them answer me with my eyes. They sat at my large oak table. A mass of miserable faces praying for their God to give them the right answers to my questions.

“Well if the well goes deep enough or wide enough, we can drain off his claim.” Richard Meningham was the first to speak. He sat in my chair, at my desk; leaning backwards with hand behind his head. He liked to pretend he owned the place. If I walked towards that table that boy would be out of my seat before I hit the halfway mark. But he was relentless, and I liked that. He looked at me with determined eyes. A stupid comment but he was playing to make it stick with me. I shook my head; he failed out. He broke eye contact

“Our property extends out another 10 miles that Northeast.” Will indicated with his hand. “We could always move another 5 miles and see what we find there.” I was seeing red. I took my cigar out of my mouth and spiked it on the ground. It hit the carpet like an arrow and started to singe the floor. That bespectacled bastard broke out in a flop sweat. He started to audibly squeal. There’s nothing I hated more than an accountant.

“My property extended 10 miles that way too.” I shouted at the little puke. I chopped towards the McCulla well. “Before that worthless government came in and redeclared my land holdings. How was I supposed to know that little farm wench had no clue how much land her man had before he died.” He was getting nervous watching my hand. They all were. That’s the way I like it. “Someone give me a Goddamn serious suggestion before I kill that McCulla Sonofabitch with my own two hands.” William dabbed his head with a handkerchief he carried.

“How about we scare ‘em off?”  Ringo opened his mouth. Easily the only man in the room I had any respect for. He was the one I hired as protection. He was a veteran of some war or another, or at least I think he was. These days all he did was sit around the tower and play poker with me or shoot muskrats in the fields. He could hit em, all right. I hated to waste a good man, especially when he was so good with a gun.

“What do you have in mind?” I calmed myself down a bit, and the room followed suit. That annoyed me slightly.

“Well Indians have been reported in these parts.” He turned to face me, hat over his eye. He was a mischievous boy, if I ever seen one. “They have not been so willing to let what the government tells them stand. Maybe some Indians visit them in the night. Light their whole rickety bundle of sticks up and ride off. That’s a lot of money they’d be taking as a loss. That would make anyone wanna go back home and figure out their assets.” I cracked a smile. I wish my son was like him.

“That’s a damn fine idea. What do I pay the rest of you for? No one could scare up a solid idea like that? Disappointing.” I gave them all my sternest face. I focused an extra bit longer on William and watched him squirm. “Get out of my office.” They all started to shuffle. At a pace that I didn’t like; not urgent enough.“Not you Jerry. Get me a coffee and another cigar.” He looked at me stupid. I knew that meant we were out of coffee. “Well then go make me a fresh pot.” I motioned him off with my hand and I was in an empty room; my feet on the desk, and my mind on destruction.

                I walked to his well a later that night. They had the gush in a small gully to the left of the drill. The men were standing around with big happy grins on their faces, drinking champagne and discarding their tools. They were reveling in what rightly should have been mine. I felt like a dark cloud walking amongst them. They straightened up real nice when they saw who was walking towards them. They knew my face because the lot of them used to work for me.

                I thought of the whole place up in flames and the men running to find a way to put it out. The whole while Indians shooting them in the back while they tried to help; buckets in hands.   

                Someone must have alerted him because the young Irishman came bounding down his steps to meet me. All red haired and well dressed; he looked like a toy soldier in his oddly colored suit. He walked towards me, extending his hand with his best business man smile on. I thought of bashing that shit’s head in with one of the discarded picks. I took it and shook it.

                “Congratulations on your first gusher. It looks like a big ‘en too.” I affected a smile for him. I thought of him jumping over the side of his tower engulfed in flames.

                “Thank you so very much. I’m hoping it will fund our enterprise for a good long time.” The man started cheering in response to that. He motioned his hands up and they calmed down. I was getting madder. He didn’t have an accent. I wondered how he lost it.

                “Oh, good for you. Where are your other investors? They must be real excited to hear about this claim.” I looked around for some other people to show up.

                “I didn’t have any investors besides my family back east. I’m going to send them a cable later tonight. They’ll be all kinds of happy.” He was beaming with happiness. He took his hat off and shook it. Real nice kid, this one. I grinned back at him.

                “I’m sure they will.” I said it through my teeth. “Look, I must be going. I just wanted to come by and give you some good will on your first big accomplishment.” I tipped my hat at him.

                “Well, I thank you so very much. I wish you the best in your claim, as well. This land is plenty big for all of us, and I’m sure there’s plenty more oil under this hard earth.” He extended his hand again. His smile still never left his face. I shook it again.

                “I’m sure.” I walked away. Away from the well that should have been mine, past the men that used to be mine, off that land that was rightfully mine; and back to my little tower in a field of nothing. I walked past my drill that was hardly struggling. I looked at my workers sitting on their asses while they waited for something to happen. I was waiting with them. I walked up the stairs to my tower. I opened my door to Jerry’s open mouth and Ringo sitting at my desk.

                “I can’t wait till you kill that piece of shit.” He nodded back at me.  I walked to my desk and collected my papers. I locked my drawers and I took my cigar box under my arm. Ringo never moved an inch in response to any of it. I walked back towards the door and turned to Jerry.

                “Come on you piece of shit, I’m sure your mother’s waiting for us at home.”