...

J.B was one of those guys that could draw out the strongest of introverts into a self describing rant. He had hard eyes encased in a soft face, with a smile that just made you know that whatever you said was safe. He wasn't my father's blood father, but he was and always will be my grandfather. His life was extraordinary, and he had no problem sharing that with his young confused grandson. He really retained his optimism despite the hardships he faced during his life. My grandmother used to always say that he was 63 going on 11.

James Bartley Heritage was a master chef retired to tending a small bar in Greenwich that happened to get a lot of attention. The demographic of the area is affluent and high end and this was visible in the clientel that he received in the small 40 people maximum building with a house overhead that he rented to a family of 5. He bought the bar for an amount I never knew the year I was born, 1987, and moved the throne of the family to Queens, New York. Queens was the choice at the time, because the locals are primarily known to be fans of my grandfather's favorite baseball team, the New York Mets. He made life decisions based off things like that, it was what made J.B., J.B..

Now if you would I would like you to turn your mind to wonder what exactly could such an eccentric have done that could change my life? Obviously not pay for entire college education if you've peaked at my financial aid paperwork. He didn't save from a bus. J.B. did the most two simple things he would tell you anyone could ever do, he lived and died. Lucky enough for me both of those things happened if only in fraction during my lifetime.

The most important time of my teenage life occurred during thanksgiving of my freshman year of high school. I lived in Arkansas, and the entire Heritage-Crandall clan was there in my three bedroom farmhouse that rested on 25 acres of infantile horse ranch. I really never enjoyed the family thing, and wondered why they were here. My immediate family was the black sheep poor branch because my father was too proud to accept help from any of my more successful relatives. I was sitting on the tire swing my father had made when I was 7. It was 200 hundred or so feet from the house on the south side acting as my fortress of solitude. J.B. walked out to the fortress with my aging dog, Keno. He had his hands in his back pockets, a habit that I myself had picked up especially later. He sat down on the stump adjacent to the base of the tree that held the tire swing. He rubbed Keno's ear, and sighed through a slight northern accent about something I wasn't really paying attention too. I just swung with the tips of my sneakers as anchors. He then said something in a piercing tone that I had never heard before. "You know, I had another heart attack two weeks ago...fifth one this year." J.B's heart was failing him, and it was becoming more and more apparent to him and the family, that his time was short.

The fact that my grandfather was dying, or going to die soon was weighing me down. I was becoming more and more depressed. I started drinking heavily, and my grades slipped. I took everything he ever told to an incredible level of heart, and began hating everything. I didn't become this person because of what he had told me, but because in hindsight I just felt like I was going to be abandoned so I had to have my basis covered, with rage and anger, and whatever 30 dollars a week in lunch money would get me in chemicals. It boiled up and over to where I became this whole other person that caught his attention, and he sat me down finally. He told me all these things that I rather leave for me to know solely. He told me it was okay and that he knew why I was acting like this. He said if I wanted to show anyone anything; I should show people that he was right about me. He wanted me to become this incredible person.

My grandfather died February 5th, 2002. I saw him in his bed before he died, but he never knew as far as I know that I was there. I spent the next 4 or so years rebelling against...something. I tried to sink myself into a hole as much as I could. Now, I can sit here and tell you with a clear conscience that I do not drink. I do not do drugs. I'll make myself into that incredible person that he wanted me to be. I'll show that he was right about me. His death gave way to the most maturing 4 years that will be in my life. He saved me by pulling the rug out from under me. I would say that I miss him, but that would be hollow in comparison to the actual emotion. I do, miss him.





This is probably what most of the colleges I apply to, will get. It will probably be chopped to pieces, and edited beyond the recognition of the actual essay...but here it is, I hope it's what they. I hate having memories.

Park Bench 3

A man, clean cut, eye's bright honed and focused sits down. He crosses his leg seemingly over enough to be uncomfortable. He is wearing a suit, obviously designer.

"The state of the world can be defined by the Theory of Thermodynamics, a constant cycling of energies throughout a seemingly organized system bound dissonance. I once thought that everything had a purpose, that there was this large group of people in a room and they were all laughing maniacally with this huge plan for the rest of the world. They would then implement these ideas and thoughts through clever use of the mass media, and we would all just be herded to this ultimate coal of a select group of men, hence why the trends would change as obviously, with the death of older members, newer members would have to come in.

I also smoked a lot of pot during those kinds of thoughts, and I wanted to blame the be-dazzler on something ominous. My sister had one and would always bedazzle the most random of things in our house, and within days everything within fair game possession of the family would be clad in the most absurd rhinestones and gems. She was a bonkers lady, she was into the classic rock, which those of my age group would always be sure to let her know she was lame. We were mod, as it was known back then, wearing suits and dying our hair black and listening to The Smiths, The Cure etc. I never forgot the arduous nature of making sure that your hair look like you had never washed it before. We smoked cigarettes and talked about pop culture as if it were this science, acolytes of conspiracy and defining music as an ideal religious backed by mopeds and ties.

My sistered died rather soon after I graduated, her college junior summer. She tried a drug which would later be refined and turned into the recreational ecstasy. She cooked her brain and dropped at a party and was trampled by euphoric desensitized twenty somethings until she had irreparable brain damage, and was gone. She was going to be a high school teacher. I remember standing at her funeral, and most of the parents other than mine looking at mom and dad with a little bit of pity, and a little bit of judging in their eyes. They didn't care about my sisters death as much as they cared about my parent's insufficient skills at their roles in life. As if they knew anything. I just wanted to scream at them all, pointing the finger back with fervor.

'YOU'RE NO BETTER, YOUR KIDS WERE THERE TOO! THEY DID IT, AND WILL DO IT AGAIN AND YOU FUCKERS THINK YOU'RE SO MUCH BETTER?!'

I'm sorry, this place makes the emotions, memories, more vivid. I stopped the mod shit after that. I just acted and wore what was normal, sold the moped, bought a junker car and started drinking. I became that pathetic drunken stoner that whenever someone acted like they were about to do something about my behavior, their friend would rest their hand on their chest and say 'Whoa dude, that's kid's sister died...let him be." Eventually it got so bad that my parents and I went to grief counseling. 20 years old and in grief counseling with your mother and father.

It helped out though...it was tough 6 months getting used to her not bedazzling everything. I would expect my shower curtain to have a giant yellow jeweled sunflower on it when I went in...but it was still just clear and plain. Everything was clear and plain in that house. Slightly grey scaled, and I knew to find color I would have to do something drastic.

I join the Air Force after about a month of the shakes and purifying myself from drinking. I would run everyday until I threw up that poison. I was on a mission, a reckoning to make myself something else. I became the fervor at the funeral. I would prove that my parents weren't the right target of judging eyes. I went into the Air Force, and I worked my ass off fighting my own idle habits and just, everything. I went into the medical school program, and against I found myself busting even more ass than before. I would not quit. I was condensed diamond solid fervor back by ungodly determination to reach something I had even established. I became that doctor, and I got out of the Air Force and I set to save the world...

I joined the Peace Corp, and traveled using my knowledge to help people that were less fortunate than myself, people that those other parents would also judge. I never forgot those faces, I never forgot my sister, I wrote my parents once a week with pictures of the habitat developments and me and groups of foreign people. These people with me in these photographs gave my parents a shield from those bastards in that small neighborhood with their pitying eyes. It gave them a sword to fight back.

I don't mean to toot my own horn, but I am just trying to feel out this compulsion I have to rant about how one shouldn't judge for the past, but the aspirations of the future. I am not defined by previous actions, but rather defined by the goal and the path up from this point to then. You can judge the past of someone when their dead, and the bedazzlers are resting on the dresser and collecting the dust of things once childishly adored. Intent is the curse not the aftershock of the action.

I never married, now in retrospect I kind of wish I had. I just never had time for that kind of thing. When you in an obsession, when you have to prove yourself to yourself, you can't expect to be suited to take care of anything but that. See that's what a relationship is, these two people, completely stable independent, finding each other, and building this...thing more stable and larger than the both of them. It is them, but something else, and only grows with time...I was stable to the point of being defensive, like a noble gas...

Now that's all I am, I guess...Success in life defined by life is funny that way...without it's context or definer, success is nothing."

Rough Short Story 1: 9 years.

"Hey R.B what the heck are you doin' man!"

I turn around and the pimple face monkey that is my friend Josh Oliver, standing in an XMen tee that looked like it had once belonged to a sweaty mongolian kick boxer. He had the kind of face that my grandfather used to compare to a bulldog, so ugly that the bastard was kind of adorable...in a way. His question was pertaining to me look at the brick wall on the playground like it was my mortal enemy. Everything did seem more dramatic at 9...

"Jackie Chan can do a backflip off a wall, so can I." I said stomping my feet as if I were a cartoon or something and had to rev up before shooting off. I was Fred Flintstone. I ran up as fast as I could and only put on foot on the wall before stopping. The fat tub crossed his arms. The roar of the playground made it sound like we were having recess during Dresden. I decided that I might hate Josh.

"You're not going to be able to do it...you can't even climb the rope in P.E"

I ignored him as best as my weak self esteem could. I hate Josh Oliver, and I hate that goddamn rope in P.E. I allowed my knee to bend to see how much pressure I would need to put out to get up high enough to flip back. I was thinking physics. Should I put my arms back or not? Should I tuck in for speed? I was nine and Stephen Hawking had nothing on my intellect when it came to interpersonal aerodynamics.

Or so I thought.

I back up to the edge where the hill just began to drop, and took the deepest breath of my life. I think at the time subconsciously I thought that if I was breathing during the any aspect of this feat, I'd die. You know in the tense part of actions movies, when the hero is being pelted at by bullets but they're all missing and his over developed pectorals are convulsing as he runs to the bad guy with a practical joke sized knife?

Anyway, that also...is complete and utter bullshit. Allow me to thank hollywood for most of my bloody noses, and jammed and dislocated limbs. You're the sole harbinger of pain most of my adolescence .

So with the off key chamber choir of other screaming nine year olds, seemingly miles away sounding in the back ground like thunder...I shoot off towards glory or doom. Within moments I am at the wall, my foot is on it and I push off. I thought that if I screamed, it would mean failure...

So I as I silently careened backwards like super man upside down, the look on my face comparable to being electrically shocked; I see that mongrel bastard fat cupcake eating neanderthal Josh Oliver laughing at me as I hit the wet grass, and slide down the hill. Apparently as I was calculating my flight to glory I didn't notice that people had layered the lawn behind with rocks and broken glass, land mines, nails...and whatever else happened to be introducing itself to my back flesh.
I manage to flip over on my front, and continue sliding or what felt like a fricken kilometer. I finally stop, and I lay with my baby face buried in the grass. I was not thin back then...but I wasn't a lard sucking imbecile like Joshy-poo up there. I started breathing again...only...due to the pain it seemed like a bad idea. The wind was throughly knocked out of me, alongside my pride, dignity, and the ability to summon the less than vast amount of curse words I had gained during my nine years. I laid gasping and silent on the lawn, holding my prepubescent balls in my throat, listening to Josh's laughing and the Teacher's footsteps running towards me like the Rex in the movie Jurassic Park...gosh damn you Hollywood.

"Are you okay R.B?"

Allow me to say what my 9 year old self could not say...thanks to retrospect;

'Well no, I am not okay you silly Farah hair doting git, I have more rock in my back than a topless barehanded coal miner, and I am pretty sure my tonsil and genitals have traded homes for the season...am I fucking okay?'

Anyway, the nine year old me...promptly wheezed like an excited old jewish man. I thought and maybe attempted to roll over but nothing below my neck line was having that. I did manage to get up on my knees somehow. I looked at her as she looked at as if another arm had spouted from my chest. I cough grass, blood, and intestine fragments onto the rocky lawn and look at her smiling through the pain. I guess when I think about it I was a tough kid. Maybe I just didn't like showing too much pain.

"Let's get you to the nurse." Also, another strange thought I wished hollywood would have produced from reality...hot school nurses. Our nurse was the illegitimate daughter of Quasi-modo, and could snap a femur between his index and middle finger knuckles. Going to the nurse at my elementary school was like the spanish inquisition, either way you came out worse than you came in.

So there I was, a 9 year old nerd in the nurses office from hell, with enough wounds to compare nearly successfully to a Nam veteran. The nurse was out to lunch which now, again thank to retrospect I find hilarious because it's not like...kids would be more likely hurt during recess.

So the things that were going through my mind right then were over the top to say the least. I was a fifth grader, but I'd read 'A Separate Peace' and I was fairly certain that any moment a piece of rock or bone would hit my heart and I would just drop dead like a box of rocks. Hey! thanks Aunt Carolyn for giving a novel that had a kid die in it at the age of 9.

The nurse comes in, with all of her masculine glory intact. She looks at me as if I did something wrong by being there. I and holding my stomach, and I think that's a red flag for her because her words are very very angry.

"Come in and sit down Richard!"

My skin crawls. I go in and sit down. She starts looking at my back. I expect to feel a whip or magic or something.

She calls my parents. I get sent home. All of this happens within 3 minutes.

"I can't have you in school with a ripped up shirt."

Oh...and the road rash notwithstanding? What a bitch.

Hardened Criminal

When I got up this morning I couldn't decide on what I wanted to wear. I knew that it was cold so I put on my only hollister shirt, a sweater, and hung out before heading to Starbucks. When I got to Starbucks I couldn't decide what I wanted to drink. I got a Venti Brewed, and decided that for a change I would put some milk in it. Skim. I then started heading to school. I turned on Moberly, and about halfway down a cop pulled out behind me and I knew that I was fucked.

I was pulled over in the driveway of the church near Sonic, on 18th street, you can see the plaza where Kennedy Coffee is across the street. The cop was cool, had a scar above his left eye and spoke like he didn't know what he was doing.

"Hey man, can I get your license and registration."

"Yeah dude here..."

"Be right back."

"Alright."

I'm calm at this point. I knew that I wasn't speeding, and there isn't anything wrong I can see.

He comes back. "I pulled you over because your tail light is out, but you have two outstanding warrants from 2005, I have to take you in."

I realize my coffee is horrible tasting, it shows on my face. "What? How bad?"

"I'm going to have to take you in."

"Well, Fuck."

"Where were you headed?"

"Philosophy."

"Oh, you might have it with my girlfriend."

"Krueger?"

"I don't know"

I step out of the car and he searches me. I know what this is like, and then I get cuffed and stuffed in his squad car. There are no cushions in the back and I keep sliding around. Coheed and Cambria is playing. I'm not taking this seriously for some reason.

Nothing happens really until the officer gets into the car.

"Alright man, I'm going to have to tow your car okay?"

"Well, no, not really okay, but if you have too haha"

He laughs, I roll my eyes, and he starts talking about music.

"Do you like Dragonforce?"

I think about Dragonforce, and I think about this guy being a psycho cop who does it for the thrill. "Yeah, they're pretty good man, I heard Coheed on here, new album out soon....28th?"

"Heck yeah dude, ever hear the Mars Volta?"

"Yep, more of an At the Drive in fan though myself."

"Never heard of them." He puts on the Mars Volta. I don't know the song because as I said, I am an At the Drive in fan more.

We make it to the base, and this other lady is going his work, and he finger prints me.

"Where do you work?" The rather nice lady cop who's doing his paperwork asks.

"Starbucks." I say in a cheerful tone despite the outlook of everything.

"Oh yeah?! which one..." She is far more excited about it than I thought.

"46th and Walnut, but I am opening the new one near Laquinta."

"Cool, just remember I didn't arrest you when I come in for a drink."

I don't say anything for minute because the guy cop is fingerprinting me. They don't like you having control of your hands during this. That's hard, and takes a lot of concentration.

"Don't worry about it, what do you usually drink?"

"The house, or a latte."

"Tough lady." I comment slightly flirting, even though I'm already arrested by Lieutenant Hero over here. She gives a thumb point to the guy and remarks.

"This guy hates coffee."

I really hate this fucking putz at this point an time. I silently thank the dude that gave him that scar on his eye. I get to sit down. I just sit as they chat to me about Starbucks.

"You guy's will get drinks on me if you come in."

"Really?! Wow...didn't expect that."

I shrug, I throw them a bone. "Bah, you guy's are just doing your jobs."

Unfortunately, your job is to be a jackass.

So this guy, is so lazy that he decides to take me to county so they can hold me, until my parents come rather than stay with me at the department while we wait. So I get cuffed, and stuffed back into the back of the car with no cushions, and we set of f to the county jail. We jam to Dragonforce. He's way too into it.

We get to county and I get passed off to a smaller guy, with a slightly better sense of humor though, to my great surprise...a hick. The first thing I smell when I enter is the stinging wall of human shit. The guy in solitary located nicely beside the intake door has balled his own poop and started throwing it at the window, and rubbing himself down it in.

I get searched, my belt and my sweater taken, along with my shoes and my wallet, and get sent into the booking office. I am so confused as to why I am being booked it's amazing.

Finally after about two and half hours of a bunch of guards uhming and scratching their asses...I get a phone call. I call my father who's first question is rather calm and funny.

"So, why are you in jail?"

"Remember that ticket I got for not having proof of insurance?"

"Yeah..."

"It got way worse that we thought."

"Shit..."

"Call mom, get me bonded and out of here man."

"Alright I will right now, see you in a bit."

I hang up.

2 hours later.

"Bell, lets get you dressed out." This ugly hispanic guard says rather amused with himself. I get up, and start becoming nervous. "Wait? I just talked to my father he is bonding me out today, can't I just sit here?"

"No we need you off the floor, can't be taking up space."

I feel every cell want to kill this idiot. I am the only one sitting there, other than a guy that isn't 'dressed out' and has been there since 7 am.

So I get my prison wear, and I get sent into a private bathroom, and the guard stands there. I am a bit weirded that this cat is about to watch me get naked. So I take it all of, shower, put the new shit on, and get thrown in cell number 7. This is the standard, 6 by 8 foot cell.

The kicker being, there are three people in this cell already, other than myself.

So the first guy to speak is Jamie. He asks me what I am in there for.

"Not paying an insurance ticket."

"That sucks man, get some sleep."

"What're you in here for?"

"Attempted murder, I'm getting transferred soon."

"What!?"

"I stabbed my wife in the neck four times with a screw driver, she deserved it though."

I didn't respond. I think it's understandable as to why, I laid on my mat and tried to sleep.

What could only have been a hour later, Jaime starts snoring like some shoved a bloody kazoo up his sinuses. I thought it was a lipless trumpeter of an 18th century death march, slow, loud, soul quivering. I cannot express how loud it was.

I am there for what feels like five hours, the sound of the south american howler monkey in the room becoming tolerable to my ears as the guard opens up and yells.

"BELL!"

"YEAH!" I am half asleep and I think it's my father for a second.

"You got a visitor, Bondsman."

I got up and waddle in my baggy ass uniform, and the plastic sandals to the window where I pick up the phone, and he does too....just like the movies.

"Wanna get out of jail kid?"

My brain goes haywire, I understand why there is 3 inches of glass between us. I start cursing him 'NO, I WOULD RATHER FINISH MY FUCKING NAP YOU FUCKING FUCK, I WAS HAVING A GREAT DREAM IN THERE WITH THE DUDE THAT TRIED TO OFF HIS WIFE..."

"Yeah man. " I say with a calm face.

"Alright."

He takes my information, and then leaves saying it will be awhile. I'm tired, and obviously unsupervised so I walked back into my cell and try to go back to sleep. Jaime starts talking.

"Bondsman, you out of here man?"

"Yep, what did your wife do?" I had to ask.

"She went crazy, she started writing shit over my face on the family pictures and stuff."

I fucking was blown away that people like this had whole families...the state of the world is a great surprise. I just nodded, and said. "Yeah man, that does fucking suck."

I was cussing more and more. The guards were cussing, the inmates were cussing, it was contagious quickly.

So I get brought out of cell 2 hours later. I think it's two hours. I get sat down, and then come up to get brought out.

"We've found another warrant on you."

"Mother F*cker" I start censoring myself again.

They write me another court date up and I get sat down where I was before, with my paper work, and I have to wait to get my fingerprints done...again...and get my clothes back.

3 hours....later...

I get my clothes, finally, after watching the through incompetence of the guards. I get sent out, and meet my father, and my livid, though calm mother.

My car could not be released because it was impounded and the place closes at 5.


THE END....? hopefully.

Park Bench 2

A younger man, walks over and sits down on the park bench. His accent is thick.

Man: There's this thing that happens when you stand still for a moment. It's like your senses temporarily heighten, if you think about it. I always used to think the reason for that was because our bodies can only do so much at one time. We're like water in an old house. You can turn everything on and get some pretty shoddy pressure, or you can just turn on one or two faucets and get amazing pressure.

I used to walk around with all my faucets running.

When I was born, there was nothing like this around...hell, the idea of running water was state of the art. I remember when creeks were it places, and you had to have a strong arm to turn the crank to start your car. My daddy once broke his wrist trying to start our car...was out of work for weeks. Back then, you couldn't be out of work for weeks. He would get up at the same time everyday and stare out the one window we had for an hour or more. My mother would yell at him for breakfast before yelling at us, and he would always act as if he were further away standing than we were asleep. He had a strong jaw on him, I remember that...not much else other than the days he was home like that.

When I was 11 America entered the war, Wilson was bout pissed at the Krauts and my daddy was too, though I didn't understand at the time why. He and my brother went off to help Wilson out. I remember the bus, blue like a whale out of water, and full of sad faces. They all looked out the window like daddy did back when his arm was broken. I didn't see any broken arms. My brother looked silly with his stiff upper lip. He always had a smirk and bright eyes even though kids made fun of 'im for being the only in the family with red hair. They'd call him 'carrot top' or 'adopted' or 'milkman's son'. He whooped 'em, whooped every single one of 'em for making momma out to be a whore.

So, I imagine that this place is something special, I remember living here, but I don't remember this pond or anything. Does have a way of making you forget what you were doing, 'cause I can't remember anything. I remember Dan saying something to me about my weddin out in the street downtown, and then here I am sitting here, talking about my daddy and brother to a dang pond.

What's that? Yeah, I'm getting married, a week from this coming Sunday. She's the damned most prettiest girl I've ever seen you can imagine. I wasn't about to settle. She's got a mouth and hook on her though. Now that I'm got a good job and what not daddy says I got get a wife. He lost his leg, but he doesn't look out the window anymore.

You know when all your faucets turn off? It's when you meet someone you can fall in love with, I think. When you look at someone, and it's like your holding your breath, and no matter how much you blow, and breathe, that first gasp...just stays there. It's like your body wants to remember. Your stomach burns and tightens real tight. For some reason though, you don't like shake or fight it like you think you would, or even want too...because all your facets are turned off, cept maybe one.

That's what it was like with Ruth...

Hm? Oh dang it I gotta get going, time waits for no man ya know? See ya.

O.O.B.E

I was walking down the street. I like to keep my hands in my pockets as I walk. Sometimes, I put them in the back, especially when I find a girl nearby attractive. I was looking around and just observing. I saw a few kids playing near the fountain with their parents sitting and ignoring them. I smiled as I thought about how they will be wanting their kids attention later in life. My parents want my attention now, but didn't then. I turn the corner along the path of the street, being sure to take in the shops, and moreover my reflection in the mirrors. Did I look good? Of course I look good. I looked over across the street to my friends shop and thought briefly of going in and saying hello. I didn't go in to say hello. I walked to the end of the street and went in to look at the black people clothes. I kept my hands in my front pockets. I didn't say anything, and no one said anything to me. I felt like I had a fever. My sweater was unnecessary. I walked back out and across the street and back up towards where I came. I was being eyed by a few females. I thought for a second what they were thinking. It wasn't godly. I kept walking, being sure to notice them looking behind them as I walked past. I walked by a clothing store where the cologne was strong enough for me to make a face without realizing it at first. I walked past my friends shop. He didn't see me, so I didn't have to see him. I turned the way and walked up towards a place where a female I think about works. I slow down in front of the shop as much as I can. I look in but I only see myself in the grid of windows. I think that she might be thinking I'm weird. I think I am weird. I keep walking. I turn at the end of this street back towards where I came from firstly. I walk on the opposite side of the street from where the girl I think about is. I wonder if she would run out if she saw me. She wouldn't. I cut across the main square where a new set of kids are playing, still ignored by their parents. They're parents have fancy looking purses. I think about hollywood, and judge them. I walk past a place where another female that likes me works. I tried to get by unnoticed. She runs out and yells. I pretend to be deaf. She has a bit of a lisp. I wished that everyone would wake up and have a lisp. I make it to the restraunt on the corners lot. I become thirsty, and I want to get a drink. I get in my car and go home. I think that the whole thing was a waste of time.

Park Bench 1

A man walks over and sits down on a park bench. His hair is messy, he's semi-unshaven, though he looks nice. Looks ahead:

Man: You know philosophers today have a number of theories on whether or not the mind is associated or not, with whole body thing. Some think that your mind is just a by-product, what was it called?....epiphenomalism...yeah....they think that you're body directly affects your mind, but your mind has nothing to do with the body, or some crap, I dunno. Any one of these theories either goes in one extreme or the other, using examples that support them and B.S their way through whatever philosophical ether bullshit they have to tolerate.

Why the hell doesn't any one just say "Lookit, you have a mind, and body...The body affects the mind, and the mind affects the body...and the mind is like nothing else, ever."

People question to much is all I'm sayin.

This park is nice, ain't it. A doughnut with a bloomin' lake in the center, about high noon you his breeze that is warm just up to the point it hits you, then it's cool, or at least the time of year. In the winter, kids come out here and walk around and talk about whatever kids talk about. They really do have it all figured out, ya know? They walk along here, in the shit people used to throw away, or give to helping hands or somethin'...and they talk about life like they've scene a slice...if only that crap we're recorded...self help would be changed forever man, forrrrever.

Who knows more about finding someone than a kid, really? Do you get as many dates as you did when you were 17? yeah...also, did you ever just freely open up to someone like you did when you were 17, or is it a science on who I am gonna breed with for the rest of my life before the ol' clock stops winding right?

I think I was in love once, yeah...sure...to be honest, it was a little bit uncomfortable, people are like "It's the greatest feeling ever!" But I dunno, it was kind of like having that vapor rub stuff all over your body. Everything can breathe, and you've got not a wall to stop this person from finding out something about you. It's like walking around with a target on your back.

Yeah...I'm a cynic....I've got my reasons too, wanna hear 'em?

One day I got up and knew everything. Bit far fetched, but true. I woke up and I knew whatever someone was thinkin, whatever was goin on, and it wasn't overwhelming, oddly enough, it was a rhythm.

I had a lady friend, beautiful girl, long legged, long haired, feminine but strong, tempered...just...I thought she was the one, which after 3 years, was a decent assumption. Then, she comes over, and I know man, why is the guy not living with a chick he's been with for three years, welllp, its a longer story, for a longer time...but anywho...

She came over, and all I sensed, felt, and knew about her, was dark, and negative, and hateful, towards me..she was going through the motions, she was unfaithful, and she knew that I had not a clue about any of it.

Never met a better actress.

So, after that blow I just left, picked up my coat, left her in my appartment, and left...I went to this park. I sat down at this bench, I looked at this lake, and I just waited until I forgot everything. I forgot everything by feeding Gulls...and watching the dog's walk their owners. I forgot everything by being near, everything that mattered. When I forgot everything, I remembered only what I knew before, and what I learned about me...and went home. It takes a moment to learn something, but...you never forget what you just don't come prepackaged knowin'....I didn't forget what I saw in her, even though I forgot everything else...it's the things that make the ripples, that hang out in the bottom of us.

Anyway, that's the end of that story....