I love this time of day. . .
Quitting time.
It is another day above the dirt . . .
More accurately, it is sunset in my mid to moderate sized town in the suburbs.
I am south of Paradise and north of damned. Or more to the point and for all else who fail to understand, I am somewhere between Purgatory and all points east of Eden.
Or maybe I am west of the infernal, depending upon the view or the time of day and the flow of traffic.
I am somewhere familiar and someplace that knows me well enough to call me “The Prince,” even though my castle has been both violated and destroyed a few years back.
There is a name for where I am.
I believe they call this place, Long Island.
Yes . . . Long Island, East of the city. East of my birthplace and my first apartment as an infant and east of Forrest Hills, Queens.
I am east of Middle Village too, which is where I lived for a while and I could have lived there for longer or for the rest of my life and been happy too.
East Meadow –
I call this the birthplace of my youth. I have seen too many things in this town. I call this my beginning. I say this is the resting place of my loved ones and the hiding spots where I kept my secrets. I can call this place the burial ground where I buried my past habits and entombed my old crimes and buried the mass weapons of my worst-case, self-destruction.
Ah, suburbia, your funny tricks and secrets do not fool me as much as they used to. Then again, nothing fools me as much as they used to.
Nothing surprises me the way it did; not the mild to wild dysfunctions of everyday life, and not the mad swings between good and evil.
I am not so moved as much about the lies from the righteous when they give their Sunday sermons or the preachers who preach about the Godly. I often realize there is no difference between them and those who live in disbelief.
Nothing surprises me the way it used to.
I am certainly not surprised about the revelations which come when we learn that even good people have dark secrets.
I am not concerned with these things as much lately and I am not concerned nor do I feel the need to deliberate between right and wrong and hellfire and brimstone.
I have to take care of my daily bread before I think about those who sit at other tables and yes; I have failed to forgive myself for my daily trespasses and of course, I failed even more by not forgiving those who trespassed against me.
No one surprises me like they used to, which is not the best news because I could use a little surprise. I could use the refreshing appeal of learning something nice or uplifting. I could use the redemption or the redeeming qualities of a nice, long conversation and the interpersonal connection that makes you wonder, “where the fuck have you been all my life?”
And somehow, I know there is love out there for me and that you . . .
the love of my life . . .
you are right here with me
Always, despite the distance or the past
or the ways I have failed you and myself.
Before i go too far, then let me go here.
I think I need a break.
I need an outlet.
Or maybe I need to sit this one out and take some time to myself.
I know I’m told that a little vacation goes a long way. And I know the beaches down south are still in good standing and the weather is kind enough that I can enjoy a cold drink with one of those little umbrellas sticking out of the top and a few slices of fruit to garnish the glass.
I could use one of those drinks.
No alcohol, of course.
I could use some time and find a place to regain myself (again) and regain my composure and if at all possible, I need to find someplace with warm winds, a nice bright sun, a flood of someone beautiful to see and an easy chair to sit at the beach and watch the waves come in.
I could use this.
I am standing in the street and I am a short distance from my boyhood home and not too far from my teenage tragedies and the victories of my lost virginity.
I am looking up to admire the view of an orange sky in the evening, just before sunset, and I can see a white trail, like a cloud of white excrement from the tail-end of a jet plane –
I could use a good flight.
I could use the feeling of being high above the ground and far away, far from my City, and far from my problems, far from Purgatory and further from the judges and the juries who have found me guilty and choose to execute me while screaming, “OFF WITH HIS HEAD”
Guilty as charged.
I am
and so is my jury too
but they lack the same degrees of honesty to admit and confess to the exact natures of their wrongs
I need some time.
I need a place . . .
I need a beach with white sand and a few palm trees and something to make feel . . . how do you say, enticed by the tan of her skin and enamored and excited by the smell of her tanning lotion. I want the sexual redemption that comes when she lays next to me in her chair down by the beach.
I do not know if they serve refreshments in hell and nor am I sure that I am fit to be condemned and damned to the demons below.
But ah, you, me, Purgatory and the land of make believe scenarios keep the blood pumping through my veins.
I may not see myself in the best light. And I might be too insecure.
But hey, everyone feels better with a tan.
So let me lay in the sun
Let me enjoy the moment
Let me find a place to make love and dare the scene and perhaps play with the roleplay ideas that border between the ideas of crazy and criminal
Or, if not
Let me nap for a while
So I can dream
and dream with all I have
(so I can see you)
