Monday, March 23, 2009

all of life's treasures, remind me that houses are just made of wood

Photobucket

There was a small sliver of a house that never existed that I chiseled out with my keys and gave away once, long ago. I found it again, it was in a pile of dust and dirt and destined for the refill litter bin with the poetry filled empty coke cans. It never was, so it didn't matter, not to anyone, except me, but I'm good at rewriting continuity within my own mind.

Photo - N
Words - S
Photobucket

I can remember a much more innocent time when all I needed to make me happy was a video game. Bills, student loans, women, job woes...I knew none of this. All I knew was the shiny quarter sliding down the slot and the cathode tube embracing me. I can remember so much of that era...arcades come and gone, games that are forgotten (or best forgotten) and Pac-Man. For a few years, everybody loved Pac-Man. It was a simple game compared to the HALO that we have now. Who can imagine being so captivated by a moving mouth eating pellets and being chased and chasing ghosts?

Ellwood City, my hometown, had one upscale arcade and three dirty, smelly dens of ill repute that were the Mos Eisley of my small origins.They were the bridge arcade, which basically sat on the 5th Street Bridge, where dope kids and burnouts swung their drunken legs over the bridge. Of course, my dad was the art teacher, so all of these kids loved my father. So, I was treated quite nicely by this rough crowd and even allowed on the machines that they monopolized. The second was the poolhall, buried in a basement and I went there once, with my grandfather, who was about the only member of my family who was hardassed enough to take me along. I begged for years until he gave in and took me and to tell the truth, it wasn't what it made out to be. It was kind of boring. The third was the Newsstand, which is the only arcade left in my depressing birthplace. And it was there, after a night of fine dining with my parents at the Gilded Cage, in 1982, that I first saw her.

Ms. Pac-Man. Now, how cool was that? My mom took me to arcades all the time, never playing, but now she was hooked. I remember the excitement when Atari released Pac-man for the famous Atari VCS (or 2600 or Sears Telegame). With baited breath, we laid down our $50 and sat in a restaurant in little Rochester, PA called the Hilltop, infused with red light and dreaming of what was to come. We hurried home as fast as we could. We all agreed to do our homework and chores and then reconvene to play Pac-Man until bedtime. I couldn't wait...to see the little yellow mouth cut across my screen, to beat those ghosts, to use my patterns to beat the game in the comfort of my own home.

We plugged it in and we realized the sad truth. Pac-Man was ruddy brown, the sounds were wrong and everything was horizontal where it should be vertical. We tried to justify the game. We tried to wish it better. We wished that it was the real thing when it was painfully obvious how poor it was. We convinced ourselves that it wasn't really all that bad.

Looking back, I realize that this was the first time I had ever been truly disappointed. Whatever childish innocence I had was thrown to the dogs and now, I was full of cynicism. I wish I had never bought that fucking game.

Photo - S
Words - S

Saturday, March 21, 2009

Photobucket

I waited and waited for the words to come and they didn't. I sat there faced with the blank screen and I wanted to share my thoughts guerilla love style and there is nothing inside that has anything left to say. Because being the words is a waste of time.

Photo - S
Words - S

Thursday, March 12, 2009

Photobucket

1,513 people died on the Titanic. But yet, you can now win tickets that you can use to win stuffed animals now, thanks to this handy dandy arcade machine. I hope that I win the pink monkey.

Photo - S
Words - S
Photobucket

Sweat spins in arcs and water sprays over the crowd, cascading over the stage. Clap clap clap handclap thump thump everybody jump and spin. I see the faces of the people as they emerge from throwing their clammy bodies at one another, a mix of exhaustion and pure, pure joy. They recover and shove their way back, but it's not shoving, because everyone just moves with a smile and they're back, upside down, rightside up and the drums get hit and the bass fills the cold air with warmth and the guitars get beaten up and I close my eyes, surrounded and jostled and pushed, and I smile and wish I could raise up this feeling high up above the city and send it to you.

Photo - S
Words - S

Tuesday, March 10, 2009

Photobucket

The best words that I write are in the letters that I do not send. The most truth is in what I have never told you. My draft box is filled with what I really should say. Instead, my lips says words that I wish they wouldn't and I offer things that I wish I could take back.

Photo - N
Words - S
Photobucket

This world conspires to show you the things that you never want to see. It will present them in full high definition, placed before your eyes in a way that you cannot look away and the light that once lit eyes will not ever be reflected in your own. Bulb by bulb, these things will extinguish and you will slowly run, then walk, then crawl. There are times when it feels like you can't even lift you own head and you are pushed down further and further, all in vain against the world's gravity, until it feels like you want to be here on your knees, eye wetting your face and your mouth open to drink full the moisture and you'll scream and no sound will come out. It feels like you can't even walk another step, but the truth is, you're a fucking fool and you have always played your fucking role so fucking well.

Photo - N
Words - S