les paradis artificiels

a week passed. friday evening. i sat, smoking under the eaves of the deck and watched the terra-cotta clouds play hopscotch in the violet shadows. i noticed her number in my phone but didn't remember how it happened to find its way there. i couldn't call. instead, i made plans with my friends. this person had a friend in from new york, that person was going there, we're going here, you know the drill. mayu, ryan, temple, and i decided to meet ben and his friend at a pub. this particular pub is a friendly, no-attitude joint with a workin' man's boot hanging above the bar, adorning the walls are communist posters of thick-boned russian and chinese chicks hitting things with hammers and assembling tanks, and there's wild conversations between the homeless intelligentsia and the intelligentsia who happened to live in homes.

i called a cab.

i stepped outside and the wide expanse of the night cracked, a single snowflake fell, covering the city. it was winter, alright. i walked down to the corner of the street in my jeans, flannel shirt and boots feeling like something of a lumberjack bopping under the stars and city lights.

"beautiful night, isn't it?" asked a panhandler.

"poetry."

*dollar floated into cup*

we all met at the pub and struck up a game of darts. ben's friend was a pretty girl with a nice body. (it doesn't take long to notice such things.) ben introduced all of us, and we began talking. the girl's name was carmen and she knew ben from their undergrad days at dartmouth. she was from iowa, currently living in brooklyn.

there was some shop-talk, dart throwing, and a madman with a potato sack for pants was carrying on about something. everyone seemed to like him, and i watched his antics for a bit. i then turned to carmen and we chatted briefly, exchanging the usual preliminaries. i turned to the bar to grab more beers and watched everyone on their stools, everyone waiting for their saving angel to swoop down and rescue them, erecting, in their sadness, worlds of madness in place of onelove, and also i thought of the independent, creative-types, the rebels with a vitality that can't be satiated, but gets filled with whiskey, the ones with a disease of the soul, a disease of the night (and doesn't that make them more beautiful?), i thought of them, too.

the bar was getting crowded, and it was becoming difficult to hear. i was standing next to carmen when i put my face close to hers to talk about books, and she put her face close to mine, and it felt like an ocean of richness, so many melting things.

ryan had already gone back to meet his girlfriend and some other friends at his apartment, and we were to meet them there. so, before closing time we headed out and took a cab back to his place. from the street, the christmas lights on the deck cast perhaps pleasant reflections, and perhaps ineluctable visualties on the snow, and ryan and ava could be seen drinking from a bottle of wine. music played.

the night turned into the night turned into the night, and i was losing my mind egomaniacally on some beers. i whispered something about watching a movie into carmen's ear, and we went upstairs. the music could be heard and i took carmen's hand, she pressed herself against me, and we moved slowly.

"you know i can't be this close to know you and not kiss you." i said.

spinning in the middle of the room, we kissed. for an instant, i thought of violet, our one chance encounter, but isn't it true that you never really know how much space you occupy in someone's life? so we danced. we danced into the strange ecstasy of lust in the night, the room whirling, drunk, dancing, and in the dark, dancing, so much the, and then warm arms around the neck and then warm arms around the waist, spilling, splash – kiss – onto the bed, into the night, breathless, exciting, eager, young, and in the morning the vague anticipation of not knowing, and that’s not caring, and it’s not caring.

that's the night; that's what it will do to you.

if on a winter's night

"boy with a coin" by iron and wine

for you partake of that last offered cup

"and i heard a voice in the midst of the four beasts, and i looked and behold: a pale horse. and his name, that sat on him, was death. and Hell followed with him."

"when the man comes around," by johnny cash



i woke, my head feeling like the whirlwind in the thorn tree. my body horizontal, sort of, almost, yes, vertical. i walked to the kitchen and poured a large glass of water. guzzled it, feeling the bigweight of last night bearing down on me. i put the kettle on the burner to boil tea. it was cold now. it was november.

the windows were cracked, my flannels felt nice, and i began walking back to the living room, when i noticed a raven on the veranda, insipid and wild. i stood staring at the raven, and it stared back. the pale air swirled in the distance past the slightly open window. the raven spoke thus, '"my poor child,' quoth the Fairy Blackstick in thackeray's 'the rose and the ring,' 'the best thing i can send you is a little MISFORTUNE,'" as it flew off into the paledream day.

"fuck."

i went back to the kitchen and drew the tea, back to the living room, flipped on the television, and laid down.

it must have been late afternoon when i woke to the buzz of the phone. a text message: "we're going to play ball. should i swing by?"

"fuck." again.

"yeah," i wrote back.

not too long after, dan arrived. the nap had done me good, and i figured i'd get some exercise. or punishment. or something. i hopped in the car with my gym back. we drove to the gym to meet ryan and daisuke.

"you do anything last night, man," dan asked.

"yeah, i met a girl. and man, she just, I saw her, she just, like, emerged, as if from the woods, with the upshot of the moonlight illuminating her for the first time, no home but the night, a compendium of swirling dreams and dark magic, and she stirred such a paroxysm of emotion in my soul, man, just from the first sight, um."

(i didn't say that.)

"i caught a show."

"how was it?"

"it was fine. whadjyall do?"

"we went out. i ended up cooking brunch for twelve."

"nice..."

"yeah."

we arrived at the gym, chose teams, and went at it. there were some of the usual players there, you know the ones, the players playing basketball regularly, running by and out-hustling the occasional players. i played well at first but ran out of gas shortly, but i built up a sweat, everyone did. we played for a couple hours, then ryan, dais, dan, and i shot around by ourselves shooting the shit.

we said goodbye and left.

i hopped in dan's car, and we drove back. the cowboy bebop sunset looked like papier mache splashed against the lovesicksuicidesky, and it reminded me of rian johnson's neo-noir film, where a caped man with a top hat and walking stick sat on the beach in front of a bespectacled thinner man, as they both stared at the sunset and crashing breakers,when the caped man burst out, "things can get, you know, it's tough sometimes. twisted, complicated, watching all the, i don't know. everyone's got their thing.
[silence]
you read tolkien?"

"what?"

"tolkien, the hobbit books?"

"yeah."

"his descriptions of things are really good."

"yeah?"

"he makes you want to be there."

i walked into the house.