31 January 2007

dust

Much time has passed since my last post but I'm still here -- and doing quite well. L and I have now been dating for over a month and despite my occasional episode we're very happy together. Romantic relationships -- especially when you've experienced so few throughout your life -- are strange mechanisms. Our relationship works differently than most because of our geographic locations. We're separated by 50 minutes so weekends are usually our time to spend together. Nightly phone calls and periodic text messages throughout the week lessen the distance and she never feels far away. While the distance can be difficult at times, I think it helps moderate our feelings and prevents us from "rushing" things.
I could easily saturate this post with sentimental cliches and confessions of love but those things shall remain private. She knows how I feel, and I know how she feels.
I haven't posted any recent writings because I have many stories (?) working their way through my notebook. I've never worked on multiple pieces at one time but thus far I've managed to keep each piece fresh and interesting.
The screenplay I started several months ago has been filed away but remains floating in the ether of my imagination. I haven't abandoned the script; we need some time apart, that's all.
Right now my writing philosophy is simple: just write. I'm confident that if I keep plugging away these pieces/stories/whatever will weave together and become a cohesive unit or they will forever remain separate and eventually form a collection of short stories; I find the latter very intriguing.
I'll try to keep T.S.Tv.S. fresh with a weekly update or two. Despite the many conflicting and contrasting pieces that make up TheSkyIsATelevisionSignal.blogspot.com, I'm very proud of what this blog represents.
Ugliness.
Beauty.
Heartache.
Love.
Pain.
Joy.
My life.

mc

10 January 2007

built to spill

We are not data.
We are not black fonts painted on clean white sheets tucked in manila folders and hidden away in gun metal gray filing cabinets.
We are not an appointment scheduled on an over sized calender in a professional's office. (His desk is adorned with high class knickknacks, among them is a gold framed portrait of his family beaming under a Cancun sun, perfect. They are tanned. Healthy. Smiling mouths expose perfect white teeth. A picture of the american dream.)
We are not an account number with an accompanying profile photograph.
We are not a job title.
We are beings miraculously floating through time and space, trapped on a planet searching for something, someone. Seeking love. We rummage through the senseless debris of modern life looking for that spark, that _____, the ineffable flame that unites two exiled souls and transforms the meaning of self. Two beings fuse and the spectrum through which they view life changes.
Men have murdered for the flame of love.
Men have disappeared never to return upon experiencing love's crushing departure.
Lovers have committed themselves until death for that light.
Others have made final pacts and chosen an early exit when the cold shadows of authority won't allow their flare to flash.
All of this for love. Sweet love.
We've shot men into space and left proof of our existence on a lunar surface. We've developed technologies to kill thousands and save millions. Yet love has befuddled the human mind. Love's implausible logic leaves us silent, but a kiss speaks volumes.
Perhaps some day scientists dressed in white lab coats and trapped in sterile labs of fluorescent lighting will discover love's true name, its actual source. Is it a chemical? A component in the brain? What organic matter could possibly bring two separate beings together with such undeniable force?
What has brought L and me together?
What is driving us forward, closer?
Why does my entire body flutter with electricity when I look into her endless eyes?
How can the simple presence of another soul generate a peace -- a mutual peace -- that dissolves time and transcends two bodies from this physical realm?
She says, "I don't want to rush this. I've made that mistake before and I don't want to make the same mistake again."
I say, "I don't want to rush things. I've made that same mistake as well."
We want this to last.
But love is illogical, an untamed beast beyond comprehension. Is it possible to temper the flame? And if so, are we thereby harming its process?
And how do we know if these feelings are genuine?
One can question his or her feelings until they become meaningless drivel, and when love is involved the questions, as well as a subtle fear, quietly hum like distant radio static, fading in, fading out.
I did not ask for L's blessed presence, but here she is. I refuse to compute the risks involving myself with her; I'm enjoying each second and striving to plant myself "in the moment," knowing that tomorrow may never arrive. I won't mince my words, dear. I do not have the time -- none of us do.

"I try to think of what time is and all I can think is:
Time is.
Time was."
Andy Warhol, artist

It's my opinion that subconsciously, and in some cases consciously, we seek to control -- despite the fruitless nature of the task -- every aspect of our lives. Yes, you can control what you consume, who you see, where you travel, but the things that shift our lives, the things that make life real, the things that flash our brains and flush our hearts are ultimately beyond our control.
Love tells us to go. Move. Proceed. Forward. Experience. Open ourselves to that Great Unknown.
Love is a purpose. A reason to reach. Touch. Kiss. Exchange. Feel.
Love allows us to escape ourselves, we shed the flesh, bone and hair and become something... else. We become the greatest vessel this planet will ever know: a transparent body of peace, appreciation and tenderness.
The Uncontrollable.
Won't you join me, love?
All we're losing is time. Wretched time. Damn the consequences.
Tick. I.
Tock. Love.
Tick. You.
Tock. ..................

mc
"We're always losing the moment, it's always vanishing."
Stephen Koch, author

04 January 2007

sister sadly

Mother and Stepfather now have temporary custody of Sister's newborn son. Apparently she relapsed last night but this is assuming she ever freed herself of those venomous substances.
I won't delve into the sad details of last night's conversation with mother. If Sister doesn't check herself into rehab she will a) overdose unintentionally or b) commit suicide. My family has fought this battle before (Sister's previous problems are blogged here... How long ago did those heartbreaking events transpire?... Time lines blur but memories do not) but now a child, a baby is involved, and once again I'm prepared for words informing me of sister's death everytime the phone rings.
Last night I told my mother to just give in, give up and give in to the Great Magnet. The great Unknown that renders us all powerless. Accept the fact that control is an illusion. We develop products that give up temporary control. Remote controls. Thermostats. Alarm clocks. PDAs. Computers. Our roads are lined with white and yellow lines guiding us. Signs are posted warning us of upcoming dangers, limiting our speed. Stoplights control the flow of traffic.
Look around.
We're surrounded by things that aid the illusion of control -- a control that does not exist.
Give in.
Find beauty in the lack of command. The absence of might.
You are free.

mc

01 January 2007

L

New Year's 2007 was a very special celebration thanks to a lovely little lady named L. It's difficult, if not impossible, to express the significance of her presence. She became a vital part of my life at such a crucial time that I'm not sure where I would be without her.
When you know that another soul reciprocates your feelings and understands your unspoken language (a glint flashing in your eye, an emotion burning in the pit of your belly, a heart racing from flesh touching flesh) you know you've found a rare and unique individual.
L, thank you for making last night a memorable and unforgettable experience.
I love you, babe.

mc
(I still can taste you on my breath)