Friday, December 28, 2012

Dire Limbo

I've died so many times, but I've always escaped.  I always found my way back. 
Mason got frustrated with me, He knew he would get me, he just didn't think it would be so hard or take so long.  He cursed every opportunity for my baring fruit in a life long struggle and I would not give up.  How can someone, not ever in their lifetime, come on top or ahead of anything? Anything. 
I'd only fall and standup to fall again and again and again.

I've been relentless. In my defiance, I'd better myself, improve my skills and assets, in vain.  A curse? Indeed. 
The curse extended to my personal life as well as my professional. I was not able to feel wholly, love wholly.  The good things I did have, I was unable to thrive in it's joy. 
Now, when I think of it, it makes so much sense.  Benevolent Torture.  Mason was toying around with me.

He made things tangible to touch, then it would disappear. He did that a lot.  He laughed at my efforts in thinking I was a good person.  My willingness to help and give to others would only weaken me instead of lifting me.  I was tricked.   I was never a good person. I thought I was, it was a just deception.

I never had a heart. I never had a soul or should I say,  it was his soul all long. The heart was mine, that was the aid for treachery. I had to believe what I thought I was. 

I was stuborn and defiant, I thought I could beat him, ignore him.  He wore me down.  Of course he would win.  HE? Who the Devil?  I don't know for sure.  A bored angel perhaps? I call him Mason. I don't know why.   All I know is, something has to make sense of my life. Nothing else does.

Mason got tired of playing me. It was time to put me in my place. It was time to let me know what "I" was messing with.  Unfortunately in my being humbled, Mason would not only take me, he would hurt everything and everyone close to me. Simply because, why would he care?  I'm in fatal limbo.  

So to make things really fun, what's life without a little sordid drama?  Enter Mason and his chick with serpent eyes, to finished the job. Believe me, there is nothing more humiliating than watching these two look and laugh at you. 

I have to admit, Mason is to marvel at. He designed the perfect torture, almost pretty to look at.  Your reservation drops. Your mind goes, so does you reasoning.   There's no point in trying not to make a fool of yourself. You're helpless.  You're tired and no one can help you.   All you can do is pity yourself and watch them laugh.  

The least I can say for me,  I didn't make it easy.  

The big question is, why am I writing this?  If I didn't know any better, I'd blame Mason for giving lonely, sick people a cheap thrill into thinking that a life in the narrative means anything more than the 3mins someone 'might' give it.  It's all part of the curse. All part of making me a bigger fool.   Obviously I've conceded.  

Saturday, December 8, 2012

The Hair Cut

I've always been a little uncomfortable in barbershops. Probably because as a kid, it was the first place where my shyness was publicly displayed.   For some reason, every Saturday my mom would give me a quarter and send me to "Nate's Barbershop" to get a haircut.  That's right.  Every Saturday.  What the heck can you grow in a week? 
Nate's Barbershop was on the corner of 42nd and Mantua Avenue, facing the "Mantua Bar" directly across from the shop.   Now that I think of it, this explains why Nate was always drunk.   The weekly routine was to give Nate a quarter and ask for the "hustler" (the hair style of the day).   

The barbershop was an interesting place for a kid to be hanging around in.  Listening in on adult conversation, I'd wonder what some of the laughter was about.  I recall hearing them talk about "Maggie red drawers".  It could have been a military term, something or someone else.  Whatever the case, I laughed along with them because the name was funny.   
It was very frustrating to me that in the Barbershop there didn't seem to be a system.  If there were three people in the room, after the second person got his haircut, I would clearly be the next in line, but someone would walk through the door and jump in the chair.  Now there's seven people in the room and everybody's getting their haircut but me.  It was every man for himself.  I'd be in the barbershop for several hours before Nate would say, "Let the boy get in the chair.  Get up here Mickey."  

That was indeed frustrating.  On a positive note, I loved listening to the music Nate had playing on the radio.  Jazz.  Adult music.  I'd get lost in the sounds while staring at the comb sterilizer with the blue water.  When I finally got to sit in the chair, Nate was pretty drunk. He'd carve my head and send me home.  When I got home, my mom would start shouting at me because Nate had messed up my 'head'. 
"You go back to Nate and give him this note."  "He ain't have
ing my boy walking around looking like a pumpkin. Look at you!"  I would have rather been a pumpkin…

After waiting another 2 hours or so , Nate would acknowledge me.  He took a look at the note and calmly threw it in the trash.  He then gave me a quarter and a hat and shooed me back home.     To this day barbershops unnerve me. 

The song "The Hair Cut" was a piece I wrote, reminding me of the sounds I'd hear in Nate's Barbershop.  
Listen to : The Hair Cut