The Mindset of a Guard at 4am

tired-of-writing

This morning I left my job with fists thrown high! Why? Because it was my last god damned day behind that god damned desk at those god damned hours! 12 am to 8 am shifts are some of the hardest shifts to do. While you can be productive and complete 6 hours of homework at a time you start to lose your mind as your body is pushing through the seconds of life awake that should be spent snoozing within the warm bosom of your bed.

Just imagine it- that life sucking, cushioned cloud of excellent pleasure. The natural recharge button is hit the moment your head hits that pillow. The bed absorbs the shock of your body pressed against the memory foam. What does it memorize you ask? It memorizes exactly what you like.  You like a bed that sucks you in by only a few inches? Be my guest. But real pros are the ones that go for the beds that take you down a silky warm river of soy milk as you lay flat on the surface with your naked body exposed to the perfectly cooling night.

But I wasn’t doing any of that. I was sitting in the muggy and grimy feeling surfaced desk that somehow has a fully operating Dell computer that looks like it came from the early 90s. Meanwhile God himself took my eyes, cracked them open on the frying pan and began to make eyes over easy for his morning breakfast. There I was, so many god damned times this year sitting and looking at a screen that would fill my mind with just enough sanity to make it through.

Eventually, though, that sanity disappears. It’s 4 in the morning and you have various obligations to keep you awake. It could be homework or something as simple as the fact that your binge watching needs haven’t been satisfied yet. Regardless, you’re up and you’re not going to sleep anytime soon. So your mind takes on two personas. There’s the one persona that is in charge of being aware of reality and what is directly in front of you. There is the other persona that starts to think really weird shit. The kind that begins to lose complete natural thought and completely spirals into tangent thought.

Here is what I remember from a few nights ago:

Fuck I’m tired. Wow, those lights are bright. This movie is good. Jason Statham is so fucking hot. I mean I’m straight. I’m as straight as a motherfucking rainbo- I mean light pole. Duh. Fuck I’m tired. But seriously, why is Statham’s jaw so perfect. I would really like to have that kind of a jaw. It makes me wonder, with all of the Hollywood surgeries for big time starts- do they surgically get that kind of stuff done or is Jason just simply that fucking hardcore to the point where his jaw line could cut paper. I think he actually can cut paper with that… and his abs… FOCUS CHAZ. You’re not gay. Stop thinking of his abs… and sexy jaw line. STOP IT. Scarlett Johansson. She’s hot. She has a pretty attractive body. That ginger hair. Those innocent lips. Those rock hard abs. That sexy jaw line. DAMMIT, YOU’RE DOING IT AGAIN. LEAVE STATHAM ALONE! Okay, okay. You’re not gay. Yes, you’ve kissed 5 guys in your time but that’s what happens when your past involves high school theater. I wonder what’s going on with all of my gay friends from theater. I bet they’re just having a fun time. Why did they go to other schools and myself San Francisco? I mean I am straight, right? Right. 

Alright, tonight’s assignment. “Straighten” me up. I’m so fucking tired. Chick A was so hot. I’d bang that any day. Hell ya. So hot. B, though- Chick B was alright. She could lose a few pounds but hey, her specialties skyrocket in skill above the rest. Chick C- I wonder how she’s doing. I mean we’re still friends but really? Is she doing okay in that department. Eh. Who knows. 

Yep, straightened. Excellent. For the record, there were more chicks to that list, but that’s all I needed to remind me who I am. Who Am I? Can  I condemn this man to slavery? Crap. Really? You’re singing show tunes? SHOW TUNES? So were going back to a relating topic where I kissed 5 guys in my life… so far. Shit. I’m only 20. Chances are, another guy will kiss me. Fuck it, pucker up mother fucker. I’m ready for this shit. If it is to be it is up to me. I believe I saw that on a poster with Shaqille O’neal. Damn, I used to think that guy was the best. Then I found out he sucked at free throws. But I’ve heard of people like that. Some people find it much more difficult to do the more basic actions while at the same time completing tasks that are way more complicated at above satisfactory levels. My roommate is better at doing skate tricks at a higher level than the basic tricks. I myself like to write full feature length films as appose to short films.

Fuck short films. I can reach for the stars. I WILL THRIVE, for Christ sake! I believe I can fly. I believe I can touch the sky… Shit, now I got that song stuck in my head. I think about it every night and day. Spread my wings and – FUCK OFF SONG – fly away. I believe I can soar! Fine I’ll watch Jason Statham kick drug dealers asses while listening to the cheesiest rendition of inspiration towards the human spirit. 

See Space Jam? You were a good movie, but because you were so iconic we now got stupid songs like this one flying all over the place and ruining people’s lives. Do you understand, Space Jam? My life is ruined now… because of you. My life… because of you. I used to love cartoons. Spongebob was my favorite. SHIT! Now his laugh is on repeat in my heat. “Dahahahahahahahahha.” Patrick is joining in like the pink asshole he is, “Weewooweewooweewooweewoo.” How much of this can I endure?

Suddenly, a resident with drooped down pants below his rear approaches the desk like he’s going to assault me.  He slams his pale white hands on the desk.

“Yo I need yo’ help, bro,” he says over confidently.

“One, I’m not your bro and- Never mind. What do you need?”

“I got locked out of my room, bro. Can you help me man? I’m tired.”

Don’t even fucking talk to me about tired.

Sure. I’ll call the guy right now and he will walk you up to your room and you’ll be good.”

“Shit man. Thanks bro.”

“Again, I’m not your bro-… Never mind.”

I make the call and notify the pasty white thug that the guy in charge will be down to help in 5 to 10 minutes.

15 minutes later the job is done.

That motherfucking pasty white asshole. I’d fucking take him by his hair and drag him down this hallway long enough to hear him wince in pain and break his head between the door and the door frame on the other end of the corridor. Watch his juices repaint the floors with bright color, take my hands and draw on the white walls, “Here lies a phony.” Yeah I fucking said it! I would do it. No you wouldn’t. Yes I would. You want to fight? No, I’m just saying you’re ridiculous bro. Are you calling me ridiculous? I’m saying your attitude is ridiculous. Let’s fucking go. Left jab! Right jab. Kick to the croch. Suddenly the insane persona just splits into three personas. The third persona? Hey guys, come on. Chaz needs our help. You guys going insane. This is pathetic. The two other aggressive personas look at the pacifistic persona. What the fuck did you say, they both say at the same time. Oh shit, the third persona says realizing he made a grave mistake. Suddenly a dust cloud of cartoon smoke rumbles and tumbles in Chaz’s cranium.

Ow, this headache sucks.

All three are at it kicking and punching and screaming like maniacs until they press so hard against each other that a POP is heard. Suddenly the three personas are just one persona. Phwew! That was a close one. 

Cat’s are intimidating creatures. Great transition mind. Thank you. They are house pets, or are at least seem that way but one thing is for sure. They’re training to take over the world. Cat’s are our pets for now just so they can study our ways, observe our weaknesses and strike when the time is right. Their leader? Catolph Mitler. With Meowser tanks lined up along the battle fields humans won’t stand a chance against the evolving cat. Yes they are evolving. Growing up, the big fact about cats was that they all hated water. Suddenly, I’m watching a series of cat videos where cats are swimming in water. EVOLUTION. Now they’re showing videos of them sneaking up on one another, having street fights, fighting off crocodiles and etc. That’s just training. We’re the mission that follows the training. It’s frightening, man. They’re going to kill us all. Catolph Mitler will slaughter us all.

Oh look the movie ended. Time to take a nap! 

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richey-beckett

Ug glub. Ug glub. Ug glub. Ug glub.

These are the sounds a heart makes when beating at the average rate. But there is one heart that exists that makes quite a different sound. It doesn’t beat the average way and when motivated by taunts it beats faster and faster with rage- just like a wolf.

Behind this wolf comes other wolves. A pack all together forming the perfect pyramid figure as it dashes through the forest claiming its territory. With barks and howls, each signals each other different commands that makes their wolf pack stronger and stronger. The more they run the more blood thirsty they become and the more blood thirsty they become the more this pack of hearts beat. All that blood being pushed through the veins of these angry beasts- just imagine. All together they drool over the deer they hunt that now detects them, becomes alarmed, and with an instinctual beat of the heart, it runs off away from the wolves. There is no shelter for the poor deserted deer. There is no salvation beyond the after world it is about to encounter. The only thing it knows is the panic alarm going off in its heart. Then, suddenly, blindsided by its own beating fear, the head of the wolf pack takes a great leap landing its claws perfectly onto its torso and neck. It sinks its teeth deeply into the throat. Blood rushes through the body in places where blood wasn’t meant to be. The internal bleeding begins. The other wolf right behind the head of the pack joins in to confirm the kill. This one bights into the deer’s chest breaking through bones leaving the heart open for the kill. Another mouth penetrates the delicate skin of the deer and soon enough the rest come in to help. All the blood seeps through various locations to the point where the deer is drained between the tugging and pulling of teeth leading the deer to suffocate on its own blood-filled lungs.

Ug… Glub… Ug… Glub… Ug…

Drained and dead, this victory calls for a communal howl that echoes throughout the forest. One after the other they thank the night for the chance to end another life and feed another cub. Another night for life amongst these dog-like hunters. Their hearts beat strong as their instincts remain in tact. Another night to celebrate their aggressive lifestyle.

Ug glub. Ug glub. Ug glub. A crooked old man feels that same aggression in his heart. Torn by failed promise he stands by the MUNI stop in San Francisco angry at the world. Of course, he is not always angry, but sadly it is true that all he sees around him is an ora of chaos he calls a temporary home. There is no love in this world. There is no light. All he sees is a land of failed opportunity due to his blind cynicism fueled by loss. Ug glub. Ug glub. Ug glub. Ug glub. What makes this heart beat so strong and defiant? A song sounds through the tile caves of this particular MUNI stop. Nothing stops it. It just repeats and repeats. The old crooked man stairs blankly at the ground reminiscing in a world so thick and distant. What he remembers? All of it. What he feels? A hint of it. The more the song plays, though, the more he feels it. Ug glub. Ug glub. Just like the pack of wolves. Except for the wolves it was instinct to feel that way. For the old crooked man it feels like the entire pack’s power of hearts resides in this one internal organ.

But he can’t make it stop. He doesn’t want it to stop. This beating gives the world a new sense of color. Ug glub ug glub. He is no longer so old. He is young and straightened and can walk just fine. The wrinkles are gone and his sense of humor is back. He’s no longer at the MUNI. He’s now at the high school prom. There they are right in the middle of it all. They hold loving hands and stand close to each other with their loving young bodies. And there that song plays as it repeats and repeats. They spin and spin and it plays and plays. Their hearts are racing as love has filled the air. This feeling goes beyond peace. It resides at beautiful chaos. And suddenly the young straightened man meets eyes with his partner’s and suddenly they both become lost within each other’s eyes. They become so lost that they feel the beating heart of the panicked dear who was blinded by fear before it was gutted. There they were so vulnerable and alive. It pays to suspect the worst at your best.

Then it was there, the MUNI train blasted through the tunnel, interrupting and dispersing all memories of such good times. Ug glub. Ug glub. Ug glub… Ug glub. The crooked old man’s heart began to calm down. Ug glub. Ug glub. Ug glub. Ug glub. Suddenly he found himself back to reality. The train doors opened and he approached the car when suddenly he realized that that song had stopped. The only thing left to repeat itself in this cruel cold world was the sound of his heat, “Ug glub. Ug glub.”

The Mysterious Affection of Mr. Ralston

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Every night that I am left with no other choice but to walk home or for the random reason of inclination to simply stroll home for the nice breeze, I take the direct route straight across my school going several blocks up the hills of Ingleside while crossing two main roads. The only road I have to turn on in order to go home is a street called Ralston Street. I’ve walked up this steep road many times and have found myself huffing and puffing by the time I get to the top corner house that I live in. While this is an accomplishment, my goal for getting home does not include me losing a good hundred or so calories. I always knew that if I could change one thing about getting home it was the angle that very road. But what makes this road worthwhile is not the accomplishment nor any form of desperation for needing to be home in the first place but rather a friendly black cat.

One night, my roommate and I were walking home when a black cat emerged from the shadows of the low bushes that guarded a neighbor’s house. The neighbor’s place was that of a dumpy property where the owners, appropriately so, were junk collectors. This cat, in the pitch black night blended in and made his presence almost so quickly that it startled us.  Surprised, we received the cat’s presence with gentle petting and scratching. It began to purr and rub up on us and instantly we fell in love with it. To my roommate, this was a much more meaningful experience as he had recently lost his cat back at home near Los Angeles. Ironically, the cat had looked just like my roommate’s with its black coat and mysterious laid back presence. Now I, being a dog person, was surprised that I found the ability to love such a thing but I did and while at first I was cautious of any other vicious and nonsensical attack that a cat would normally do (according to my previous experience) I felt completely safe. Sam and I left the poor cat, as it was time to go home, and all we could talk about was how cool and gentle that cat was. At the time, I knew that to my roommate it meant much more to him.

Next thing I knew, I would see this cat on numerous occasions and would stop to have pretend one-sided conversations with this cat that probably only cared about the textures he felt against the fabrics of my clothes and roughness of my hands. Sometimes he would even drool from pleasure. Nevertheless, I grew to love this cat. In my head, I thought, if only more cats were like this, I would actually like more cats. I loved his uniqueness. But with uniqueness comes identity and with identity normally comes a name. I soon realized that this cat’s lifestyle was a blacked out mystery that was just as black as its fur.  It was then I named the cat Mr. Ralston after the street. Now you not only had a face, I though, you are my friend.

From friendship came love and from this love I gathered that he was basically my pet… that didn’t live with me or have any official saying that he was mine. Mr. Ralston, though, truly was the best cat that I ever met.

One day, I was walking home when I saw an open house sign on the barren front lawn of the house the cat belonged to. To my surprise I decided to go in and see what the house had to offer. It was a rather dirty and clustered place full of junk, as assumed, yet there were some items of surprise. Items of fascinating topics included an old bb gun rifle, a civil war sword, and large projector that was probably used in the first existing movie theaters of this nation’s cinematic history and a series of medals won from war. While looking at the cool findings of what felt more like a tour through a museum I grew more and more saddened. Why? This meant Mr. Ralston was going to not exist in my life anymore.

It was then that I made it a point to walk everyday back home a night time no matter how sketchy it got or how physically tired I was. The moment I turned right on Ralston Street I began snapping my fingers and clicking my tongue against my back teeth but by the time those neighbors left I never saw Mr. Ralston again.

Three nights ago, I walked home after midnight meaning that the buses weren’t operating anymore. It was cold and foggy and I expected nothing more than a typical lonely walk home that occasionally was illuminated by the street lamps above.  I took the right on Ralston Street to head home the usual way. My earphones were blasting an intense rap song that motivated me to go faster up the hill. Out of caution, I would look all directions every three seconds. At this point I’ve walked 3 houses away from Mr. Ralston’s original home when I feel the cautious instinct of looking all directions in this hour. I turn around and like spotting a ghost in your hallway I jumped out of sheer shock. There, under the spotlight of the streetlamp, separated from the darkness in the shadow’s abyss, Mr. Ralston sat contently as if to say, “I’ve been waiting for you.” Stunned, I slowly took my earphones and fully faced the cat with surprise. The impatient cat waited for me by waving its tale seconds after the previous wave and eventually decided to walk up to me to prove its physical existence. As it got closer I knelt down and met with the real living Mr. Ralston.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” I asked wide eyed.

The cat already was meowing a full story to me and rubbed up against my hands. I adjusted myself and sat fully down on the sidewalk as it purred and danced around my body. From one hand to the other it transitioned itself strategically against my strokes and soon enough we were reunited already. In a few minutes time of concentrated love I suddenly felt at sync with the animal; a pure transfer was soon equivalent as he found pleasure and I found tranquility. But I knew I had to go. I couldn’t keep the animal because I would be kicked out of my house. I gave it one last stroke  down its back and a good scratching to the top of its head but I knew it was time to go. Once I stood up, the cat understood the message and began to follow me up the walkway. To my surprise the cat almost went the whole way up to my place. A part of me made a bet with myself saying that if the cat made it all the way to my door I would have to let it in at least for a night. Soon enough, though, the cat stopped and grew realistic thoughts towards our friendship. It stopped and sat and watched me go.

I do not know what our relationship has in store for me next but it is a unique one for sure. What it means or what it serves to me, again, I am unsure. The only thing definitive is how much I love that goddamn cat.