All The Small Things
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My Writings And Rants

Lyrics, Poems, Stories, Essays, Drivel and Nonsense all from yours truly.

I have written more than what's here... I just never really considered myself good at it! But I am able to inflict a lot upon you!

There are two of my monolouges on the page that I have written. Here is something that I didn't:

A man has dreams of walking with giants. To carve his niche in the edifice of time. Before the mortar of his zeal has the chance to congeal, the cup is dashed from his lips. The flame is snuffed of burning. He is brought to wreck and ruin in his prime.

My life was calm, well-ordered, exemplary. Then came this person with chaos in their wake. Now my life's ambitions go with one fell blow, its quite a bitter pill to take.

-Mary Poppins


Let me know what you think of them!


I had a dream the other night, like a dream I had had about a year before... It was strange. You see, a very controversial episode of some kids cartoon show once said you couldn't read while you were dreaming. Apparently, the side of the brain that controls dreaming is nowhere near the side that controls reading. 'Never the twain shall meet' sort of thing. But scientific study of the human brain is still inconclusive... many people think differently and use different parts of their brain than others. So that cartoon must have just created its own truth... cartoons are allowed to do that.

So I was dreaming and I think I was in a book store. There were many bookcases close to the ground but no one could bend over far enough to read the titles... they had to lay on their bellies in order to see what was offered. One section was dedicated to music and I found myself standing in this section, towering over the inscrutable volumes of musical selections. I saw other people on their bellies, so in this dream, I got down on my belly, too.

And there were rows and rows of purple CD's... I layed on the ground, turned my head from side to side and saw endless expanses of purple cases. I remember feeling strange. I reached out and opened one of the cases to find it was empty. No CD. No sleeve. No noticable marking on the inside. But the cover had a word on it. SANCTUARY. Thats how I know you can read in a dream. I saw the labeled case with my own mind's eye. But what the word meant wasn't clear. I had used SANCTUARY in a sentence only a week before. That could have been why it appeared... but the cases had been empty. Did that mean I had no form of SANCTUARY in my life? No holy ground? No safe lodging? I consulted a Psycho-analytical Dream Book. $19.95 at Barnes and Noble. It mentions empty boxes as a feeling of loss or unfulfillment. What did it really mean? What was missing from my life? Purple CD's? It could be anything. This dream plauged me so much that I found myself pondering its true meaning for hours.Staring out at the walls before me.

Almost melodramatically I perched myself at a window and searched my memory for a proper definition of SANCTUARY. I tried to focus- only becaue I'm the type of person who can't survive without answers- and countless other topics invaded my mind. The dream and its intensity would soon fade, and with it, any hope of discernible meaning. But before that happened, the sun in the sky twinkled and I saw something that helped me out... There was a rainbow arched high in the sky... I didn't even realize it had been raining. I was shocked to see such a beautiful product of our environment shining down on me... a spectrum of brilliant colors above. But that wasn't what caught me off guard. It was the lack of the color purple that I paid attention to. Maybe it meant that the sky had no sanctuary- or that it was a sanctuary and didn't need the color to represent what it already had... or maybe it meant nothing at all but I had got something out of it. And until now... I'd forgotten that dream. And colors of the rainbow. But I think I've found my sanctuary.


Its not worth it. I don't think I can count the number of dates I've been on in the past year and a half. I think I've seen three dozen women. That's a fair amount. And you know I'm not the type of person to spot a beautiful woman and devise some plan to get her to sleep with me. Its just not my way. So- about 36 women who I thought might be faithful and interesting and smart enough and worth pursuing.

I'll admit that I'm picky. There are things I need to have in a woman in order for her to be attractive. And its not a great rack or 5 feet of legs (though that helps)... its the way she carries herself. Her laugh. Maybe the way she dresses, even. Its a combination. A formula. These 36 women were made up of different chemicals. Very different.

There was the racist yuppie who complained about quote unquote "colored" people, who spent a third of her life in a tanning salon. There was the Nazi accountant who hated everyone and kept a detailed alphabetical list of who they were. Then there was the nymphomaniac... well, we broke up eight or nine months after I found that out. So those were the worst cases. And the others helped me declare just how picky I am.

Bad teeth. Bad hair. Bad taste. Poor manners. They were little things, but they added up. so thats when I decided that it wasn't worth it. All of the chasing and the dating and the disappointing. All I really needed was a bicycle and Sharon Stone pictures to continue living. The externals became too gross. Until I was sitting on the subway platform one evening, waiting for the uptown A to pick me up.

Thats when I saw her... the woman who could make it all worth it again. She was tall and olive-skinned with a light birthmark on her cheek. She had brown eyes- as clear as sandstone and the figure beneath that coat... well... lets just say the coat was not complaining. She sat down a few seats away from me, looking down the track for an E train. She took her purse off her lap and set it down beside her. I was mesmerized. My kind of woman doesn't need to rely on her purse as if it were a lifeline- and she plopped it down as if it were a tradition to carry the purse and one she wanted abolished. She took out a book- I noticed that she had no rings on- not even for show. My kind of woman. The book was a fantasy novel, with a goddess on the cover that didn't come close to the one who was reading it.

As her gentle eyes scanned each page, I watched her slowly smile. I can't tell you how bright and warm and complete the platform became. It was surreal, as if light was depressed if she wasn't smiling or something. And then she laughed out loud. Right on the platform. Her eyes twinkled and the author who wrote the fantast had done his job... The book could now climb the bestsellers list. Just because she laughed. My kind of woman. Even her ears were more perfect than mine because her head majestically turned as the E train entered the station. I was watching the back of her head and was transfixed on every curl... I didn't hear the train stop. As she got up and grabbed her cumbersome purse, I floated to my feet and followed her... I know its strange- and it wasn't even the direction I was going in but it was the first time I had felt this way in years. Love at first sight or something. I sat across from the perfect woman, wearing the perfect coat, holding the perfect purse, reading the perfect book and I watched her expression. Perfect.

I had no idea how long this ride would last, so I began hyperventilating while I thought of an adequate opening line to approach Athena with. My time could run out at any stop. It was worth a try. My knees didn't shake as I moved to the seat next to her and said, "That's one of my favorite authors." I gestured at her book. She folded the cover over and nodded at me. Her eyes were in my eyes... Then she spoke to me. In perfect Italian. The Titanic may have sunk but it was nothing compared to how far I fell... The perfect woman couldn't even communicate with me. Perfect! I suppose I could have learned the language for her... but I don't think it would have been worth it.

So it just goes to show you- the whole dating idea is hopeless. There will always be something out of your control... It could be as tiny as their fingernails or as grand as their nationality, but it will always be something. Maybe that doesn't mean you should stop cold turkey... thats probably not wise. But make sure you don't fall in love until you start communicating.