Soldier Boy

 

The tinkle of laughter sounds in my ear

And I almost imagine that you are here.

A blue and white uniform walks by my door,

But where is that face I saw before?

A vision of you stays always near,

but why should this, all of my senses sear?

 

Reparations

 

I thought I was falling in love with you,
And all the time it was somebody else.
Give me back the heart I lost--
Don't leave it dusting on a shelf
I've found someone who really cares--
All my joy and sadness bears
I'm happy now.
Restore my heart--
It belongs to somebody else.
 

Confession

I have a secret--dare I confess it?
Perhaps you've guessed it
If I show the things I feel
I never told you; I may be told to,
But it's hard to conceal--
The simple joy that fills me,
When I see you on the street.
The way my heartbeat thrills me,
Whenever our eyes meet.
I have a secret--perhaps I show it.
Do you know it?
Darling, "I Love You!"

Pipe-Smokin' Blues

 

 

Get out my topcoat; put on my hat.
Let's get a walkin' shoes.
Can't sit here a waitin' and hesitatin'--
With these solitary pipe smokin' blues.
The show is over; the curtain falls.
No stage set with music tonight
No cues to answer--no lover's calls.
Heaven help this actor's plight.
Get out my wallet and spread the news--
I'm free, tonight--what can I lose?
The air is hazy.
I'll soon go crazy--
With these solitary
Pipe-smokin' blues. 

Flickerings

 

Restless footsteps;  wandering paces--
Bewilderment in empty faces.
Lonely hearts and bleak despair--
Where are we going-'"Anywhere"?

Why do I feel like crying--
Whenever you're away?
Why does my heart keep sighing--
All the live long day.
How can I ease this painful stress?
Nobody else can ever guess--
How I fight this loneliness, without you.

The "special one" that's loud and clear,
Stands within my memory, dear.
--but if I ever mentioned who--
They'd be surprised to know it's "You."

Somehow, wherever I go, whatever I do--
A picture of you
Keeps flickering through my mind,
and winds around my heartstrings.

I awoke this morning
And you weren't there.
All of a sudden, my world seemed bare.
All me cries out in vain--
Until you pass this way again.

Painted Dreams

I'm lost-- in a dream of you.
I don't know what it was, or who
That brought you to me--
but it's easy to see,  I'm lost
I'm lost--in a misty blue.
My painted dreams of You
Are all I know;  I love you so.
I'm lost when you are out of sight.
Without you, daytime turns to night.
I lose my way.
I drift in clouds way up above.
Without you, I've no use for love,
So, won't you stay
and make my dreams come true.
I'm lost in a dream of you. 

Sublime

I felt an emotion so sublime
that it struck a lost chord
within my lonely soul's heart of time--
For years, I had drifted in melodic discontent,
despairing that the discordant notes
could ever blend in perfect harmony--
I cried out in my distress
And begged the Powers that Be
for the gift of just one simple melody
Then, when my song became a direful dirge, 
I threatened to destroy the lovely theme
that once had dared to dream.
When--out of Eternity--a star shone down on earth below--
and, there, in the midst of a Divine Largo,
The notes assembled
and swelled into majestic beauty,
That blended with a lyre from heaven. 

Lilli Bolero

     Not until I went home for Christmas

did I remember about the trains.  It had

been close to two years before I made it

home again.  I didn't plan it that way, but

it's funny how when one is living life one

doesn't do a very good job living at all, if

you know what I mean.  Busy with work,

my stress levels escalated to an all-time

high.   I nursed my ulcer the best way I

could and spent that year eating a bland

diet of bananas, rice, and apples mainly.  

     I climbed the attic steps, deciding to call it

an early night; I looked forward to a good 

night's sleep. 

     Causing a lulling effect actually,  my

bed vibrates when a train rolls into town. 

I can hear the headboard banging up

against the wall and the flimsy wooden

doors puckering from their seams.  The

attached mirror on the Victorian - style

dresser shakes too, pulsating against the

attic paneling.  Had it not been for my

familiar surroundings, I could almost

close my eyes and visuslize being in a

sleazy hotel.  But what do I know about

sleazy hotels.  Well, there was that one

time, but that's another story.  The train

passes and it's quiet again until another

train passes.  I count. Not sheep this time

but seconds.  The 420 seconds turned

into minute, and seven minutes later a

second train passed. 

     When I awoke the next morning,  I

floated down the steps.  I hadn't slept so

peacefully in years.  My children were

seated at the kitchen table playing 

yahtzee with their grandparents. Sarah

shook the dice. 

     "I think I'll go for my sixes."

     "But you have a one, two, four, and a 

five." 

     "I'm not betting on getting a large

straight and getting a three."

     "But you don't have any sixes."

She shook the dice again, not listening to my 

suggestions.   I had Sarah ' s teenage years to 

look forward to.

"What's for breakfast? "  

My mom didn't respond.  I was worried she 

was still upset about me posting one if her 

photos on Facebook, and she probably still 

was.  Making an impromptu decision to skip 

breakfast, I sat in a cushioned rocking chair 

the living room.  As I dozed in the chair, I heard

voices around me though I could not rouse

myself from my slumber.   

     Sarah, Ian, Miles, my husband Kyle, and

my folks were sitting around the Christmas 

tree and they were laughing.  

Grandpa said, "When your mom was in high 

school, she took an advanced biology class.   

At that time,  she happened to be the only 

female student in her class."

Oh Dad, not this story again.

"She had a difficult time trying to prove herself

as a credible force to be reckoned with.  For her first project she bought a mouse and trie to teach it to run through a msze.  IZaire making great strides until...

Until what grandpa.?

Well kids can be cruel.  There was a bad snowstorm that year and your mom couldn't get to school to feed the mouse.  Before she got to school two days later, the monsters in her class took it Zidane hanged hum from the lid of an ice cream buckey.  When she opened the bucket she saw the prank.  

TBC

Sydney Fair

          Sydney boarded the plane at 11:00 a.m., confident, yet insecure.  It’s funny how two diverse emotions can be so innocently juxtaposed on the same playing field.  She felt happy, happy that her four-year college degree could be put to use yet apprehensive due to her temporary absence in the states.  Wanting to take her friends and family with her , her heart was plagued with talons ripping any semblance of buoyancy out of her step.  Yet here she was going forward, moving forward, leaving her boyfriend Jonathon of two years crying at the gate. 

            Looking back perhaps she knew the fatalistic web she would succumb to.  But at the time she made no pretense of their separation.  She sobbed and held him closely promising to become his wife a year later.  And after the long goodbyes that stretched beyond their departure Sydney was on that plane headed for her destination.  

           Her first stop was at O’Hare in Chicago, Illinois.  Though the plane ride was a relatively short one, it was Sydney’s first plane ride ever.  Although she was 22, she has not been afforded the luxuries of travel growing up.  Her father and mother did what they could to make ends meet, but to be a daughter of two parents without college degrees, life was tough.  Her mother worked arduously at the local grocery store in town, and her father, a radio announcer, loved what he did but was paid a pittance for his long hours.  They lived in a trailer on South Michigan Street in a small town in western Wisconsin.  There were some terrible years growing up.  Sydney remembered the plastic bubble wrap that used to cover the windows, or at least try to cover the windows.  When winters became cold, as they inevitably do in Wisconsin), she would lie in bed shivering in her white nightgown, trying to get warm.  At an early age, she discovered that one of the only ways to find warmth, and pleasure no doubt, was to slip her hand beneath her panties and stroke herself over and over again.  After a while, her face would become flushed, and she would cuddle her stuffed animal and fall asleep for the night. In the morning, with the light streaming through the plastic-covered windows, she would rise and begin a new day. 

            The small plane she had boarded offered no comfort. As it was her first time, perhaps she felt the turbulence more than was present, but she quickly discovered the little white bags tucked into the pockets in front of her, and she made no excuse to acquaint herself with them.  Arriving in Chicago, the skies rained in what meteorologists described as a torrential downpour.  To Sydney’s liking however the plane had landed.  She was pale, but she found her land legs and summoned a sense of wanderlust from somewhere deep inside making her way to a nearby shuttle bus, proceeding to Gate H.  At the airport Sydney said goodbye to a German exchange student she happened to know, got her boarding pass, and proceeded to a waiting area.  It would be another two hours before her next flight.  After an hour her stomach had settled and its gnawing found its way to pepperoni pizza strata at four dollars a slice.  A man who sat next to her carried on some polite conversation and offered to buy her a beer. 

            Even at that young age Sydney was attractive.  While she wasn’t drop-dead gorgeous, she had a wholesome, innocent demeanor about her that was friendly and warm, resonating with a small-town girl sort of appeal.  However, beneath her button-down denim blouse she had the potential to be wild like an untamed stallion.  When she was little, she turned on the gas stove in her kitchen.  Her mother had passed out from her grocery-store shift long before Sydney had any dinner.  She must have been about six at the time.  She got a stool, pulled it up to the stove, lit the gas, opened a can of corn-beef hash, and proceeded to cook it on the stove.  Well, Sydney’s long hair mingled with the flames.  Her mother did not awake to her screams.  Had it not been for a neighbor hearing the little girl’s cries, the whole trailer would have burned down.  Sydney’s burns are still their today as are the many scars she carries with her.  And when the stranger initiated conversation with her she was in a daze, remembering that day. 

“Miss, may I buy you a beer?” 

Within the reverie of her memories, she didn’t answer. 

He asked again.  “Miss, may I buy you a beer?”

“I’m sorry.  No thank you,” she queasily replied.  Thank you for your kindness. 

That wild stallion in her showed up many times in Sydney’s life, from drinking blackberry brandy out of the back of a pickup truck in the middle of a cornfield, to losing her virginity up against a freezer with her boss when she was twenty-one, and this journey across the Pacific Ocean.  Life sure was a wild ride.  At 2:45 Sydney left her cacophony of thoughts under the still pounding rain in Chicago and boarded a DC-10 on its way to Los Angeles.            

Once she settled in, Sydney tried to a quaint myself with her surroundings.   She was still queasy from my morning flight,  supposing that her Midwest bundle of nerves wasn't helping either.   

Dear S-Person (7)

Dear S-Person,

How’s everything?  I’m sitting here at 10:00 watching Dr. Who and fighting off the tremendous urge to call you.  God, I am missing you terribly.  I always have trouble resisting this, but after our talk today, it’s even harder than ever.  You really scared me with talk of going to the garage and, well you know what I’m talking about.  I hadn’t heard from you for at least 32 hours, and I was worried.  That isn’t like you.  Maybe you are reading a little too much Sylvia Plath these days.  Just kidding.  Please know I am here for you always.  Despite your sullenness and snotty nose and a not-the-most-opportune- of-circumstances moment, we finally said it didn’t we?  Oh well, it was only a matter of time. 

Where do we go from here?  Well…only time will tell us that.  And as far as that goes, you could say the next time I’m in town will be the beginning of that time (Boy, I’m so good at twisting logic!)  I don’t know how long I will have to wait to see you or even talk to you.  I love you; you've definitely gotten under my skin.  I’m starting our list of potential activities for the night now, and I don’t think we’ll be too bored.  No, sex isn’t one of the things on the list…perhaps on the long-term list, but not quite yet.  It’s kind of like our phone call and I asked you to take off your bra.  You asked if you could take off anything else.  Oh S-Person, our relationship is sure to include lots of firsts.  Let’s just not use them up all in one night.  If you’re making a list too, we should be able to merge them into a pretty fun night the next time we are able to get together. 

            I found out today at work that I’m not going to be working on the OP system after all.  I can’t say why (hell, I don’t know why actually), but they picked Peter, to do it instead.  I was disappointed and upset about it when I found out this morning.  I guess I still am even now, but I’ll have to get over it since there’s nothing I can do about it. 

            They haven’t told me what my new specialty will be.  I do know that I’ll be learning Telon, which is good.  Telon is sort of a language in itself that’s used to develop screens for the users.  I’ll explain it better sometime in person.  T’s used extensively in the OP system, and I knew that the OP person would use it.  This morning, my boss told me that Peter and I and Zach (the guy who has only been there for six months) would all be going to a class to learn it.  That made me a little happier.  When I found out where the classes were I got even happier:  they’re in Denver, Colorado the first week in August.  I get to fly on a jet and everything!  I’m probably about as excited about that as I am about anything else.  It’ll be three days of expense account living, just like real businessmen do. 

            Tonight Margaret and I hung up some new artwork in our living room.  Can’t wait for you to come see me.  You know our guest bedroom is always open for you.  I know that may seem a little awkward, but I’m sure Margaret won’t mind.  You’re getting to be one of the family.  After some interior decorating, I made a trip out to the mall and bought 50 feet of speaker wire.  Don’t laugh.  Stop it now.  I can see you grimacing.  While at the mall, I stopped into Radio Shack and spent about 20 minutes talking to a clerk  about speakers.  I’ve decided I’m going to build a set of speakers rather than buying a good set.  My dad was quite the cabinet maker in his day and <ahem> I hope a little of that has rubbed off on me.  That’s another topic I know you’ve been wondering about.  I haven’t told you a lot about my father, so we’ll have to put that on the list.  Anyway, I was doing some looking at woofers and tweeters when the clerk asked me if I needed help.  I said no, I was just checking prices and wattages in preparation for building speakers.  Turns out that he does the same thing himself, so he gave me some little pointers, and we had a nice conversation.  It kept my night from being too mundane at least.

            And speaking of boring, I’ve been so fulfilled writing to you that it’s almost midnight now.  I have to get up at 7:00 in the morning to play ball again with the guys.  S-Person, you scared me the other day with your talk of your garage.  I hope wherever we are headed from here, that you trust me and know I will always be here for you.  Believe that.  I’ll see you tomorrow.  Love and kisses.  Goodnight!

                                                                                                                        Max

Dear S-Person (6)

Hi S-Person,

            Surprise!  It’s mean again.  After waiting this long to hear from me, now I’m writing twice in one day.  You don't mind if I come more than once, do you?  I just spent the last two hours helping Margaret get ready for the holidays.  Her lupus is in quite a funk and she is exhausted.  She is resting now, and I am wrapping presents.  Although she was able to come home from the hospital, she is not doing well.  Fluid has gathered around her heart and her kidneys are starting to fail.  Trying to keep her comfortable.  I’m done wrapping and I’m chilling on my couch and watching the Stars-Kings game on my tablet.  It would certainly make my day if the Stars were to lose this.  (I might even be forced to be happy if that happened). 

            I think one reason for my being moody lately, besides all of the obvious ones, is that I’ve been kind of tired and run down.  Getting up at 6:00 in the morning to play ball with the guys has cut down a little on my sleep, and being in the heat can really zap your energy after a while.  Sometimes it can really be surprising what a difference being tired makes.  And while I’m on the subject of my moods, I want to say thanks for being supportive on the phone last night.  I know you had had a little more than a little to drink, but nevertheless you were your giddy upbeat self that I so adore.  I know you wanted to talk longer (granted I did too), but you helped knock a little self-pity out of me, which is something I needed.  Delicious as always.  Just whatever you do S-Person, don’t change a thing.  I enjoy our meandering, overly personal, flirty, pouty, mildly embarrassing chats where your inhibitions are gone and you tell me what you like in bed.  <He says, pushing his luck.>

            Anyway, I just listened to Bruce Springsteen’s “Tunnel of Love” CD a little while ago, and I got the poetry bug in me.  My poem didn’t turn out as well as I’d hoped, but that’s okay.  I’ll write it down in a minute for you to see.  I don’t know if you’re familiar with the song “Tunnel of Love,” but it’s a view of a relationship played out through the tunnel of love at a carnival.  There’s a line right at the beginning as the couple goes into the tunnel that to me says volumes in just a few scant words:  “The lights go out and it’s just the three of us, you, me, and all that stuff we’re so scared of…”  that line, among others was the inspiration for the following little gem. 

I want you

And you want me

I thought that’s how

It was supposed to be

But we’re spending our time

By playing this game

No fingers to point

We’re both to blame

 

We spend too much time

Remembering when…

Both of us scared

To be hurt again

 

We’re fighting ourselves

And it’s all such a shame

We keep pushing away

But we both feel the same

 

No matter what happens

I hope in the end

We can see it all through

And you’ll still be my friend

 

But will it be more?

It remains to be seen

Will love become reality

Or just stay in my dreams

 

Okay, okay S-Person, hold your applause.  It’s kind of sing songy and while I realize it’s not much, it’s my way of expressing what I see going on.  I like to watch remember?  Like I just shared with you over the phone, it’s only supposed to be an observation, nothing more.  I’d like to know your reaction to it sometime.  Not artistically, but rather your opinion as to whether I am on track or not.  Sometime when we’re both comfortable with each other and we’re living a little nearer to each other, I’d like to exchange some writings.  You’ve seen my writings on my blog, but I would like to see some of the things that you’ve written to. 

            I hope that sometimes I don’t seem a little too forward or forceful when I talk to you (especially our recent late evening phone calls).  I’ve just gotten to the point where I feel comfortable being open and honest with you about my feelings.  Since I don’t feel like I have too much to hide, I’m afraid that sometimes I might come on a little too strong.  Although I am married, I’m not ashamed of my feelings, just a little unsure of how to deal with them once in a while.  Please bear with me and don’t let me scare you off if I sound too serious (There’s that word again).  And now it’s after 11:30, so I’m going to sign this off and get to bed.  6:00 a.m. rolls around awfully fast.  Thanks a lot for calling tonight.  I feel lucky that I’ve met you and am now in the process of witnessing you change your life for the better.  I have no idea if I helped you do that <I like to think I wielded some slight influence>, and I think you are making good choices.  S-Person, I’m sorry that the call had to end on kind of a down note.  I’ll try to make it up to you somehow the next time we talk.  Be thinking of how I can do just that.  Do you want to try the web cam?  Well, I look forward to talking to you next week sometime, so until then be good and think about me once in a while.  Fuck!  The Kings were not victorious.  Fuck!  Fuck! Fuck!  Fuck!  Fuck!       Thinking of you .                                                                 

                                                                                                                        Love,

                                                                                                                        Max 

 

Shady With a Chance of Perfection

Chapter 1

 

 

 

           Madison Springs smiled as she looked at the maple tree in her backyard.  It once towered over most of her yard, but it now it looked different, heavy perhaps, with its hand-shaped leaves once hanging in perky clusters, now sagging on their branches.  Over the last fourteen years, the tree has weathered many storms, but each night of wind, lightning, and hail had taken a toll on its grand posture.  Still offering some shade from the hot Wisconsin summers, Madison refused to chop it down, instead hewing off a cracked limb here or there, in favor of some shade instead of none.  Its bark was rough to the touch, with its pronating furls and ridges, but it still served as a suitable habitat for the woodpeckers, nuthatches, squirrels, and an occasional opossum.  

Madison checked her daily planner; her afternoon appointment would not be for another two hours.  Although a little apprehensive, she was receptive and anxious to receive some marriage counseling.  It had been a long time since she and her husband had been intimate, and her sessions would provide some much-needed clarity.  

She  just needed to take a quick shower, and she would be ready for her drive across town.  As she stepped into the shower, she felt an immediate sense of relief as the hot water gently pelted her skin.  She lathered cherry almond shampoo onto her scalp followed by the matching Regis cherry almond conditioner.  Her dry, chemically-damaged hair was immediately moisturized, smooth, and soft.   Now onto her legs.  With her Skintimate gel and razor in hand, she stretched out her right leg, resting it on the bathtub edge.  As she rubbed the gel on her leg, a frothy blanket of white bubbles formed, before she shaved them away.  She repeated this process on her other leg, before moving to her more--private region.  

As she stepped out of the shower, the phone rang.  Patting herself, Madison wrapped herself in a towel and picked up the receiver.  “Hello, “ she sang, always happy and positive in her demeanor.  

She was greeted by a robocall message of “This is the Mercy Clinic calling to confirm your 3:00 appointment.  Press 1 to confirm or 2 to cancel.”  

“Good God,” that call should have come in days ago.   

Still dripping wet with phone in her hand, she placed the phone back in its cradle.  She quickly slid into her new thong underwear <blushing>, yoga pants, sports bra, and t-shirt, and gathering her yoga mat for the 5:00 p.m. class, Madison rerolled it and placed her yoga blocks, socks, Ipod, and water bottle into her bag.  With a quick spritz of mousse in her hair, a five-minute blow dry, and a  brush of blush and a swirl of lip gloss, she was on her way.  

Ronald Smiley was across town in his office.  As his receptionist peered at him from across her desk, she could see the wrinkles in his face.  He was haggard, and his recent torn meniscus had slowed him down.  Although he did have surgery, he did not heed his own doctor’s recommendation for a four to six week recovery time.  Just a little over three weeks after his surgery, Dr. Smiley was back at work.  His knee was not responding well to the lifting and rising from a seated position that his job entailed, yet here he was counseling his clients on a plethora of topics from marriage and divorce to phobias and depression.  No topic was off limits.  

Madison unlocked her silver PT Bug.  Throwing her bag and mat into the back seat, she started the ignition and hurried on her way.  The traffic seemed unusually heavy for an afternoon drive, but perhaps it slowed a bit due to summer construction.  Whatever the case, she had time to spare as she pulled into the lot.  Signing in at the front desk, Madison barely had time to open a magazine before she was called in back.  

“Hello.”

“Hi.”

“I’m Dr. Smiley.  Please have a seat.”

“What is your name?”

“Madison Jean.”

“That’s a pretty name.”

“Thank you.  Madison is a surname similar to Matthew meaning 'A gift from God', and Jean was my mother’s middle name.  I never cared for it.

“Why is that?”

“It always sounded so plain--so unsophisticated.”

Dreamscapes

Chapter 1

 

It’s back to the drawing board.  When I tried to retrieve my novel file over an hour ago the words “corrupted file” blitzed across my screen.  Oh well.  The eternal optimist in me  knew I could write a better more poignant story.  The pessimist in me wanted to burst into tears.  How long would it take for me to be a successful novelist and esteemed author extraordinaire?  I wanted to quit my job, travel around to the last of the brick and mortar bookstores and talk with the fans, one by one, autographing copies of my newest release and inspiring young authors to follow their own dreams.  It’s going to be a while, I surmised.

I seem to be better at starting things than finishing them.  I joined a gym and stopped going.  I found a nutritionist who professed a cranberry water regime and later found myself gorging on Mallow Cup after Mallow Cup.  I added more broccoli to my diet only to find myself throwing out wilted celery and moldy red bell peppers.  I bought an exercise bike and found  myself hanging newly-ironed clothes from its gray handles.  They say it takes fourteen days to make a habit.  I say it takes a lifetime.  

After attending an online release party for one of my favorite authors, my depression dissipated.  Parties are like that.  Who can be down when cake is involved, well virtual cake that is.  Anyway, I no longer was drawn to the headlines of the lawyer mom who strapped her baby to her chest and jumped nine stories to her death.  I no longer went through the motions of getting up in the morning, getting dressed, going to work, coming home, going to bed, and repeating the dreary routine day after day after day.

I am alive.  I actually wanted to get out of bed today.   Despite how shitty things seem to be with the impending teacher contracts, the grimace behind my fatigued body dominates my mood.  Why is it that in the Western World doctors want patients to pop a pill or two or three or even four if one’s ailment doesn’t subside?  I have been sick for a long time and the promised desultory effect of chemicals numbs me even more.  I want to feel, and the party last night changed it all.

Waking up this morning, I was mesmerized by the fleeting images from my dreamscape last night.  There was a train, a row of toilets, a lone urinal, a sink, and a bag of cheddar cheese curds minus the dye that highlighted its pigment.  There also was a bearded man who chided me about not being present in the lives of my children and a sick man whose only panacea was to emerge himself headfirst lowering himself into an aquarium.  There was a chance for renewal as I kept coming back to the train.  But when Nick was asked to speak, I could not hear his Shaman-like words.  

 

 

 

 

 

Dear S-Person (5)

Dear S-Person,
 

It’s about quarter to one in the morning and I just got home and felt like talking to you.  Since I couldn’t do that, I danced around my publishing group site, flirting with my silliness.  Why is it that you never introduce me to your students?  I feel so unloved and <sniff> unappreciated. Today Ozzie and I hung out at The Corner again for lunch.  He’s hooked.  Afterwards we went to the new Huntington Central Park Sports Complex.  It’s the new state-of –the art recreational facility featuring baseball and soccer fields, children’s play areas, food concessions, restroom facilities, multiple parking lots, and beautiful columns and landscaping.   You would love it! 

As we were walking around, I noticed an amphitheater set in a shady eucalyptus grove within a park.  Some actors were performing Shakespeare’s Much Ado About Nothing.  I know you mentioned Hamlet, but is Much Ado a play you teach?  Ozzie and I weren’t able to watch it all, but we did catch some of it.  S-Person, do you think we are more like Benedick and Beatrice bantering back and forth, witty, and disdainful of love?  Or are we more like Claudio and Hero, who are rendered practically speechless from their love for one another?  Benedick and Beatrice argue with delightful wit, and Shakespeare develops their journey from antagonism to sincere love and affection with a rich sense of humor and compassion.  I look forward to hearing your thoughts. 

After watching a little Shakespeare in the Park and on our way back to our car, Ozzie and I were listening to some music and talking about life.  I had him give me a little help on a song I’m writing; it was one of those times when one has a chance to kind of recharge one’s spiritual batteries so to speak.  When Ozzie dropped me off, we both had the feeling of being a little more alive. 

What I really wanted to do after that was spend some time with you.  I wanted to slip my hand between your legs and show you how much I missed you.  To watch you and listen to you moan with pleasure gives me so much joy.  While I like it when you reciprocate, my cock gets hard just watching you and hearing you get off.  I like to take my fingers and fuck you with one finger at a time, sliding in and out of you ever so softly.  And when you are on the edge and looking at me with your big hazel eyes, I am filled with ecstasy myself.

I know you’re often a bit squeamish when you read my stories and those words, but  oh S-Person, I’m feeling I’m really at my best and have a stronger sense of purpose and direction when I’m with you.  I was so tempted to call you at about 7:00 when I got home to see if I could hop on a plane to come see you.  I was sure at that point; however, you already had plans for the evening, so I overcame my temptation.  With a $397.00 price on the plane ticket, that was probably a wise move.  Margaret may have questioned the charges, and I wasn’t in the mood to argue with her. 

I ended up spending most of my time playing cards with Ozzie and a few of the guys from work.  I made up for the night we played over at the pool and lost, because tonight I was up $30.00.  On the whole, I would consider it to be a very good evening, relaxing with my friends.  I just wish I could have spent the time with you, too.  I guess I don’t have too much more to say in this letter.  I just wanted you to know that I’m thinking about you and wish I could see you.  My “beard” (if I can really call it that) is getting a little longer and fuller, but it still looks pretty shabby.  Being the rebel that I am, though, I don’t really care that much.  And the song that I’m writing is something I really want to share with you.  It’s in the early stages right now, but I can tell you that the working title is “Walking Through Life in Another Man’s Shoes.”  It started as an outgrowth to that little poem I started writing from the last time we were together and of my reflections on the movie Crossroads.  I don’t know how it will turn out, but I do know that writing is something that is important to me.  I’ll let you know when I finish, because if it turns out right, it will be something I’ll really be proud of.  For now, take care.  Imagine my hand between your legs and the way I feel about you.  I love you. 

                                                                                                Love,

                                                                                                Max 

 

Dear S-Person (4)

 

 

 

Hi S-Person,

How is everything going?  I have definitely had better days/weeks than this myself, so I hope things are better for you.  I’m sitting here (you guessed it, at work) at about 10:30 at night.  I’ve been sitting here in front of two different terminals working on two different programs in two different languages for almost four hours now.  Neither one of the programs is going worth shit, and I’m getting more and more frustrated as time goes on.  Almost as frustrated as when I called you the other night, and you interrupted me at least twice.  I will not tolerate interrupting Doll Face.  You know what Daddy will do should you interrupt me again?  Anyway, writing to you is going to be a nice little way to keep my sanity. 

I just keep telling myself that I only have two weeks left to go…just two weeks…just two weeks…just two weeks…I’m getting sleep…Boy am I getting sleepy!  I think I could tell you an interesting story when I went to the bathroom upstairs. With my pants around my ankles, jacking off as I’m thinking of you <sorry if I’m being a little crass; we all do it,> I noticed a piece of graffiti above the toilet in the stall.  It said:  “Acid consumes 47 times its own weight in excess reality.”  Sorry, but I just found that kind of funny. 

Anyways, at the moment I’m sort of out of touch with reality.  My brain is getting kind of fried, and I just don’t care.  I’m tired and weary and depressed and all I want to do is leave my fucking job and be done with school.  I’ve been getting between seven and eight hours of sleep each night, but I’m still tired as hell.  My wife is always leering over my shoulder demanding my attention, and I’m sick of this shit.  I wish I could have talked to you tonight.  It may have helped with my temperament a  little.  What I need is either a twelve hour night of sleep or a good cry or both of the above.  Somehow I don’t think I’ll get either.  So I get to play the old grin and bear it game. 

I wish it was easier for us to make connections.  You called me Monday night, but I was gone and didn’t get back home until 1:00 a.m.  Tonight I called you, and you were gone.  I’m guessing you had play practice, so the earliest I’ll probably be able to talk to you is Thursday.  It’s not like I won’t be able to survive, but I have to admit that I’m starting to get that falling feeling about you.  While I’m trying to keep my desires in check and reduce the wanting, I really hope you have some time to talk with me this weekend.

I’ve been having some fatalistic thoughts lately that I haven’t had for quite a while, not since before I was married.  Thoughts about how interesting it would be to die and see what happens next.  The feeling I’ve been having has been sort of a Hindu kind of thing:  I feel my soul leaving my body and flowing into the world, becoming one with the hills and trees, the cumulous clouds, and the animals in the forest.  There are no singular identities, just the world as a whole.  It’s a very peaceful vision, and at times very compelling also. 

Well S-Person, I’ll leave you with a quote from the liner notes of an album by the group Propaganda.  “Without love, beauty, and danger it would be almost easy to live.”  Cheers to a complicated world that we take one day at a time.  Looking forward to a hand job from you baby <mental image>.  Goodnight. 

                                                                                                            Max

 

 

 

Dear S-Person (3)

 

 

Dear S-Person,

I’m sitting here at work on Sunday night trying to finish the work I’ve been doing for the last few weeks.  I’ve finally gotten the breakthrough that I’ve been looking for for a long time.  It feels so wonderful to know that I’m almost done with this shit that’s been plaguing me and making my life seem like hell.  After putting in almost 55 hours last week and almost 60 the week before that, it will feel like the albatross is off my shoulders when I get all done with this stuff tomorrow.  The pressure I have had on me has been the worst I’ve ever had in my life.  It’s worse than when I was teaching. 

I just finished talking to you on the phone from the local Big Lots, and that’s the primary reason I’m writing this to you.  There have been some things on both of our minds for quite some time, and we really don’t have any choice but to get them out in the open if we want to save our relationship.  It’s gotten down to the time where we either sink or swim; we’ve used up all our other options. 

If you want me to let you go, I’m not going to stand in your way.  I’m tired of treating you with kid gloves and being careful not to say anything that might bother you.  I write adult fiction in my spare time and flirt and talk to other women.  I’ve never not been honest with you.  I love my wife, and there are other women I love as well.  I would not describe myself as a philanderer or a gigolo, but I admire women and their beauty, on the inside and out.  I know you’re stressed at school and on the home front.  But as we have gotten to know each other, you’d have to agree that we too share a special affinity unlike any other.  Our long-distance relationship has quickly escalated.  I didn’t plan it and wasn’t expecting it; I like you more than I should.  Know that the present situation we’re in is as much your doing as it is mine.  We’ve both made the decisions that have put us here, and we both have to take responsibility for them. 

I’m not going to baby you or pamper you about this or anything else.  Though I’m much older than you, I’m not going to be a substitute daddy to take care of you.  My dearest S-Person, I’m going to give you support and be beside you when you need me, but I’m not going to make myself always be there when you “want” me.  We all have to learn to rely on our inner strength to make it through things or we’ll never become any stronger.  If someone is always there to carry us every time we have a little trouble, what happens the one time there isn’t anyone there?  Learning to be self-reliant is an integral part of growing up. And since I am married, I don’t have the luxury of dropping everything when you decide to whine about life’s injustices.  Jeez woman.   

Oh baby, you know I’m not saying you have to do everything yourself or that we can never talk on the phone or anything else of that sort.  But my wife is dying.  Margaret is dying, and I can’t always be there.  I’ve been trying to tell you for quite a while that not being in constant contact with you doesn’t mean that I love you any less.  In fact, it makes me love you more.  I love you S-Person, more than is humanly possible.  Each day, I am proud of you and your accomplishments you continue to make.  But the one that impresses me the most and makes me the most proud is seeing how much you have grown up in the short time that I’ve known you.  You have learned not to wear masks and put walls up between yourself and other people.  I know how difficult these changes are, and you struggle with being that introverted and naïve country mouse each and every day.  But you continue to make them, take risks, and get out of your comfort zone.  You are a better person. 

But please don’t let things stop there.  There are so many more things we both have to work on.  There’s no one in the world who should stop trying to improve himself, because no one is perfect.  As far as I’m concerned the best thing I can do in my life is try to become the best person I possibly can.  From a Buddhist standpoint it is not up to others to make us meditate or study.  We are responsible for creating our own suffering, and it is solely up to us to create the circumstances for our release, thus requiring personal wisdom and commitment.  And oh S-Person how I look forward to that release, but we’ll save that for another time.  It’s important for us to be moral in the things we say and do, focus our mind on being fully aware of our thoughts and actions, and developing wisdom by understanding the Four Noble Truths and by developing compassion for others.

Oh S-Person, you know how much I love you, and you know I do not want to lose you.  But right now as it has been ever since the first night we met online, the most important thing to me is not us staying together.  Instead, it is trying to help you grow so you can make things better for yourself and be compassionate to others around you.  The two of us together have so much going for us.  If we can help each other to be more mindful as individuals and then together, there is nothing that could come between us.  Every time we grow as people, it strengthens the love we share. 

If you want to stop being in contact with me that is your choice; I cannot make it for you.  If that is your choice, please let me know.  Most of all, I hope that whatever your choice is that you never stop trying to improve yourself and be a stronger person.  You have what it takes to be able to do whatever you set your mind to.  Very few people possess what you do inside, so do not let it go to waste.  Keep trying to develop it for the good of everyone.  And whatever your choice may be, know that I still love you and always will no matter what happens, and that I don’t want to lose you if you choose to give to me freely.  Please don’t give up on us.  Please don’t give up on yourself.  If I have your permission to begin, let me show you how much I love you and that is the truth.  Forever mindful of you my silliness. 

                                                                                                Max 

Dear S-Person (2)

 

 

 

Dear S-Person,

I just got back to Costa Mesa a few minutes ago and am now sitting down to write you a quick letter before going to bed.  Margaret is resting comfortably.  I like how despite this technological age, we are choosing to support the local post office.  We must be philatelists at heart.  All of this talk of religion lately has caused me to do a lot of thinking.  There’s no doubt that we’ve still got quite a bit of talking to do on the subject.  However, maybe the best thing we could do would be to give it a little rest, for a while, even if it were only for a week.  I know you are strong in your Catholic faith as am I in the Buddhist teachings, but maybe some down time will give us a chance to get our heads cleared so we can take a fresh look at things.  This might not be the best thing, but everything is kind of jumbled up in my head with so much happening so fast.  I need a little time to think without any pressure. 

I’m not someone who makes a lot of promises, because sometimes they can be too hard to keep.  But I want to make one to you right now.  It may sound kind of dumb or “mushy,” but it’s what I feel.  If you give me the chance, I’m going to show you what love is.  Not something simple, but all of love:  all of its power, strength, compassion, support, romance, caring, friendship, and everything else.  I’ll show you what it means to have a true lover, even as I am still learning myself.  I won’t hold anything back from you, and I’ll never let you settle for second best from me or yourself.  I’ll give you something that you’ll never get from anywhere else, now or ever in the future.  The two of us make a dynamic duo, and I want to keep proving it to you over and over.  I don’t want you to ever forget what it feels like to be loved, and especially to be loved by me.

S-Person, if music is my life, you are my song.  And if I make my promise, my words and actions will keep on playing our song forever.  All you have to do is sign your name across my heart.  I love you.                                                               

                                                                                                Max