Beginning of a story I am contemplating developing
His hair slashes and tears through the humid indoor air in wild protest to everything that is and has been. Those long brown straight strands of defiance extend and return to his scalp so freely that their connection to his humanity is nearly forgotten. But, if you look close enough you can see those foot long groom less locks are humanity at its apex. They defy gravity, buck convention, and scream "fuck you" to each cliche that was ever written and said about them. Those strings of hair clump together and hold onto each other tightly as if sensing an impending storm and then just as quickly they become children running free and circle, crash, jump, and explode apart and back together with all the energy of the world. On that stage in front of a modest crowd of 50 of his friends and family Dylan felt the full force of each of his infinite emotions pulsing through him. His body was freed from the control of his mind and it acted on its own accord following his hair's movements up and down the stage and into the crowd as he screamed for revolution until his lungs bled and his whole body burned. Dylan was a flame and the crowd were moths encircling him, trying to get close enough to touch him so that they too could feel his warmth.
Todd watched from the drums. He could envision this whole scene with eyes closed because he felt their music. He had always felt their music. He felt for Dylan because for him it was always an endless search to find the meaning and understand it. Todd had grown up with the rhythm of the world in his hands and its melody singing through his feet. Growing up together in typical a typically conservative Southern Californian wasteland they had always been close, but never as connected as they were now. Despite this, it took Todd endless amounts of work to come close to understanding Dylan, but he usually put in the time because he was his brother in the best sense of the word. Todd has the privilege of being one of Bukowski's aliens. He lived a life generally free of hardship, didn't constantly worry about death, and most of the time he felt content. But, to quote the poem loosely, "Dylan was not one of them, not even close to being one of them. And they are here, and i am there." Despite Todd being here and Dylan being there, they loved each other.
Their love shined on stage as Todd would watch Dylan sing the lines of "Rainbow" with a wry smile of understanding as the crowd screamed along "I want a Fucking Rainbow." The Great Forgetting existed with Dylan at the front leading their growth and Todd staying close to the ground as their roots. They both admired each other and yearned for the qualities they saw in each other.
25 years before this night, in front of family and friends, Dylan Goldstein was born in a nice house in a nice part of town in a nice part of the country in a nice part of the world in a nice part of the universe. He was born to a nice family who loved him very much. He lived a nice five years full of happiness and contentment. When interviewed later in his life Dylan was quoted as saying "I had the hardest easy childhood imaginable." He was never hit, never even punished and often got what he wanted. However, he never really wanted much material wise since as any other person, what he really wanted was what he could not have. In Dylan's case it was answers to his infinite existential queries which he constantly posited to his parents and aunt whose answers were never enough. The single most traumatized moment of Dylan's existence transpired at a very young age. At the age of five with long brown hair in a nice house in a nice part of town Dylan's deep dark eyes were filled with salty water. The tears flowed down his face as his thoughts spiraled darkly though his head. Dylan loved trivial arguments and thoughts, but for him it always came down to the heart of the issue. And at the forefront of his thoughts every time he laid down and attempted peaceful rest, he thought of death. To him it was inconceivable, so far from reality that it must not exist. He would tell himself daily that it was not an option for him or anyone he cared for. So after exercising all his resources and finding no solutions except for insanity, he trekked up the stairs to his parents room.
He knocked harshly on the door three time with the full force of his mental torture extending through his small fist.
"Dylan" replied his mother in a sleepy voice. "I need to talk" said Dylan as he fought back the tears.
"Come in" spoke his father, in a frustrated tone. This was not the first or even the hundredth time that Dylan had come in at this late hour. Perhaps his father would have been more understanding if he had felt that he could help him in any way. But, by this time it was painfully aware that Dylan's questions were infinite and unanswerable.
Dylan walked in wearing a pair of basketball shorts hidden by a shirt about 5 sizes too big that looked like a gown. His face looked toward the ground as he confessed that he couldn't sleep.
"Is it the same thing" said his mother, "yes" replied Dylan. "you can't think about this things honey."
"I don't have a choice mom"
"You are just a child, relax"
"I can't mom, its gonna happen one day, and i can't take it"
He was shaking, he was becoming physically ill from his spiraling thoughts, which was beginning to happen all too often.
"I can't die" he cried
His father dealt the final blow saying caustically "we all die, and we become worm food"
Crushed and unable to physically sicker or more mentally helpless, Dylan laid back on the floor and opined "How!? Why? How can it be like this. It makes no sense. I don't understand"
His mother got out of bed and sat next to him on the floor. "We love you sweetie, you have to make the most of what you have, what else can you do?"
She took him downstairs and cooked him up some leftovers and changed the subject to school and swim team. He stayed up through the night talking with her. He felt better when the sun came up. He grabbed a basketball and ran outside to the court in front of his house and began to literally exercise his demons. He pretended to be in a game. He was the only child up at this early hour. He was the only person outside on the streets, just the way he liked it. If he was the only one then he could make things into whatever fantasy he wanted. He counted down 5,4,3, 2, 1...he shot from long distance and it crashed through the hoop as he screamed "and the crowd goes wiiiiiild."
"Breakfast Dylan, time to start the day," yelled his loving mother.
Dylan went inside, sat at the table with his parents and baby brother, and talked everyone's heads off with his plans for the day and his life. He was as full of hope that morning as he was of despair just a few hours earlier in the night. This dichotomy become his source of inspiration and depression. He often wondered if he could have one without the other.
Todd watched from the drums. He could envision this whole scene with eyes closed because he felt their music. He had always felt their music. He felt for Dylan because for him it was always an endless search to find the meaning and understand it. Todd had grown up with the rhythm of the world in his hands and its melody singing through his feet. Growing up together in typical a typically conservative Southern Californian wasteland they had always been close, but never as connected as they were now. Despite this, it took Todd endless amounts of work to come close to understanding Dylan, but he usually put in the time because he was his brother in the best sense of the word. Todd has the privilege of being one of Bukowski's aliens. He lived a life generally free of hardship, didn't constantly worry about death, and most of the time he felt content. But, to quote the poem loosely, "Dylan was not one of them, not even close to being one of them. And they are here, and i am there." Despite Todd being here and Dylan being there, they loved each other.
Their love shined on stage as Todd would watch Dylan sing the lines of "Rainbow" with a wry smile of understanding as the crowd screamed along "I want a Fucking Rainbow." The Great Forgetting existed with Dylan at the front leading their growth and Todd staying close to the ground as their roots. They both admired each other and yearned for the qualities they saw in each other.
25 years before this night, in front of family and friends, Dylan Goldstein was born in a nice house in a nice part of town in a nice part of the country in a nice part of the world in a nice part of the universe. He was born to a nice family who loved him very much. He lived a nice five years full of happiness and contentment. When interviewed later in his life Dylan was quoted as saying "I had the hardest easy childhood imaginable." He was never hit, never even punished and often got what he wanted. However, he never really wanted much material wise since as any other person, what he really wanted was what he could not have. In Dylan's case it was answers to his infinite existential queries which he constantly posited to his parents and aunt whose answers were never enough. The single most traumatized moment of Dylan's existence transpired at a very young age. At the age of five with long brown hair in a nice house in a nice part of town Dylan's deep dark eyes were filled with salty water. The tears flowed down his face as his thoughts spiraled darkly though his head. Dylan loved trivial arguments and thoughts, but for him it always came down to the heart of the issue. And at the forefront of his thoughts every time he laid down and attempted peaceful rest, he thought of death. To him it was inconceivable, so far from reality that it must not exist. He would tell himself daily that it was not an option for him or anyone he cared for. So after exercising all his resources and finding no solutions except for insanity, he trekked up the stairs to his parents room.
He knocked harshly on the door three time with the full force of his mental torture extending through his small fist.
"Dylan" replied his mother in a sleepy voice. "I need to talk" said Dylan as he fought back the tears.
"Come in" spoke his father, in a frustrated tone. This was not the first or even the hundredth time that Dylan had come in at this late hour. Perhaps his father would have been more understanding if he had felt that he could help him in any way. But, by this time it was painfully aware that Dylan's questions were infinite and unanswerable.
Dylan walked in wearing a pair of basketball shorts hidden by a shirt about 5 sizes too big that looked like a gown. His face looked toward the ground as he confessed that he couldn't sleep.
"Is it the same thing" said his mother, "yes" replied Dylan. "you can't think about this things honey."
"I don't have a choice mom"
"You are just a child, relax"
"I can't mom, its gonna happen one day, and i can't take it"
He was shaking, he was becoming physically ill from his spiraling thoughts, which was beginning to happen all too often.
"I can't die" he cried
His father dealt the final blow saying caustically "we all die, and we become worm food"
Crushed and unable to physically sicker or more mentally helpless, Dylan laid back on the floor and opined "How!? Why? How can it be like this. It makes no sense. I don't understand"
His mother got out of bed and sat next to him on the floor. "We love you sweetie, you have to make the most of what you have, what else can you do?"
She took him downstairs and cooked him up some leftovers and changed the subject to school and swim team. He stayed up through the night talking with her. He felt better when the sun came up. He grabbed a basketball and ran outside to the court in front of his house and began to literally exercise his demons. He pretended to be in a game. He was the only child up at this early hour. He was the only person outside on the streets, just the way he liked it. If he was the only one then he could make things into whatever fantasy he wanted. He counted down 5,4,3, 2, 1...he shot from long distance and it crashed through the hoop as he screamed "and the crowd goes wiiiiiild."
"Breakfast Dylan, time to start the day," yelled his loving mother.
Dylan went inside, sat at the table with his parents and baby brother, and talked everyone's heads off with his plans for the day and his life. He was as full of hope that morning as he was of despair just a few hours earlier in the night. This dichotomy become his source of inspiration and depression. He often wondered if he could have one without the other.
posted by Rydra Cosmo at
11:31 AM
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