Commonality of Loneliness

As I write my book (n0w on my second), fumble with my blog and jot down short stories I ponder the commonality of the human race.  We are all made differently.  Nobody can really understand what graces the mind of anyone else.  Who knows what somebody is truly thinking as you stand doing a presentation in an office or in a crowded elevator going to your next psychology session to help you decipher who and what you are.  We are all living in a vacuum of irrationality. 

How many stories/movies are made about what might happen if somebody could read everyone’s minds?  The reason this is so intriguing is that you never really know.  You can be in the middle of a passionate kiss and your significant other might be thinking of her/his shopping list.  You might be in the middle of a heated debate and all your antagonist is wondering is how you have a huge zit in the middle of your forehead.  The insanity of life is that we have no idea what or who we are because we are simply the result of everyone else’s perception.  Anything else we believe is a fantasy for our own self indulgence.

The only things we share with our fellow humans is the gift of life and the curse of death.  If we are here we all went through the process of birth and if we are here we are all guaranteed to experience the finality of death.  Nobody can deny the two.  What else do we have?  We are a society that craves companionship and camaraderie because it is the one thing that we will never have.  No matter what you think of your buddy sitting across the table you will never know for sure what he feels or thinks of you.

We can only hope that we are one of the lucky select few who find that person to balance us.  That person who will tell us the truth, stand by us, guide us as we do the same for them.  Love (a profoundly tender passionate affection for another person) according to dictionary.com.  By that definition how many of us will truly experience it.  We might think we will but is it a lie.  I can guarantee one thing most of us will never know.  We will know two things for sure, birth and death.

If you are as I and can say that you have found that evasive connection then hang on with all your strength.  It will happen quickly, unexpectedly and if you allow yourself to slow down and analyze it you will find you have lost it.  Go with the feeling, nurture it no matter what the naysayers are trying to predict as a verdict.  It will be unexplainable and magically and if you miss it you will most likely never find it again.  It will break all of your rules and people will think you are crazy.  They are probably right but they also do not understand.

Love is unique and therefore denies the standardized playbook.  Don’t miss out, you get very few chances.

Personal Sanity

I have written a few short stories and several blogs in the short time that I have had my website up and running so themes are forming and patterns are beginning to emerge.  Some of those patterns are exciting as the website generates traffic and grows its content while my vision of what I wanted to accomplish takes hold in reality.  Some of those patterns are interesting as people who know me ask questions about who I am and where do these ideas of mine come from.

Yes I realize that my stories share a common dark theme.  Loneliness, or stalking or death from cheerleaders to tomatoes.  What the hell did the tomato ever do to you?  If you haven’t read any of my short stories take a look on my main blog site.  There is a link to the right under “Journalstone Blog”.  My favorite one is “Inevitable Death” which is a snapshot of family life from a unique perspective.  I find it baffling how everyone who reads my writing asks the same question no matter how well they know me.  “Are these stories real?”

Just for the record I have not killed anyone.  I can’t state that more emphatically.  I haven’t and I will not.  Interestingly enough I am a non-violent person who for whatever reason seems to have the ability to write about violent situations in a very realistic way.  Granted I do take situations from life that I have experienced and or that I know have occurred and inject them into my themes at times but they are loosely based experiences that form unique stories that are completely and totally fictional.  Can I say the word fiction anymore?

So for all of those worried friends out there rest soundly.  I won’t be sitting outside your windows or stalking you any time soon.  I won’t harass anyone or attack anyone in a foreign country or in an apartment building in the bay area.  I won’t be attending the funerals of my close friends as they disappear one by one slowly finding their way into strange and odd circumstances that forever change their lives.

Or will I?

Cheerleaders Part V (Conclusion) of a Series

Amber was shaking uncontrollably.  Her entire body was in a spasm as her two hands were clasped together holding a gun pointed in my general direction but the sporadic flailing of her arms had it moving in non-stop circles.  She was trying to talk, to say something but was unable to control her speech well enough to get any coherent words out of her mouth.  I believe her point was easily deciphered as her goal would be simple in a situation as this under the circumstance we were in.

I raised her friend up rather quickly still holding her head by the hair with my left hand and as expected she followed the violent yanking of pain upward so she rose to stand directly in front of me.  Amber responded to the sudden movement by squeezing the gun she held so tightly and the discharge resonated throughout the small apartment as the bullet sailed out the patio door crashing through the glass on its way out.  I glanced in the direction of the cascading flow of shards as they made their way to the floor below and then looking back at Amber suggested we all just calm down.

“There is no need to panic Amber”, I stated calmly.  “My intentions for you are far different than you might imagine.”  “I don’t wish to harm you in any way.  My goal is to change your existence from what your life is to what life can be.”  “You have no idea what I can do for you and what I am.”  She was able to mutter some gasps and garbled syllables as the tears running down her face were mixed with saliva and mucus with her losing all control of her entire body.  She was in shock and functioning on instinct alone.  Amber was not herself in any way as in the background I could hear the sirens approaching.  The noise was soft but slowly climbing and I knew my time here was rapidly declining.

I easily brought my right hand up to Amber’s friend’s throat and like slicing through butter cut straight across deeply penetrating her Adams apple as the opening widened quickly.  She had been continuing to scream throughout my encounter with Amber but that now quickly stopped and the quiet was only interrupted by Amber’s gasping gulps of incoherent noise.  Amber saw the blood pouring down over her friend’s breast like a waterfall flowing down a cliff at Niagara Falls.  Amber’s eyes widened and she pulled the trigger on her weapon over and over again until she was left with the clicking noise of an empty cylinder expending all of her bullets in quick succession.

I smiled at her as this occurred watching the bullets zing throughout the room and it was with surprise when I felt one actually penetrate my chest knocking me backwards onto the waiting floor below.  I had not felt pain like this before and I was grabbing my chest feeling my heartbeat slow while I was ripping my shirt apart exposing the flow of blood squirting from the small opening next to my left nipple.  I had many scars from my historic past but I still never felt comfortable with pain from a personal standpoint.  My mind was wondering as I watched Amber standing in the same spot she had been continuing to click the weapon she grasped firmly still pointed in my direction.

I believe it shocked us both when we heard the loud crash of the front door being kicked in and the shouts of the young police officer as he rushed into the room screaming something I was no longer able to understand.  I saw Amber looking in his direction as he came down the hall and she instinctively raised her protruding arms in his direction not realizing she was still holding the weapon.  The policeman looked to be at most in his mid twenties and as you can imagine was nervous entering a room and seeing bodies strewn about with blood flowing over the walls, furniture and carpet.  Feeling on edge and seeing a gun he reacted as he had learned in so many drills and for the first time in the act of duty outside the safety of his firing ranges and practice sessions he fired his weapon pulling the trigger twice in the direction of Amber and found success with both bullets.

Her body rocked backwards with both shots and she then started stumbling forward falling to her knees and lurching as she ironically landed on top of my chest with her head pointed up looking into my face with her wonderful still bright beautiful blue eyes.  I lost track of what was now happening as I felt calmness overcome me and realized that I would have Amber forever now.  She and I would move forward intertwined for eternity as we lay there in each other’s arms with the warm red liquid emanating from both of us pooled together like a bond of pent up desire.

Cheerleaders Part IV of a Series

We had just made it into Amber’s apartment when I reached over and grasped her firmly by her waist pulling her inside my waiting arms yet again.  She matched my aggression by driving her hips into my torso moving at the same beat as our tongues renewed their exploration of their respective targets.  God she was the most amazingly beautiful girl I had ever seen and her lips were like ice cream slowly melting inside and around my waiting mouth.  I wanted to suck her breath inside my lips inhaling her intoxication letting it engulf every inch of my soul.  Is it possible to fall in love with somebody so quickly?  To give yourself to somebody so completely without thought of logical reasoning.  My body and mind were getting worked into a frenzy of heightened anxiety and I knew that I had crossed a line now having lost any ability to retreat.

I would have to take Amber completely tonight.  I would not be able to sustain sanity or the semblance of sanity if I could not experience this woman completely.  I jumped backwards knocking a picture down from the hallway wall when her roommate shouted “What the Hell” staring at the two of us with her mouth wide open from the opening connecting to the kitchen.  She recognized me I could tell from her facial expression but she was not giving me a welcoming look.  She stared at Amber and asked her what she thought she was doing and how could she possibly bring a stranger back into their house after everything they had gone through the last three days.  Amber was recoiling with every word and it was easy to see our spell was broken and unless I acted quickly there would be nothing left for me here tonight and that was not something I could allow.

I walked over to Amber’s roommate and with the fluid movement of a dancer I plunged my knife only recently retrieved from my coat pocket into her stomach whipping my arm straight up slicing a foot size opening into her friend as her mouth remained open in mid speech.  I could hear Amber behind me vomiting violently, screaming garbled words in-between heaves of projectile puke as the insides of her friend started spilling out to the floor around her feet.  Amber was holding her stomach as she ran past me into the living room and back into one of the bedrooms as I scanned quickly looking for her roommate.  I saw her on the couch as she was frantically dialing on her phone screaming out “POLICE” “POLICE” again and again.  I had not planned this out very well and it seemed that she was calling in the Calvary having reacted admirably instead of panicking and that would not help my situation at all.

I walked over to her and with my left hand grasped and huge chunk of her curly brown hair dragging her off the couch to the middle of the living room floor and she continued to shout “police” nonstop as if she felt they could somehow save her life.  She was to die this day and there was nothing that anyone could do about it.  Her life had come to an end as we all have our time and when that time comes we must be ready to accept it, embrace it and move on to what awaits us in the next life or beyond.  Like a God I felt empowered to help guide her to an experience like nothing she had ever or would ever feel again.  I was as much like a God as anyone had ever been and it was with no judgment that I raised my hand holding the knife firmly in between my fingers and started the plunge downward anticipating the connection of steel with soft smooth flesh that waited.

I only wished that I could know exactly what she was thinking as she struggled for her freedom.  Clawing at the hand holding her hair with her long rosy red sharp talons of nails.  Digging into my flesh drawing blood was having the affect of inciting my only more.  I felt nothing right now as my euphoria was peaking and my ears were burning from the sound of her shrill scream as she continued her chant of “police” again and again with no end in sight save the severing of her supple throat.  It wouldn’t be long now as the knife started its downward motion like a boomerang that was thrown high into the air and was quickly flying back to its much missed home.

It was with a little shock and slight distraction that I noticed Amber now having come back from her retreat staring directly at me.  Her eyes were burning through me with resolve and I was not able to fully comprehend what she was holding in her hands.

Cheerleaders Part III of a Series

The boyfriend’s funeral was the following week and all three of the girls attended.  I watched from a distance using binoculars wondering why there were tears being shed for a man who so obviously cared nothing for anyone but himself.  He had hit her for God’s sake.  Did she not remember this?  I was unsure how long they had been seeing each other or how imbedded in the roommate’s life he had become but regardless of his actions she had and still held feelings for him.  It was not a huge crowd but there were enough in attendance to keep appearances at an admirable level.  After the funeral the four of us went to Straights, a local bar on Burlingame Ave. and started letting the alcohol flow freely.  I of course was still not sitting with the girls or Amber but watched from a distance at the bar.

It was a never ending procession of guys that paraded through their table and then like a slingshot were hurled back again in continuous fashion.  One after another they were shot down as the girls politely asked to be left alone stating they had a death in the family and were not interested in the small talk of getting to know somebody for the first time.  They were getting a little short the more drinks they had and at one point were telling the men to please just leave them the hell alone.  I chuckled at a couple of guys who were trying repeatedly and lacked the ability to take no for an answer.  Guys are so focused on the wrong approach with women that it sometimes amazes me we are possible to procreate at all.  My associated sex is not lacking for brains but they seem to be lacking in an ability to deal with the opposite sex on any level playing field.

The two men were now going in for their third try but something about one of them caught my eye and I started to worry.  It was the way his jaw was set and he held his hand in a clenched fist like he had too much pent up anxiety  He was like a balloon that had too much air yet you continued to blow knowing it might explode at any given moment.  His friend was loud and boisterous so everyone in the bar was either directly or indirectly watching the show as his booming voice was demanding attention.  They were not taking the latest rebuff well and were insisting on sitting down at the table with the girls despite the visible protests and finally Amber stood up saying she felt it was time they just left.  It was at that point where one of the men placed his hand on her shoulder and forcefully pushed her down into a seat bellowing out that she wouldn’t be going anywhere.

Confrontation is something that I have never shied away from.  I think most men have never been hit in their life and it is the unknown that scares people more than what you know.  I have been hit several times and it is easy to take as it normally doesn’t hurt until several minutes to an hour after.  It can hurt a lot at that point mind you but the initial impact is pretty minor unless something gets broken.  I jumped out of my seat and within seconds was on top of the two guys hurtling the space separating us with a couple of long strides.  I grabbed the one by the shoulder and made a quick judgment call as I caught a glimpse of Amber’s facial expression from across the table.  Have you ever seen the movie “Next” with Nicolas Cage?  There is a scene when he first meets a woman where he travels back and forth through time for a couple of minutes attempting several scenarios to get her to speak to him.  Beating up the guy doesn’t work, humiliating the guy doesn’t work, the only thing that wins in the end is was letting the guy beat him up.

Most guys are not brave enough or smart enough to try this approach but something told me this was the way to go.  So just before I was ready to take out the guys Adam’s apple I dropped my right hand and watched the slow arching fist coming at me finally connecting with my right cheek.  If I had a drink at the table I could have picked it up, chugged a couple of gulps, sat it back down had a bite of appetizers on the table, chewed swallowed and then waited a little longer before he actually connected.  The most difficult part was trying to stand still long enough to let the guy hit me.  When he did connect I purposely stumbled back a few steps then looked him in the eye as I shoved my elbow in his friend’s ribs from behind.  I don’t mind being hit once but there was no need to take a beating.

The altercation ended rather quickly as they were surrounded by several male employees of the bar and escorted out.  I was given a drink and then as I hoped was asked by Amber if I wanted to sit down and join them for a few minutes before they left.  I graciously accepted and we then spent the next couple of hours discussing all of the things you talk about when you first meet somebody.  It was a great first date story.  How we first met.  We could tell the kids several years from now that dad had saved mom from two huge guys in a bar and how I had beaten them soundly.  You have to win every fight in a story as it gets retold over the years.  As Amber was getting ready to leave and I was walking her to the door she realized that her two friends had already gone.  She had not even noticed them leaving as we were so engrossed in each other’s comments hanging on every word even though this was the first time we had connected.

I offered to walk her home since she had stated she lived close by and she accepted rather quickly.  It was a clear night in the mid 60’s but for walking down Burlingame Ave. it was perfect.  It was hard for me not to lead since I knew so well where she lived.  I in no way wanted to let her know this and my guard was still up as I carefully navigated the topics of discussion as if I was learning about her for the first time.  She was not just a pretty face but as I had felt from our first meeting she was a genuine person. 

Once we reached her doorstep we were both sobering up but still feeling a little lingering effect from the alcohol.  It was dusk out now and as the sun was almost beyond the horizon only the smallest sliver remained.  I placed my arm around her waist and felt her body softly fold into my arms.  Her lips were full and perfectly round shaping a small oval that stood out with her reddish lipstick from her cream colored complexion.  She could have been in a magazine as the only thing I had ever seen as close to this perfection was airbrushed photos of models.  My other arm wrapped around her waist as I brought her close to me gently enveloping her as are lips came together.

The excitement was erupting inside of me bursting the seams of my being as it threatened to escape at any instant.  The pressure was not like anything I had ever felt before and my control waivered as I felt her tongue hesitantly exploring the inside of my mouth.  I held her small torso feeling like I towered over her as she was no more than 5.1 and could not possible weigh more than 100 pounds.  Her full blonde hair was brushing my cheek slightly as the steam from our kiss heightened with each small turn of our heads.  Our kiss was gaining a life of its own as we continued our connection with the swords of our mouths dueling back and forth taking turns at dominating then folding over in submission.

Her fingers spread wide letting my hair glide through them as she ran her hands over my head cupping it from the back holding me close to her as she continued the exploration of my mouth with the sweet taste of her tongue.  I allowed my hands to slip down to her butt caressing her backside firmly pulling her tightly next to me as we embraced each other completely.  She opened her eyes for a second letting my glimpse the blue orbs of her soul that threatened to suck me into the blissful beauty of everything  a cheerleader was ever meant to be.  She softly whispered in my ear asking me if I wanted to come up to her apartment for a drink, letting the words fall gently as her tongue slightly touched my earlobe and her breath sent a shiver through me canal into my body like a tidal wave.

I accepted her invitation and we parted long enough to climb the staircase to her apartment.

Cheerleaders Part II of a Series

    I spent the next several weeks watching Amber and getting to know her as a person.  You might find it surprising how you can observe somebody from a distance without them even realizing but gain a good understanding of who that person is.  The next time you are venturing out to Yoga or heading to the local coffee shop take a look around you as you exit your front door.  You might find that guy milling about by his car or fumbling with his keys or just walking his dog is the same guy that has been outside watching you for a very long time.
    Amber frequented Yoga three times a week.  It was a local class in San Mateo and she walked there on most occasions in her matching sweats and or tight fitting shorts.  I did enjoy it on the warm mornings when she would come outside wearing the form fitting revealing clothing and with her Ipod on make her way through the streets heading off to her class.   It surprisingly didn’t take me long to figure out her schedule as I sat in my car or walked my dog around her block over and over again waiting for her to appear.  You do need to keep notes on times and dates and sooner than you might imagine a distinct pattern forms.  I am sure if we thought about it we all most likely follow fairly standard routines.
    Yoga was Monday, Wednesday and Friday mornings at 7 AM.  She would almost always walk and she tried to get up in time for a stop at Pete’s for a coffee on the way there and sometimes on the way back.  She seemed addicted to the black energizing liquid.  She appeared to live with two other girls both around her same age who apparently worked in the corporate environment.  They routinely exited the building between 7:45 and 8:30 AM each weekday morning dressed in business attire that was very professional but stylish.  Both girls were very pretty like Amber who I was starting to grow found of.
    One of the girls appeared to have a boyfriend.  Her schedule was not quite as routine with her sometimes appearing to not spend the night in the apartment and at times showing up at the front door in the morning walking with him to his car as they parted ways heading off to start their day.  He was older than the group of girls appearing to be in his early thirties but was athletic and oozed money as he headed off in his BMW convertible.  Girls of this caliber went for the bucks in a relationship and who could blame them.  We all want to be comfortable in life and if you can get there by flashing a smile why not take advantage.
    It was a spectacularly warm evening for Burlingame and I was sitting in my car around 10 PM on a Thursday night a block away from the house just watching.  I could get wrapped up in pretend scenarios as my mind wandered with possibilities of what they might be talking about or how their day had gone.  Amber and one of her roommates were up in the apartment alone and from my vantage point my guess is they were making dinner.  The roommate with the boyfriend had just pulled up as her main squeeze was dropping her off and it seemed like they were in the middle of a heated debate.  He screeched to a stop in from of the main entrance and her finger was stabbing the air in his direction as her mouth violently spewed forth several comments I was unable to hear.
    I was as shocked as she was when I saw his right hand flip from the wheel and arch upwards hitting her on the right cheek as both her hands instantly grabbed her face for protection.  She lunged for the door and frantically started grabbing the handle as she flipped it several times before it became disengaged and opened spilling her out on the curb.  She had barely cleared the car before he slammed down on the accelerator lurching forward as his wheels screamed out in pain from the sudden motion.  It wasn’t that difficult to turn on my ignition and follow him as I quickly deduced I needed to understand this gentleman more than I already did.  As I drove by the front entrance I couldn’t help but notice Amber’s roommate crying in full force fumbling with her key as she entered her haven of safety.
    I followed the boyfriend for less than twenty minutes as he made his way home exiting on Ralston Ave. a few miles south on 101.  He pulled into an outside parking spot as did I and I followed him into a small three story apartment building.  He was easy to follow closely as he was still fuming, his face crimson red and he was cursing continuously under his breath.  I simply walked behind him as he was opening his door pretending to move further down the hall and missed the look on his face as I slipped the 6 inch blade into his back penetrating his lung I imagine as his gasp for breath was garbled like he was sucking in water drowning in a lake.
    I gently closed the door behind me as he stumbled forward into his apartment.  The hallway and living room were dark so I was hoping the two of us were alone.  He fell on the floor rolling over looking at me with eyes that were no longer full of fury but consumed with terror as he looked into the face of his own death.  I spoke softly but firmly and stated mechanically that he was going to die and it had nothing to do with him being an accidental victim.  I could relate to his desire and need to be physically dominating but I could not condone the act of violence when there is not a desired goal laid out to be attained.
    His was an act of anger.  Not an act of carefully planned artistry.  A painting no matter how easy or how difficult is not something that you can simply drop buckets of colors on and expect it to be a vibrant depiction of your imagined goal.  He was using violence because he felt he could, not because there was a visionary ending he was hoping to attain.  I could not sit by and allow this to happen just as Michelangelo would not have allowed his memories to be tainted by an amateur who understood nothing of what art was intended to be.
    I slipped my hand in my pocket pulling out the latex gloves and as I was putting each one on slowly inserting every finger I could hear the gargled blood spewing indecipherable words as the boyfriend lay begging for his life with the blood now freely flowing from his mouth and nose.  He was erupting from the inside out and if I was feeling merciful I might have ended it there.  Instead I squatted down in the corner watching for close to 15 minutes as his chest slowly stopped pumping coasting to a halt with one last final gasp hurtling a spoonful of mucus about two feet in the air.   He was done and would no longer be hitting women needlessly without cause.  I carefully stepped out of his apartment walking casually back to my car below and within just a little over an hour was back at my watchful spot dreaming of Amber and what her friends must be saying closed off from the world comfortably locked in their apartment.
    Would they thank me when they found out what I had done?  I would have to tell her someday how I had watched over her and protected not only her but the people that she was close to.  She was mine and I would not allow her to feel pain or her friends to feel pain when I could easily prevent things of this nature.  I could patiently wait for the thanks that I was sure to receive and my reward did not need to be immediate.  Patience was something I had learned many years ago and focused my strength inward keeping me in tune with my inner being of tranquility.  I felt happy.

Cheerleaders Part I of a series

    Last year I went to a SF 49rs game and luckily I had a pregame party pass for a VIP event that included the SF cheerleaders being in attendance.  It was interesting meeting some of the girls up close and by girls I do mean girls.  They were all in their early twenties and yes they were smoking hot.  They are paid at these events to schmooze with the attending guests taking pictures, signing calendars and handing out these picture pages of the group.  They would then each sign your picture if you desired and spend a minute talking.
    I met several of them and only one really stood out.  She was a blonde, gorgeous as they all were but had a personality.  She was genuinely nice and seemed to find an interest in her job.  The rest of the group was cold and very elitist stopping to sign their picture and then moving on.  I am not sure that I can blame them as cheerleaders continue to be placed on a pedestal and ogled by society stemming back from everyone’s high school days when we all wanted to date the cheerleader and all the hot girls were cheerleaders.  We even had the hit series “Heroes” base its first season on nothing other than the cheerleader.
    As I wake up each morning I stare at the signed pictures that I hung on my dresser mirror and remember Amber, the one and only cheerleader with a personality.  It was a blistering hot day when I attended the game which is unusual for SF.  Any day that gets above 80 degrees is an oddity in the bay area.  I attended the event with my friend Martin who attends many of these social gatherings with me.  What is not to like, scantily clad beautiful twenty year olds, free beer and food and watching a football game.  The 49’rs played Detroit that day as well so they actually won the game.  Even our local wanna be’s could beat Detroit last year.
    Luckily Martin had driven separately from me so it worked out well when he left that I hung around the parking lot for a while wondering if I would be lucky enough to see Amber again that day for the second time.  Martin’s nickname for me is lucky and while he says it sarcastically I do find that my luck holds true on most occasions.  As it happened to be on this day I was graced with pulling the right end of the wishbone and Amber came through the personnel only door with a group of other girls and headed to a car that it seemed they shared.  There were four of them and they all jumped in the bright red jeep cranked up the music and sharply turned heading for the exit sign.  I started up my car and followed feeling lucky.
    They headed south which surprised me somewhat and pulled off on Broadway heading to the Burlingame area.  My god could I possibly live in the same town as cheerleaders.  I had to be lucky.  They ventured up to Burlingame Ave. and after circling a couple of times found a parking spot and as I continued following them they headed to a local wine bar.  I in turn headed in, ordered a Cabernet (I can’t drink Merlot anymore since that movie “Sideways” I think it was called) and relaxed just watching them.  I still had my pictures so I leafed through trying to place each ones name and found that I was in attendance with Amber, Stephanie, and Jessica and was unsure of the last one but she could have been Lisa or Jill.  Either one was fine with me.  It didn’t matter at all.
    They hung out for about a couple of hours and then they left.  Amber surprisingly didn’t go back to the Jeep but instead walked down Burlingame Ave. waving goodbye to the other girls as they parted ways.  I casually kept my distance strolling behind Amber as she weaved her way through a few side streets and ended up entering an apartment building on Oakdale Ave.  My guess is that she lived here most likely with roommates although I had no physical proof.  I sat outside for a while just watching the windows of the apartment building making a note of the address before I left.
    I remember at the time thinking that I would have to come back to this building when I felt more empowered and visit Amber some day.  How or why would I not?  I wanted to get to know her better.  Find out who she was and what she liked to do other than cheerleading.  Eventually I would show her my hobby as well but that could wait for a while.  I needed to enjoy her presence and bide my time for the appropriate opportunity.

What defines Scary

   I seem to have a knack in my writing style that allows me to delve into the subconscious workings of deviant behavior.  I wonder what that says about me as a person and what that says about the people who find me intriguing.  If you are able to articulate the feelings of a psychopath in a fictional story does that lead you to those tendencies?
    I am not sure how to answer that in broad terms.  I have never hurt anyone physical but have I done so emotionally.  I think anyone who has been in a relationship for longer than five minutes has most likely hurt somebody emotionally.  It just goes with the territory.  Does that define who we are?  I think in my book it reflects on the intention but even that is unclear.  If I accidentally hurt somebody does that make it any less hurtful?
    Who knows who anyone really is?  How often do we hear about the nice quite guy who goes crazy and kills everyone in the post office?  This is just the extreme as well.  What about all the incidents that are not so graphic but are still an out of “perceived” character flow?  I personally believe that I am more in tune with who I am than most people from the sheer fact of honesty.  I have accepted myself and my flaws and no longer attempt to hide the person that I am.  I am not sure about the writing question.  I write what I feel and then project that into characters delving into the flow of whom I think they are and what they would do.
    I think Heath Ledger is the most prominent example of this in recent months.  There was broad speculation that his adaption of the Joker was so disturbing that it affected his thought process in reality.  I guess if you throw yourself into a character so dramatically that is a possibility.  I can’t imagine crossing that line but I can say that writing about disturbing events does affect one’s thoughts.  How can it now.  Reading them does as well.
    Our society is so preoccupied with death and murder.  It proliferates our newswires and dominates our very existence.  There is never an event that occurs of any significance that does not get publicly displayed.  A great example is simply driving by a car wreck on the highway.  How many people slow down to get a better view?  It is a little crazy.
    In the end all we can do is feel comfortable in who we are and live with the knowledge that good people are good people and bad people….well they are not good people.

No Angel

I had no idea what to expect when I opened the cover of “No Angel”.  Not my typical book but I like branching out now and then, reading something different and the topic of undercover work sounded intriguing.  Jay Dobyns is an undercover ATF Special Agent and he transitions from an all American College Football player to a tattooed Harley riding Hells Angel as he attempts to infiltrate the notorious gang turned crime syndicate.  You have to wonder it Byrd (Jay’s nickname) didn’t have the luck of becoming a policeman if he would have ended up as a Harley riding gangster on his own.
    He almost seems to good to be true in the book as he is constantly put in front of drugs and woman and he always seems to know exactly where to draw the line.  It makes you wonder if there were not a few facts left out here and there ensuring that he kept his reputation intact and his marriage sound.  Still, I have to admire a man who places himself into this kind of situational danger in order to keep the rest of us in our cocoons of perceived safety.  The make up of a man who can portray himself as one thing while constantly keeping his head around who he really is in order to catch the bad guys.
    Ironically other than the massive amounts of guns that seem to exchange hands there doesn’t seem to be a lot of violent activity in the book.  There is one episode in Las Vegas where a big tussle happened between the Mogules (a rival bike gang) and the Hell’s Angels that ended badly but other than that there are probably guys living in your neighborhood who are doing things worse than watching these elderly men drink themselves silly acting like they own the world only to fall into bed in their respective trailer parks.
    My guess is that is why in the end it was so difficult to follow through on a legitimate prosecution and so few arrests stuck from the massive investigation that took place.  Even with the lack of results one can never question the heroics it takes to do this type of work.  I get nervous speaking in front of a small crowd.  There is no way that I could ever place myself into some of the mortal situations that Byrd got into.
    In the end the story is told in the form of a book and for me unfortunately it was choppily written and failed to capture my interest.  It wasn’t boring but it lacked any type of magnetic draw.  I have a tattoo but didn’t understand Byrd’s obsession with them as he continually mentions getting sleeved and the process he underwent.  The only touching part was the balance he attempted in keeping his head together with his family as he continually went back and forth from being a dad to being an intimidating Harley riding Angel wannabe.
    If you are interested in the make up of the Hell’s Angels in AZ and the inner workings of undercover work then I would suggest reading through this book.  Go in with average expectations and you will not be disappointed.  If you do not have a keen interest in this specific topic then I would suggest passing.  You will get a little bored trudging through the word choice and lack of fluidity.