"people will kill you over time. and the way they'll kill you is with tiny harmless phrases like, 'be realistic.'"
dylan moran

"sometimes i can hear my bones straining under the weight of all the lives i'm not living."
jsf

an excerpt from a play about love. in progress. stephan.

Hey followers! I'm working on a play with one of my best friends, so this is really just meant for him to read. You're more than welcome to but just so you know there's some language and sexual content in it.  Feel free to read!


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him: "i just need you to know that i'm here for you. and that i always will be."

and before i know it she's up off the couch, taking her tears with her into the bedroom.

her: for fuck's sake, i just want you to LEAVE. ME. ALONE!

him: good hell....are we gonna do this bullshit again??

her: why? why are you still here?? I can handle myself and i don't need you coming to the rescue every ten minutes. Jesus!

i follow her to the bed, and she proceeds to cross, quite dramatically, to the kitchen table. there are lots of tears happening, she's pouring from the eyes and giving me all these unfiltered thoughts, and yet she still thinks I don't understand. she's convinced i'm new at this. we've been at this relationship for a while now, years, and it's as if she never remembers the last breakdown, the last time she was running around the house, avoiding her problems by evading me.

him: I'm not trying to rescue you! I'm trying to BE HERE for you in this moment. I'm just here! I'm going what you do when you LOVE someone! you stick around, you fight for whatever they need you to fight for. and i'm trying to do this, i'm trying to fight for you. i'm here because i LOVE YOU. god knows you don't make it easy sometimes but--

her: i don't make it EASY? it's not....easy...to love me?? wow.....wow. i just don't know what to say! you flatter me. i'm SO sorry that my life is such a burden for you. that the-- the way my brain works isn't EASY enough for you; it's too hard to follow, is that it?? what a shame... that must be really hard on you, poor baby.

him: you know that's not what I meant. i mean jesus, we're at this every single week lately! you are constantly pushing at me, constantly throwing my words back in my face and MOST of the time they're not even ones that came out of my mouth! so stop twisting my fucking words around! that's not right, okay? it's not fuckin' right and i can't STAND it. if i tell you it's not what i meant then it's, SURPRISE: NOT WHAT I MEANT!

her: Well, it's what you said, and it's exactly what you meant. what's the point of talking if you're not saying what you mean, huh? ya know...fuck. if this is too hard for you then just walk away. you are so fucking selfish, you know that? walk away right now. it's so EASY. i'm asking you to do it. i'm almost begging you! no, really, i'm telling you to WALK. AWAY.
 *next physical part is really quick*
him: *reaches for her

her: don't TOUCH me *slaps his hand away

him: will you stop?? *tries again to reach for her hand

her: i don't want you near me, god! you're driving me inSANE.

him: alright fine. this is ridiculous! if you could stop your hysterics for just one minute, just one, can you do that?? or is that impossible? just actually listen to me and you'll see that i don't WANT to walk away. it's not at all close to what i want and definitely not what i'd ever--

her: do? oooh i've heard this somewhere before! oh i know where, from every other asshole i've ever been with.

him: oh that's just GREAT! so i'm just "every other asshole" now?

her: apparently so.

him: now you're just making me angry. you KNOW i would never--

her: let me guess.....never in a million years...? never as long as i'm alive...? you'll never leave my side?  i've heard it all! you'll never....stop fighting for the person you know i CAN be? *as if she's realized a big secret* is that it?? how fucking romantic. i can't imagine what i would do without this hope you have for a better day, thank you so. much.

and then those eyes. right there. less than a foot from me. just drilling two laser beams right back into my eye sockets. i swear to god i could feel a burn. jesus, women are too good at those crippling stares. or at least, this one is.

why is she being so nasty? why do i put up with this? how?

and then suddenly, i'm in bed with her, but just in my mind. it's thursday morning. about 2 years ago. spring. calm skies, nothing spectacular about the day. i mean work was going on but i played hooky because she just looked too perfect to abandon in that early sunlight alone.

she's wearing my shirt. holy shit, that is my shirt on a gorgeous woman. 

i try to "stay present" or whatever the hell everyone always says to do.

but

under the sheets there's a current, and i know we both feel it. you know what that's like?

maybe its leftover energy, lingering from the so-good-it-has-to-be-fictitious sex we had the night before. 

but it doesn't feel like leftovers.

it's static electricity, and it's like a shock every time i make contact. my lips buzz, my eyes feel hyper-aware, soaking in every detail. 

i can't control the impulse to touch her; my fingertips run up her arm, and my pulse quickens because just that touch makes me want to fuck again.

and she throws me off when she says, "tickles." she shivers a little. i pause and she says, "no, keep going. when i was young i used to beg my mom to tickle me. my feet, my arms, my back. i was a weird kid."

her bashful smile makes an appearance and i am mesmerized.

and so i said, "then i guess i won't stop until you tell me to."

and she said, "i love the sound of that."

she leans into me, stares into me, molds into me it seems.

her lips land on mine and i swear to god my breath is gone.

she pulls away.

and those eyes are there, boring into me. still lasers, but softer this time.

and that's why i'm still around. 

she just can't be ignored.

the other day i was completing a mundane task
when suddenly i was distracted by my name
called out

and when i looked over at the source of the noise
my friend was there

i saw

and remembered my beautiful world,
where
nothing is mundane

nice to see you

flip flop/back forth/down town/square round/over again

that's just what it is lately.


[and let me just throw in the sidenote now: just because i'm struggling, that i do struggle in the present moment or that i have struggled once upon a time, doesn't mean i'm ungrateful or negative or angry. i'm just as grateful for the darkness as i am for the light. just as understanding of sorrow as i am of joy.]


as i sit at a stop light, alarmed at the sudden spot of neon red, my eyes flicker away. flash/side/turn.

there's this man. gray hair. business guy, i can tell by the plain suit. he's the type that makes you wonder if he really wanted to do this all along. or was it just what was expected? and you'll never know the answer. and we don't really need to know. yes, now we're a we because i've invited you into my room. i watch him struggle with the gas machine. he can't figure out where to put the card. he's pushing buttons. it's 10 degrees outside. more buttons. no jacket. frustration. rubbing his hand over his bald spot. the gas tank is already open for god's sakes!!!! where is the right button??
 and this man doesn't know i'm watching him. i'm suddenly this voyeur observing the little things that make this life feel more human and less intimidating.
the cold
the suit
the stare
the gas tank
this experience
and i find myself wondering
light turns green
what if we all just had these little moments all the time [because we do]
and what if we all just sat in the rafters and silently observed them?
took these things in behind panes of glass?

because as this man fills his gas tank i hear the noises that go along with it. beep beep beep scoff SNAP click CHUG chug chug chug chug chug i substitute the silence for sounds in my own brain. for a moment, i'm right there with this guy.
i feel ya, dude. i totally get it.

and we've never even met.
and i don't really care if i ever do. especially because the guy is just trying to fill his gas tank, it's not like he's in a corner singing a beautiful song and i'm dying to walk over there and harmonize.


but  anyway

i could do that all the time if i wanted. with actual events. you know what i mean?
i could be a constant spectator without ever jumping in to fight.

the gas man example is strange and unfiltered, i know, but
here's the thing i realize:
when i observe but do not connect, when i am aware but not participating, a little piece of myself is reaching. perpetually straining.
dying to make contact with that other little piece of someone else.
and when i don't listen to such an urge, when i walk away with that it unfulfilled, i feel immediate loss.

and i don't think i like that feeling. 

live loud. live with bravery, openness. be vulnerable. BE SEEN.

“Admit it. You aren’t like them. You’re not even close. You may occasionally dress yourself up as one of them, watch the same mindless television shows as they do, maybe even eat the same fast food sometimes. But it seems that the more you try to fit in, the more you feel like an outsider, watching the “normal people” as they go about their automatic existences. For every time you say club passwords like “Have a nice day” and “Weather’s awful today, eh?”, you yearn inside to say forbidden things like “Tell me something that makes you cry” or “What do you think deja vu is for?”. Face it, you even want to talk to that girl in the elevator. But what if that girl in the elevator (and the balding man who walks past your cubicle at work) are thinking the same thing? Who knows what you might learn from taking a chance on conversation with a stranger? Everyone carries a piece of the puzzle. Nobody comes into your life by mere coincidence. Trust your instincts. Do the unexpected. Find the others…” 

Timothy Leary

how many times is this going to happen before something changes?


i can't wrap my head around it.
i can't understand.
i truly don't see how it's possible.

yesterday as i was ordering groceries,
stocking shelves,
telling a joke or two

there was almost an alternate reality
on the other side of the country
on the other end of humanity

there were children, little humans, experiencing outrageous horror.
there were parents getting a phone call that they never in a million years imagined they would get.




makes me sick
makes me question a path in life


don't try to tell me that these children
these innocent, precious little lives
were somehow "destined" for this ....fate

don't try to tell me this event was sent to these families as a trial.
how dare you