This is Hard...
So, I'm going through all this old stuff I've written over the last 5 years... and I find myself editing my writing in my head deciding what I want to put up here and what writings are going to communicate what about me? So, I'm going to ignore the impulse to hide and just put some of this stuff out there.
God help me.
First: This is something I wrote at the behest of Artgirl at the Pick Me Up Cafe in Wrigleyville. We used to hang out there every Wednesday after work, and then head on over the The Elevated for dreamy boys doing stand-up comedy. We became a fixture at these two places and are still considered the old War Horses over at The Elevated. It's kind of cool actually... Anyway, Artgirl asked me to write about a girl who lives in an apartment whose window looks right across the alley in to another apartment, occupied by a very dreamy guy.
"GO!" she said.
So, I went, and here's what came out:
"My apartment faces east" She said, to no one in particular. "And I know everything about him-the guy who lives across the way. I watch him as the sun comes up going through his morning routine, morning latte, morning bagel, morning paper, Mornin' Sunshine!"
"I've named him Jack for I'm too afraid to find out otherwise. But soft what light through yonder window breaks...he is my sun. Sighs escape my lips as I imagine a life for this doll of mine. He's a writer with an antique picture frame belonging to his grandmother. He reads Tolstoy for fun and has a Subscription to the New York Post. He's an aspiring chef-one day a meal will be for me. Through my binoculars I watch him on the phone discussing saving the world-Oh my knight in Khaki armor! Or maybe he's a curator for the Smithsonian - he has their coffee table book. No-Maxim gives him away."
"I was walking on the bridge that crosses the river to my house . Locked in my fantasy I was startled to look up and find him approaching me. 'He has no idea' I mused, smiling at the thought.
'That's the prettiest thing I've seen all day.' He says to me and walks on.
Do I respond? Do I finally ask his name, ask him up? I pause. No. Because all those nights I draw the drapes to avoid seeing someone who is not me causes me to keep him a dream-ghost-untarnished by bitter truth. He will forever remain my perfect love-locked away secret."
Ok, now, looking back on what I thought was BRILLIANT at the time, I see now that I wrote about a stalker. Jesus God.
From the Quotable LC and Artgirl:
(after winning a free Budweiser T-shirt)
LC: "HEY! That's sleepwear, baby!"
Artgirl: "And if this was the South, it'd be my weddin' dress!"
One more...
My hand is shaking.
If my hand reached out
will it find an empty place
No space for love in the cold
Wanna see my sunburn?
I'll take you in the back and
let you meet me on the sinking ship
Satellite of love in the sea
waking breaking on the shore
Who are you I whisper in the gloom
my legs quaking your mouth glides
along the wake leaving a trail
of making me tremble
with the taking of my youth.
And on THAT note...
Good days Everyone!
God help me.
First: This is something I wrote at the behest of Artgirl at the Pick Me Up Cafe in Wrigleyville. We used to hang out there every Wednesday after work, and then head on over the The Elevated for dreamy boys doing stand-up comedy. We became a fixture at these two places and are still considered the old War Horses over at The Elevated. It's kind of cool actually... Anyway, Artgirl asked me to write about a girl who lives in an apartment whose window looks right across the alley in to another apartment, occupied by a very dreamy guy.
"GO!" she said.
So, I went, and here's what came out:
"My apartment faces east" She said, to no one in particular. "And I know everything about him-the guy who lives across the way. I watch him as the sun comes up going through his morning routine, morning latte, morning bagel, morning paper, Mornin' Sunshine!"
"I've named him Jack for I'm too afraid to find out otherwise. But soft what light through yonder window breaks...he is my sun. Sighs escape my lips as I imagine a life for this doll of mine. He's a writer with an antique picture frame belonging to his grandmother. He reads Tolstoy for fun and has a Subscription to the New York Post. He's an aspiring chef-one day a meal will be for me. Through my binoculars I watch him on the phone discussing saving the world-Oh my knight in Khaki armor! Or maybe he's a curator for the Smithsonian - he has their coffee table book. No-Maxim gives him away."
"I was walking on the bridge that crosses the river to my house . Locked in my fantasy I was startled to look up and find him approaching me. 'He has no idea' I mused, smiling at the thought.
'That's the prettiest thing I've seen all day.' He says to me and walks on.
Do I respond? Do I finally ask his name, ask him up? I pause. No. Because all those nights I draw the drapes to avoid seeing someone who is not me causes me to keep him a dream-ghost-untarnished by bitter truth. He will forever remain my perfect love-locked away secret."
Ok, now, looking back on what I thought was BRILLIANT at the time, I see now that I wrote about a stalker. Jesus God.
From the Quotable LC and Artgirl:
(after winning a free Budweiser T-shirt)
LC: "HEY! That's sleepwear, baby!"
Artgirl: "And if this was the South, it'd be my weddin' dress!"
One more...
My hand is shaking.
If my hand reached out
will it find an empty place
No space for love in the cold
Wanna see my sunburn?
I'll take you in the back and
let you meet me on the sinking ship
Satellite of love in the sea
waking breaking on the shore
Who are you I whisper in the gloom
my legs quaking your mouth glides
along the wake leaving a trail
of making me tremble
with the taking of my youth.
And on THAT note...
Good days Everyone!
posted by LC Greenwood at 9:33 AM
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