Stay Classy, Benicio Romero

"Oooh!  Way to put me in my place."  Benicio thumps the table, pleasantly ammused with the reaction he'd incited.  He stands, adjusts the lapels of his black and gray vest, the collars of his silver polyester shirt, and the sides of the wide mohawk.   And then, he begins to recite his own lineage.

He knows why they do this.  He recognizes yet another method for sizeing each other up.  Obviously he's done it often enough to mention the names and exploits of all four Kindred between himself and Troile.  More names between himself and Caine than many in the room, but also more names to have passed down their aggression, cruelty, and passion.  Each city destroyed, each stewardship sacked, each decade of barbarism and banditry he names with gusto and a gleaming grin as the light reflects off the gold teeth flanking his left fang.

When he's done he sits again, looking around the conference table for whoever would speak up next.  And while he waits, one steel toed boot thumps on the far edge of the table, and the other rests crudely on top.

For someone who considered this all a hassle, the Brujah seemed to be quite pleased with having gushed at his predecessors, and therefore himself.

[January, 2009]

Against the Light: Original Inspiration

In New York they walk against the light.
There'll be no delay of our daily pursuits
No insincere righteousness to fix us
to someone else's worn, bitter road.

Why should we walk when our goal is flight?
Why should we stop?
For a little thing like danger?
A little thing like fear?
A litle thing like failure?

For a little thing like the loss of life?
Which, until we stand to lose it
we have no idea of its true value.
And what would a life spent be worth
having never walked against the light?

[5:40 PM, watching the sun set from 5th floor window at Filene's Basement across from Columbus Circle. Also inspired by waiting at interections, holding Merri's hand, and wondering....]

Eulogy Time

Its the beginning of a new year.  Or the first month, at least.  In my prime (which I hope has only lagged behind, rather than past) It would be the time I close another writing journal, banding up another Moleskein or twisting the cheap notebook out of the make-believe leather covering.  And before I'd start fresh, letting the ink sink into the first unsuspecting pages of my replacement, I'd look back one last time at what I'd written, attempted to write, or failed to complete throughout the year.

Because its always somewhat bittersweet, and because the memories soon fade and are replaced with new ones, much like new life replaces death, I called it 'Eulogy for a Journal.'

But, I haven't quite been performing like i was in that prime lately.  Not only have I failed to exhaust my journal, but through some wonderful folly, I wound up with two journals.  One, the same faux leather covering over a stiff, simple, easy to carry notebook.  The other is something I picked up at a Borders in New York.  Beautiful hardcover, magnetic flap, and covered with elegant, driven scrawl.  A speech by Abraham Lincoln.  In the one that's easy to have everywhere, I have the thoughts that I have everywhere.  Including many of the banal things that I simply have to write down.  In the other beautiful, writing inspired/inspiring book, I have my beautiful writing.  Or, what I try to write, at the very least.

It works out well, I suppose.  Two books.  Two blogs.  And going back and seeing the failed attempts, or the poor successes, has always lead to great things, in my mind.  So I'll be having a eulogy for both.  Check in at The Changing Leaves if you want to know some of the foolish, boring, insane, truthful things that went through my mind in 2009, and check Eulogy for a Journal, if you want fiction, poetry, and pretty words that don't quite belong anywhere. Lets remember that year together.