Can't Hardly Stand It

Can't Hardly Stand It :Charlie Feathers

Well, the sun's gone down
And you're uptown
And you're just out runnin' around

(Chorus:)
I can't hardly stand it
You're troublin' me
I can't hardly stand
It just can't be
Well, you don't know, a-babe I love you so
You got me all tore up, all tore up

You say you're trough with me
You're settin' me free
You're just out with your used-to-be

(Chorus)

Well, my spirit's low
I love (miss) you so
I stand alone and watch you go

(Chorus)

Well, now that you are gone
And I'm alone
All I do is sit and moan

(Chorus)

Baby, all tore up
Baby, all tore up
All tore up...

well crap i can't believe i have to get over it again. i thought i had suffiectly braced and reinforced my fragile heart. the image i have in my head is of a bloddy heart laying on a table or maybe hung on a wall, wrapped in metal strapping tape, wire and screws, all held up by a couple of 2 by 4's. the ends of the boards covered in blood, the sheen of the cold galvinized industrial metal glistening with coagulating life. strong and unyeilding. but in one fell swoop it was all ripped off, and thrown to the floor with our clothes. i don't know if that was the intended purpose or not. but i suddenely feel naked and vunerable and confused. of course mybe i brought this all upon myself. hopefully i can get passed this and move on. maybe i reading too much into this. maybe it was just sex. maybe it doesn't mean anything.

so i have begun the long arduous task of going thru my life agin. i do this from time to time. for some reason i tend to go thru the same stuff over and over. today i went through pictures. and i threw alot away. i threw away some from a forgotten trip to the woods. i don't where or when they were taken. so they got thrown out. i have so much paperwork from the military, and i have gone thru it from time to time, and everytime i find more papers that i thought were important at one time but now i find them completley useless and a waste of space. space. this is why i've begun this again. i have run out of space. i lost a room in my house to my bestfriend, now roomate, and i no longer have the space to store the scraps of my life. i'm workign to a point where i can load everything i own into the back of a truck and leave. some day i hope to start over. brand new life, brand new friends. brand new everything. and to do this i have to find the strength to let go of my past. from time to time i hate my past. i made chioces that i'm no longer happy i made.

but i guess you can't run from your past can ya?

yeah i thought i could go a week with out drinking. who the hell was i kidding. i went 2 days. on weds. i went out, and had a bourben and coke. big mistake. i thought i could handle it. and actually i could. i didn't even finish my drink at dinner. but then i went out for drinks, i had two. during the middle of my second i ordered a glsass of water. but afterwards i went home, got my roommate, went out for a few more, then we went home and drank till 5am. i realized i love the way bourbon washes over my mouth, and over my body. it's sweet and bitter just like a woman. i decided that i cannot not drink right now. i love it way too much. i love the bitter sweet flavor, the wetness in my mouth and the warmth on my throat. the shiver down my back and the buzzz in my head. goodnight.

what a weekend. live music, Hot Rods, bikes, and a ton of rain. i'm hurting like hell today. i've got bruises all over my body, a black eye, and huge gash across my nose. i was told that i fell down more than i was standing. fun stuff. this may be the incentive i need to stop drinking. i don't know if can do it or not. i know i can go a shift at the T, with out drinking, i can work with out drinking. i but i don't know if i can go out without drinking.

oh well. i didn't go to jail.

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Work

Work work and more work. but i did take the weekend off and go party. but back to work.

Happy Birthday to me!
for my birthday today i had a steak breafast/dinner when i got home from work last night, and as a special treat, before i went to bed, i turned turned the A/C on, set it to ice and got the best nights sleep i have had in months. i'll have to turn it off before i go to work, but it is nice to curl up in my big blanket and sleep. on the flip side, i ended up sleeping most of the day and now i'm about 3 hrs behind schedule. oh well, fuck it it's my birthday.

he drove into the west Texas sunset. she sat next to him in the truck. it was late July. hot, sticky and just plain grueling. the old truck had no A/C and with the chopped top the windows only hinted at the breeze blowing past the windows at 70 miles an hour. the truck rocked and creaked as the open header pipes bellowed their arrival on the road to points unknown. where were they going? she didn't know and neither did he. he knew that where ever it was it wasn't where they'd been the night before. before the fight. before the whiskey. before it all went terribly wrong.
Patrick had the day off. a rarity these days. he was trying like mad to pay his bills and rebuild his broken bike. it had broken a long time ago and the stream of broken hearts and broken whiskey bottles had left him in debt and with out his beloved chopper. he sat in his home watching TV occasionally staring out the window to the garage. the padlock was beginning to shown signs of weather, and the leaves were piling against the door from un-use. he decide he needed a drink. not just any drink would do. it had to be a good one. not one could make himself. but one that was made just for him. a drink that would take his breath away and absolve him of all his fears. so he combed back his greasy hair, dusted of his cowboy boots and headed out the door to find his solace in the bottom of a glass.
when he got to the bar it was just the way he wanted. loud, dirty, ugly punk rock made it's way from the stage and filtered through the patrons souls and out in the night. the doorman gave him a handshake and smile and let him on thru. he went straight to the bar and waited for the magic elixirs to be handed him in the grim dark light and swirling noise. that was when he noticed her. she was standing next to the jukebox as if she knew, and purposely stood there to bath in her personal spotlight. her black hair rolled and cascaded off her shoulders. her eyes sparkled. her lips followed the words to the music. or so he thought. but instead of watching the band,she turned to him and smiled with a come hither grin and Patrick knew this girl was going to be the death of him. he could see death in her eyes and lust on her mind. they both stood for a moment and just stared at each other. then she turned back around to dance and sing along to the band. Patrick ordered up a second drink and strode over to say hello. when the band was over he asked her name and they began talking. suddenly there were no others in the bar, and the music fell off into background noise. the once blaring jukebox was no longer filler between bands, it became the soundtrack to lust and sin. she told him things he wanted to hear but was afraid to ask. she whispered in his ears things that took his breath away and made his skin fit funny. she turned and nodded towards the dark corner behind the stage. the band was unloading their gear and they would just be another couple in the mass and disappear for a moment. she reached out and took his hand and his breath away. she led him to the dark corner. her eyes glowing in the shadows. she pulled him close to her, brushed her cheek against his as she drew back for a kiss. her lips met his and the world stopped. the music stopped. his heart stopped. then it raced out of control as it came back to life. her lips were soft and inviting. she tasted of bourbon and cigarettes. her hands pulled him closer to her and comforted his broken heart. that was when it happened.
Patrick didn't realize it when it happened. it was just a dulled thud on the back of his head. but he'd work in bars for so long he knew the sound of glass breaking over a skull. his knees buckled slightly. he wasn't sure where the slight dizziness was coming from. the long remorseless kiss he had just been given or the bottle broken over his head. he spun around to find a young man puzzled as to why he was still standing. he heard her call out to the man who'd hit him, asking why he couldn't leave her alone, why he wouldn't let go. why he'd would not let her get on with her life. the first punch brought Patrick back to reality and he responded in kind. the mans eyes rolled but he stood his ground. the second punch caught Patrick in the shoulder, third was deflected. Patrick's second hit connected right below the mans left eye, his cheek split and spilled blood as he fell to the floor. in the few seconds that it took, the entire bar staff was rushing towards him. he spun around grabbed the girl, and ran thru the guitars and amps spilling on the floor from the scuffle out the back door and to the truck. he never asked if she wanted to go with him. he just took her along. he was just as scared as she was. did he have friends, was someone hot on his heels in pursuit? he never looked back. he just ran to his truck, threw her in, fired the old beast up and rocketed out of the parking lot and out into the streets. after leaving the club she never said a word. she just held on to Patrick's hand as they ran. once in the truck she just sat there, looking at Patrick, looking at the blood on her hands, looking out the window.
he didn't know where to go, so he went home. she cleaned the broken glass from his hair and washed the blood from his face and hands. they didn't speak much, they didn't have to speak. there was not much to say. there was not much that wasn't being said in a glance, a nod or a touch of the hand. they slowly undressed. Patrick was beginning to get sore as his adrenaline soaked muscles relaxed. they laid down together, they embraced, and kissed as they drifted off to sleep.
the next morning over coffee and cigarettes she told him her life. of how she knew that if she didn't leave then she would never be able to relax. he would always be there, he would always find her. Patrick didn't really have that much worth staying for himself. his debt would never be paid off and he needed a reason to leave as well. to start fresh. so it was decided, they would start out together. he packed a few clothes, put his tools and broken bike in the back of his truck. left a note for his land lord to sell what he could and throw the rest away.
he asked if she needed anything, she replied no. there was no place to go and all she needed was already in the truck. if anything else came up, they'd find it on the road.

Goodmorning America how are ya?

Don't you know me? i'm your native son. i am america.

my life has sucked all the energy out of my soul. now don't get me wrong. it's not gone, but it's pretty beaten up. i worked 54 hours last week, 40 of that was on thruday,friday and saturday. and i still tried to manage to keep a social life, but since rent is due on thrusday there is a good chance it time to hibernate in the house. if your lucky, you might get a post or two in the next few days. i'm supposed to talk to patrick tommorow maybe he'llhave another story to tell me, or if we go out, maybe a story i can tell about him.

yeah i got nuthing today. spent most of the weekend at home. Queenie came over saturday night, we watched movies and fell alseep on the couch.
only two more days to go till i get a day off. right now i'm on day 8 of 10 in a row. damn i'm tired. one just tired, phyiscally and mentally, and two, tired of people and bars.
Everybody sucks but me! thppphbhbh

Patrick had a rough day at work slinging drinks to all the 7th street drunks. at just after 3:30 he had managed to get them all out of the bar, everything put away for the night and the door locked. he walked over to the 7-11 to grab a hotdog and a pack of smokes. same story ever night. in the short walk from the store to his bike ha had managed to swallow the Bigbite, zip up his jacket and make his way to his bike. a glistening beautiful mix of chrome steel, polished aluminum, greasy black paint and rubber. it didn't look like much but it ran like a demon set free from the bounds of hell. Patrick had spent years slinging drinks all night and day to get this bike running and it was finally done. he swung one leg over the seat and fumbled with the key switch, it stuck from time to time and required a light touch to make it turn. once the ignition was turned on, he reached down and tickled each carburetor to give a little extra gas for starting. reaching down with his right hand he pulled the kick starting pedal out with a reassuring click letting him know it was firmly locked into place. he picked up his heavy boot from the cool damp pavement below bringing it to rest on the kicker. in one fluid motion he twisted open the throttle and brought his weight to bear on the quiet engine. in the same instant the engine roared to life. while letting the bike gently warm he double checked his gloves and cinched his jacket a little tighter, adjusted his weight on the machine, and slid his glasses down over his eyes. after returning the kicker pedal to its home position, he moved the transmission into 1st gear. while letting the clutch out with one hand he began to accelerate with the other, out into the street and gone into the dark night, the exhaust rising and falling with the shifting of gears, fading into endless black top that was his sweet eternity.
The bike sang as it ran down 7th street towards downtown. the air was cool and crisp, the pavement dry and smooth. as Patrick rode he could hear every gear change from the exhaust bouncing off the empty warehouses the lined the street. they would be bustling with activity soon, but for now he stood empty and silent. he accelerated towards the large monoliths standing vigilant over the central business district. 40mph, 50. Third gear 60, 70, 80 and into fourth with a reassuring clunk, the handle bars went loose in his hands as the bike crested the bridge with the front wheel off the ground. 90, 95, 98, 99, he was willing the bike to go faster and faster, throttle wide open. hunched over the tank to slip as much wind as possible. the bike compressed it's suspension and pushed itself frurther into patricks chest coming off the bridge to the rise in the road to downtown. at top of the rise the magic Ton,100 mph. the world went silent for Patrick. the valves ticking away between his legs, the rush of air through his ears, the exhaust bouncing off the walls of the city. all went silent. the voices in his head stopped as they reeled in horror at the world rushing at them. the voices began to wonder. were the wheel bearings tight? did Patrick tighten that axle nut sufficiently? was there anything in the road to puncture a tire? what about a cop doing his reports, were there any? what about civilians? would some dumb schmuck half asleep, not see that red light? Patrick didn't worry. he knew all was well. every nut tight, every bearing properly lubed. a small grin appeared on his lips knowing that there was nothing between him and downtown but a mile of straight dry road till the next red light. as he crossed Henderson the bike lifted again slightly and he knew it was time to shut down. closing the throttle he sat up and let the wind push his body back, pressing the brake with his left foot and reaching out for the security of the front brake at his right hand. the bike howling and belching resisting the de-acceleration. the excess fuel popping in the hot exhaust as he reached the red light on cherry street. the bike clenched up as it came to a dead stop at the intersection.His heart beat resuming to normal as the tremors of adrenalin washed over his body. and he sat waiting patiently for the green light.

Garbage Trucks

I love them. i don't know why. they are big and filthy. they stink to the very depth of the metal, every nook and cranny that could be is packed full of tiny bits of trash, food, and what nots. i remeber having to weld one up one time, i spent quite some time cleaing and cleaning then finally donning a protective suit to keep my clothes clean. i have found out that no matter how much you clean, there is still a film of stench and grease. so i cleaned some more and ground down the area that needed to be welded. the driver had not noticed what he threw in the back and jammed a peice of pipe in the hopper ripping the side door open and tearing open the compactor blade. so i hammered everything back into place, and struck an arc with my welder. burning the metal back together. the smell of untold things burning out of the metal stuck in my throat for days after. i'll never forget the sweet pungent smell of a burning garbage truck. i hate that smell. the smell of the entire world all smashed into one.
every tuesday i sit patiently waiting in my house for the big lumbering truck to come by and take away my refuse. and now that we have the trucks that pick up the bins i'm even more in love. i don't really know why. all i know is that my whole life i've watched the garbage go out. before there were trucks with big hydraulic arms there were men with big arms running down the street to pick up and take away everything i'd give them.
even though i hate taking out the trash. and it never fails, if i take the bins out before i go to bed they don't get picked up till late afternoon, but if i decide i can wait till morning to take the trash out? fuckers come by at 7am and i miss them. it'a good thing i don't create much trash.

ok i'm a jerk. I'm sorry. that's all for now.

for all you who read this from time to time sorry for not writing latly, but don't give up on me. i've been offline for a while with work and personal stuff. but i will soon return.
thanks for coming out today, i'll be here all week.

cleansing

well a small discovery. i used to not shower on a daily basis. not because i'm a gross pig. but i always thought, hey if i'm not dirty then why? i mean if i shower and don't do anything, all i do is sit infront of the computer all day then all i have to do is wash my hands and face and go back to bed? right? but i had a little bit of a revelation. or for me a light bulb or something. latley it has not been about showing to clean my body but to clean my mind. i have discoverd the ritual of hygene to be more about my head than my body. the whole ritual is self cleaning and gets me going. i wash my body then may hair, then my face. after that i stand under the shower head for sometimes up to 30 minutes just letting the hot water wash everything else away. after that, i shave, brush my teeth and comb my hair. finally i get dressed and walk out the door ready to take on the world because i just washed a bunch of shit outa my head and down the drain to deserted part of town to let the water department solidfy my shit and fill a big hole in the ground.

another thing that came to mind today and startled me. i was sitting here listening to woodeye staring out the window watching the rain, and thought, damn i miss home. WHAT? i am home. i live in the city i was born and raised in. why on earth did i think of home as holland and germany. go back home to amsterdam. sit on a canal on a rainey cold day, have a cold beer and watch the world walk by on vacation, looking for a beer, a dildo, a joint or sex with a stranger. i remember one time shortly after moving to germany, this is weird, i feel like i'm home, i feel like i've been trying to get here my whole life. maybe it's getting time to go back home..........

I'm learning, i really am....

i don't even know where to start today. my day to day life has become seemingly insignificant in light of the world, specifically iraq. yesterday i found a blog from iraq. from there i linked to several others. i was captivated. i read, went back and read many weeks and sometime months of posts from begining to end. i can't even comprehend the things i have read. what i can understand is something i have known for a long time. no matter where you go in this world everything is the same. people are the same. they go about their lives trying to do the best they can to provide for themselves and their families. i could argue that occasioally an individual has a misguided idea of what is good for their families. I could argue alot of things, but today my heart is heavy knowing that someone just like me is sitting in front of a computer not much different than the one i am in in front of, not knowing when the electricity will go out and if they can finish their post. not knowing what the explosion outside was. not knowing that their family is safe. not knowing the certainty of their future. the personal future and the future of a counrty they love.
one of the blogs i read a family member was kidnapped and held for ransom. for over a week he was gone. and the family had to pay the ransom to get him, back. they had to pay because the police are corrupt and often involved, and the american military does not get involved. can't get invovled. they don't know if they will be a detained by the soldiers at the next check point because their beard is too long or the color dress was wrong. i worry about having money for drinks and frivolous items that occupy our daily lives, they worry about bombs and gasoline and kersosene and water.

Screwed blued and tattooed.
i got a new tattoo on friday, friday the 13th of febuary. all i got was a simple 13. about an inch tall, red and black. took all of 30mins to get. i also had one touched up. i got the new tattto on my left arm right above an old one i got on the last friday the 13th. i was hoping to get more, but it took along time before i could get my turn and when i did, i was feeling the effects of 9 days of work and decidied to just get the one, to mark the day. a long time ago i decided that i would get full sleaves, but i was not going to get them all at once. i would get them as time and money allowed. i also made the decision that i would not get tattoos willy nilly with no ryhme or reason. the tattoos i would get on my left arm would be ones of places i've been, things i have done and how i see the world. the ones on my right arm would be how i perceive the world sees me or how i want the world to see me. so far so good. but if you've ever seen my tatoos and you know me, well you know that i'm still heading in the right direction and not too far from my mark. so anyway i got another 13 friday.
saturday i had a date with queenie. but she didn't get off work till late. and it turned out to be not much different than any other saturday night out. i stood at the bar doing shots and drinking beer, while she paraded around in her new party dress.
saturday night was supposed to be a one last stand, a remember the alamo night. instead she drove me home, like always, and we sat up till god knows when talking. but given that there was a time we would stay up all night talking it fits right in with our realtionship.
sunday i got called into work at noon. a shot of jager and a hot cup of coffee and i was able to stop my head from pounding enough that i could count money. after 7 hours of doing shots with the rest of the west 7th crew, all trying to get rid of their hangovers and forget the money they spent on their girls, i was no longer tring to get rid of my hangover but trying to function as a bartender. the combination of alchohol, exhastion and depression was too much for my brain to handle and when a girl asked if i wanted to go to a dance club with her and her friends i said yes. so off to vivid. i don't have much memory of the night. i drank, i danced, i did more shots. then i thought i was lost, then i was found. next thing i know i'm in a truck heading home. home being the bar. i got back, paid my tab and went to sleep in the sound booth. next thing i know i was called out of sluber into another truck and there i was, standing on my front porch, fumbling with my keys to get in the door.
monday i made spaghetti, cookies and ate ice cream.

wow, i don't even know whee to begin this. i had along weekend. it rained it snowed. i drank i fought i danced i loved i don't even know what i have i done. i made money and i spent it. i'll have to get back to you on this i ahev to go lay back down.