Out of practice

Having taken such a long break from writing, I find it hard to really compile any sort of creative element. Writers block maybe? Or maybe it's just that I've allowed myself to digress into such a lump of uselessness that I have lost the words that seemed to flow out of my head.

Then again, maybe it was all just shit that I poured out. Just me feeling some sort of grandiose feeling of potential that never really existed.

Who knows. What I do know, is that I enjoyed it. It was some sort of therapeutic treatment for myself. Maybe it was my excuse to drink, and now maybe, I don't need an excuse.

I guess though, that if I'm going to get back into it, I will have to start out with small little writing excercises...writing out whatever random crap I can, in an effort to maybe write something worth reading.

The other night, I ran into a friend. Someone who has begged me repeatedly to start up again. I know we talked for a bit...but I was so damned drunk, I don't really recall the substance of our conversation. That seems to be a pattern in my my life lately.

Later that night, as my friends and I walked back to their house, I ran and jumped up to slap a large sign hanging above the sidewalk. Once I'd hit the sign, it ripped free from hooks suspending it over the sidewalk, and subsequently fell squarely on my head. Splitting my head open. Blood instantly started to pour out of the wound. I recall staring down at the ground in a daze. Perfect round droplets of blood began to dot the sidewalk. My head and face felt wet. I think I touched my head, feeling around for the wound. I recall asking if I was really hurt. Nobody could really answer me with any sort of certainty. We decided to just head back to my friends house, so we could clean it up and reassess the damage to my scalp.

By the time we reached his house, my coat and clothes were heavily covered in blood.

I was upset that my charlie shirt had been so stained. Abby took it from me and washed it, while I ran my head under the shower, trying to clean up the blood so someone could figure out if I needed stitches.

Nobody could really say for sure. So, an ice pack was placed on the wound, and my head was wrapped with gauze to hold the icepack on, and absorb the blood.

We continued to party for another 4 hours. Blood running fairly steadily the entire time.

Pure stupidity.

Eventually we decided to go to the emergency room.

Once there, the doctor cleaned out the wound, and informed me he could see my skull, and that I would be needing staples.

"Holy fuck! STAPLES???"

I could not believe they were going to staple my scalp. This seemed extreme.

I asked if they were regular staples. I was informed they were, and then the nurse demonstrated the staple gun procedure.

Through the whole night, I never once lost the stupid smile on my face. I have, or rather my friend has the pictures to prove it. Even in the ER while getting my head stapled together.

I sit here now, with a giant 4-5 inch scar on top of my head...still swollen, and patched together with staples.

chris d.

p.s. to liz. the sign was the brewery retail store sign.

what Irony that a brewery sign should take me out, while I'm drinking.

Waiting

(I was pretty sick this spring, and this is one of the pieces I wrote while in and out of the hospitals)



Waiting


I’m sitting in this little exam room.
Or maybe it’s a changing room.
A curtain divides me from the other side of the room.
There is an old man. I can just see his shoe.
It’s black. Velcro straps.
He is talking incessantly.
Nerves.
Fear
Loneliness.
I’m not sure.
The nurse listens and feints interest.
I can hear it in her replies.
The old man is religious,
Or keeps relaying little quips about god.
Jokes maybe.
Parables.
He is catholic.
He says Jew.
A lot.
Discusses jews he knows.
Friends who are jews.
there is something in the way he lets the word jew
fall off his lips.
It’s confused with hatred and friendship.
There is no malice.
The nurse helps him undress.
He demands she not rumple his pants
He demands she pull them from the cuffs.
This pleases him.
The nurse helps him into the hall
And onto a gurney.
I sit and stare at the curtain.
Waiting.

chris d.

Fear in the night

I look down over a vast blue ocean. White objects chase each other back and forth at blinding speeds. Immediately I am aware that there are sharks chasing salmon around. I look off to my left and see my girls swimming out amongst the salmon and sharks. There is no fear in me. For some reason I know these sharks are only interested in the salmon they chase.

I holler out to the girls, just to make them aware that they are not alone.

My voice is quickly swallowed up by the ocean. I make a stronger attempt to get their attention. My gaze is held by the strange white objects darting frantically just beneath the surface. Such a blue ocean. It is a stark contrast, the white of salmon and sharks against the rich blue sea. Unnatural. Hypnotic and terrifying.

I slowly make my way down the marble blocks that surround the ocean. I begin to notice that the entire sea abruptly ends against an endless expanse of these marble blocks. Each one is approximately 3'x3' square. "Odd" I mutter to myself. I shoot a nervous glance out at my kids, I try to holler but the words won't materialize. They splash about carelessly. White monsters circling just beneath them.

Panic seems to be creeping up my spine. The blocks surrounding the shoreline bring out more fear. It's at this point I notice the depth of the ocean where it meets the sea wall. It's as unfathomable as the unyielding blue spreading out before me.

I try to make sense of this surreal scene. Fear and panic begin to radiate into my limbs. My mouth feels swollen. I yell again.

It is at this point the girls begin to scream "sharks" and thrash wildly towards the sea wall.

I yell desperately to stop thrashing, that the sharks will not bother them if they just continue playing as normal. I scream wildly to just slowly move in towards the shore. A shore that I am becoming more disturbed by. There is a stainless steel railing running around most of the edge. However, even where there is no rail, there is no easy access out of this god damned ocean. white monsters darting, nipping at the girls toes. Not inflicting any damage, just further exacerbating their fear and panic, as well as my own.

I pray it's the salmon messing with them, and not the sharks. God not the sharks, anything but those fucking heartless monsters.

The sun is far too bright. I feel my skin burning under the hot rays. The blue ocean blinding me with a sickening fear and rage as I cannot seem to wrap my head around a way out of this situation.

There is no way out. Just an endless consuming fear.

-Chris D

untitled

Wow, been awhile since I've used this sight. Looks like any and everything I wrote about was wrong! It's nice that I could immortalize my mistakes in written format. I contemplated deleting the older posts on here, but that didn't seem right.

The posting about wal-mart was one of the first online pieces I ever wrote. It's kind of funny to look back through all of my writing that was done on myspace and see the growth(?) and evolution of my writing. My grammar was atrocious! Punctuation...even worse! Not that it's great now, but it certainly has to be better than it was back in 05-06.

Anyhow. I'm currently sitting in Cordova Alaska. Hoping to be going home by the end of the week. I really need to get back to Juneau before December 7th, so I can see my brother before he moves back home to Vegas. Gonna miss that guy.

So, like I said, sitting here in Cordova. It's 9 am and snowing like hell. I've been up since 2:30 am. Too much stuff on my mind to get any rest. To many unresolved things in my life, too much work related crap bugging me.

I keep having incredibly vivid dreams. I'm thinking that's my subconscious poking me and saying "hey dick hole! get busy writing, this is some creative shit I'm feeding you, and you're just letting it go to waste."

My mind seems to be pissed at me.


Chris D