I once had a girl
Or should I say she once had me
She showed me her room
Isn't it good Norwegian wood?

She asked me to stay
And she told me to sit anywhere
So I looked around
And I noticed there wasn't a chair

I sat on a rug biding my time
drinking her wine
We talked until two and then she said
it's time for bed

She told me she worked
in the morning and started to laugh
I told her I didn't
and crawled off to sleep in the bath

And when I awoke I was alone
This bird had flown
So I lit a fire
Isn't it good Norwegian wood?











Esta canción me gusta mucho. Me gustan casi todas las canciones de los Beatles, pero ésta es de mis preferidas. De que cuáles son mis preferidas (se escucha la pregunta resonando desde el fondo del auditorio).

yo, ceremoniosamente respondo:
TODAS

Escrito el Lunes 19 de Abril del 2004 a las 12:21 AM:

"Cambiando de tema... estaba recordando que de chiquito fingía enfermedades para faltar a la escuela jajaj.. Lo recordé porque quería y quisiera fingir enfermedad mañana para no ir a la escuela, tengo weba... Pero me acordé que antes lo hacía, y pasaba mi mamá por mi a la escuela y me llevaba a casa de mi abuelita, Ita. Mi abuelita me consentía todo el dia, me hacía té de manzanilla y un sartén repleto de frijoles con chorizo, mi comida favorita por eso. Me traen muy buenos recuerdos los frijoles, aunque tengan malas consecuencias. La mujer que me vaya a preparar de comer la tiene facil, nomas le pido frijoles con chorizo y yaa. Es todo jaja.

Entonces se acostaba mi abuelita, y yo me acostaba con ella, pero antes de acostarse sacaba una bolsononona repleta de monitos, se dormia y yo me quedaba ahí con ella acomodando los monitos en la venta, en la repisa, en todas partes. Horas y horas así, y yo de buen niño no me movía de ahí ni hacía desastres, hasta lo hacía bajito para que mi abuelita no se despertara. Me acuerdo de esas cosas y siento chingados, como pasa el tiempo y como quisiera ser niño otra vez, sin otra preocupacion que acomodar monitos.

Un monito en especial, Reptilio de los Thundercats jajaja. Estuve chingue y chingue a mi abuelita, para que me lo consiguiera, y mi buena abuelita me lo consiguio despues de mucho tiempo. Porque había un inconveniente, yo le dije que se llamaba Letilio y mi abuelita preguntaba por el mono así. Hasta que yo fui con ella y lo vi, y frenético se lo señalé y mi abuelita me lo compró. Feísimo el mono ahora que lo veo, pero pss son recuerdos y era mi fijación en ese momento jaja. Hermoso el mono. Ahí está guardado todavía, y me trae muy buenos recuerdos. Mi abuelita todavía antes de morir me contaba esta historia, siempre como si fuera la primera vez que me la contaba, entre risas. Y cada ocasión que me la contaba, yo me reía y me alegraba de tener a mi abuelita. La extraño un putazazazazazo."

Fue hace ya más de dos años que escribí ésto. Dos años que se me han ido en un abrir y cerrar de ojos, y no sé... lo primero que pensé al releerlo fue: cuánto he cambiado de dos años para acá?

Creo que lo suficiente, pero ése no es el tema.

Ahorita estoy un poco molesto y la neta, triste. Triste porque este aparato del demonio me traicionó y se apagó. No me gusta decir que estaba escribiendo algo muy chido, pero independientemente de lo chido era algo muy personal. Fue algo que lo estaba escribiendo y empecé a llorar. No lágrimas de tristeza ni lágrimas de nostalgia. Eran lágrimas lindas, de ésas de felicidad.

Obviamente era un escrito sobre mi abuelita, sobre cómo la quise y la quiero tanto. Sobre cuánta falta me hace porque ella era la que siempre creyó en mí, la que siempre me echaba porras... tantas que a veces hasta me llegaba a desesperar jeje.

La que me decía que qué guapo estoy, que qué chulo, que qué inteligente, que qué flaco me veía.

Mi abuelita que me agarraba la cara entre las manos, y me empezaba a llenar de besos... mientras yo me asfixiaba en el olor de sus manos, ese olor que ahora tanto extraño y que tanto recuerdo.

Tantas cosas que vivimos con ella mis hermanos y yo. Tantas cosas que nos enseñó, y tantas cosas que aprendí de ella.

Tanta falta que todavía me hace...

No sé si en el Cielo tengan conexión a Internet. No sé si les permitan conectarse y checar los fotologs. Quién sabe, igual y San Pedro tiene uno también pero solamente lo pueden ver los habitantes del Paraíso.

Pero no es necesario, yo se lo voy a mandar también por un medio más efectivo: una pequeña oración directita desde mi corazón al suyo. Estoy seguro, completamente seguro que ésa va derechito y sin escalas.

Te quiero mucho Ita. Te quiero mucho, y te extraño mucho.

Cuídame por favor, ayúdame a ser un buen hijo, un buen amigo, un buen novio, un buen compañero, un buen muchacho. Un buen nieto.

Ayúdame a tenerte siempre presente y pensar antes de hacer las cosas que TÚ me estás viendo. Que ríes con mis alegrías y te preocupas con mis sufrimientos.

Hoy no estoy triste ni preocupado ni nada de nada de nada. Solamente soy yo, y me siento un poco nostálgico por ésos tiempos que ya no van a volver.

Lo que no daría por verte 5 minutos, abrazarte y pedirte perdón. Lo que no daría.

Quiero llenarte la cara de besos una vez más jaja como a veces lo hacía.

Antes pensaba en ti todos los días. Ahora ya no tanto. But that's life creo.

Te mando un besote Ita, te mando un abrazo de oso, y un te quiero sincero. Gracias por cuidarme y por quererme.

Por ti, voy a ser un mejor muchacho.

Simón jaja otra vez estoy llorando, pero no os preocupéis lectores... estoy muy contento.

OK, perdió México... OK, era de esperarse... Aghhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!! JESUCRISTO NUESTRO SEÑOR!!!! OGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH jajajaja chiste local que ahí quedará.. local, porque las personas que lo entienden no saben de la existencia de esta página.

He estado muy tranquilo... tal vez demasiado. ¿Es para preocuparme? No sé, sólo sé que no sé nada, para parafrasear a Sócrates.


Me faltan las palabras, o me falta el espacio. Bon voyage

"1. Del 9 de Junio al 9 de Julio, lee la seccion deportiva del Mundial para
q tengas tema de conversacion; si no lo haces, no te extrañes de las
consecuencias...

2. Durante el Mundial la tele es mia, a todas horas , sin excepcion, el
control, ni lo mires.

3. Si tienes k pasar frente a la tele durante un partido no me importa,
siempre y cuando pases gateando y sin distraerme.

4. Durante los partidos estoy sordo y ciego. No esperes k te oiga, k habra
la puerta, conteste el telefono. Nada

5. Seria bueno q siempre tengas cervezas en el refri, boquitas en abundancia
y le sonrias a mis cuates k llegan a ver el futbol. En agradecimiento, te
dejare ver la tele de la media noche a las 6 de la mañana.

6. Por favor, si me ves molesto por k mi equipo va perdiendo no digas "no es
para tanto" o "en el siguiente seguro ganan".

7. Puedes sentarte a ver un partido conmigo y puedes platicarme en el medio
tiempo, pero solo durante los comerciales. Tampoco abuses dije UN PARTIDO.

8. Las repeticiones de los goles son muy importantes. No importa si ya los
vi o no los he visto, los quiero ver de nuevo, muchas veces.

9. Los resumenes de la jornada Mundialista durante la noche son tan
importantes como los juegos mismos; no se te ocurra decir " pero si eso ya
lo viste", ¿ por q no le cambias?

10. Finalmente, ahorrate expresiones como "¡k bueno k el Mundial es cada 4
años!" Estoy inmunizado contra palabras necias. Ademas, luego viene la
Champions, Copa America, Liguilla, Liga Italiana, la Española, etc."





No es un escrito mío, pero está buenísimo. No aplica en mi caso ya que mi jaina está lejos y además, los horarios de los partidos son durante mis clases (la mayoría al menos).

Pero está buenísimo el escrito jaja dejaremos de ser hombres!



Tuve un fin de semana diferente. Similar en muchos aspectos, diferente en otros. Pero creo que fue un parteaguas. Las cosas casi nunca son como parecen, y a caballo regalado no se le ve el diente. Más vale pájaro en mano, que no pasa del corredor. Árbol que nace torcido, sirve para poner un columpio.




Respiro, y le doy gracias a Dios porque este díame permitió respirar. Cada segundo que pasa es un segundo menos de vida.

O un segundo más de experiencia/sabiduría/vivencias. Todo depende de la manera en que se quiera mirar.

Gracias a mis amigos, en especial a dos de ellos. Sé que tengo dos angelotes a mi lado, dos muy buenos amigos. A veces no me doy cuenta de lo suertudo que soy por haberme puesto tan buenas personas a mi alrededor.




A veces pienso que no soy tan buena gente como la demás gente cree. Sí soy buena gente, pero no soy ningún santo. Ni tanto que queme al santo... no recuerdo cómo termina el dicho.

En verdad soy una contradicción de repente. En veces puedo ser el más fervoroso creyente, el más apegado, el más catequista. En veces, entra en mí una duda tan terrible y me pregunto si estoy viviendo mi vida de la manera correcta.

Al final de cuentas importa algo de lo que estamos viviendo aquí? Somos tan chiquititos, y es inevitable pensar que somos como hormigas yendo de aquí para allá, convencidos de que lo que estamos haciendo es lo más importante que puede estar pasando en el Universo entero. Esa importancia es completamente relativa, es inexistente.

No tengo ningún problema, no tengo ningún conflicto espiritual. Solo estoy viviendo mi novela en la cual soy el protagonista, y como buen protagonista debo enfrentarme a un dilema y salir avante.

Hasta el momento he salido avante de cualquier dilema. Siempre lo he hecho, y siempre lo han hecho todos. Siempre saldremos adelante, porque al final ¿nada importa?


Ahora sí, que este es el pinche olvidado. Ése soy yo.

En un rato más me voy a ir a misa. Ahorita estoy bien cansado, todo este fin de semana estuvo bien pesado bien pesado. Muy cansado.

Muy cansado... hasta parece que no sé decir otra cosa verdad.

Pero estuvo chingón mi fin desemana porque fue la pari de mis amigos. Llegué un poco tarde por andar haciendo otras cosas, pero llegué y me fui tarde también.

Hablé tanto con mi abuelito, de tantas cosas. Me contó sus aventuras y sus desventuras, las cosas que ha aprendido y muchas cosas de mi abuelita también. Me daba miedo tratar ese tema con él porque mi abuelito es muy fuerte, es la persona más fuerte que conozco yo creo... y la única vez en que he visto que se quiebra es cuando son cosas relacionadas con mi abuelita.
Estuvo chingón porque qué soy yo... un pinche mocoso sin experiencia en estos cotorreos de la vida.
Y cómo se puede aprender? Aparte de por el método empírico...

Pues aprendiendo en cabeza ajena. Es difícil, muy difícil pero se puede intentar.



Todo éso viene siendo información de contexto, nomás como que un update de mi vida.

Lo que me motivó a escribir ésto es algo que iba pensando hace rato... iba con mi papá y mi hermano menor a la pulga mitras a comprar unas cosas. Yo iba a curiosear. Y salí ganando unos dvds muy chilos.

Pero tampoco es éso lo que pensé... jaja ultimo parentesis lo juro, pero es que estaba bien concentrado en el camino en pensar cómo se decía un término en inglés... tipo cuando hay una serie de television... y en la serie de televisión hay un chiste que se va repitiendo a lo largo de la temporada. Y es un chiste que si no lo viste la primera ocasión, o no lo ves a lo largo de la temporada; no le vas a entender.

Estuve piense y piense y piense y piense hasta que al final me iluminó el Espíritu Santo y dije: "RUNNING GAG!" Y mi papá y Mamey voltearon a verme como qué pedo contigo hijo.

Ahora sí...

Anoche en la pari, un amigo se acercó y me dijo que si tenía hambre que si ibamos a cenar. Eran como las 3 de la mañnaa. Varios más nos animamos y decidimos emprender el camino a unos tacos tlaquepaque. Pa comer gato ya saben, es bueno probar de todo en esta vida.

El peder es qeu yo no me di cuenta cuando salimos de qué tan peder y qué tan cansado estaba mi amigo. Nomás ibamos saliendo y nos culiamos los 3 que ibamos tambien (que ibamos completamente sobrios eh, no malpiensen queridos lectores. Yo soy pura salud desde ahora), porque ya le iba a pegar a dos carros. Pasó a escasos centímetros de ellos, ya mero y los raspaba bieeen gacho.

Emprendimos el camino, y neta... los 3 nos pusimos el cinturón de seguridad porque ése no era el estado óptimo para manejar. Y nadie sabía manejar de cambios. Yo aprendí con ése tipo de carro, pero fue hace ya muucho rato y la neta ya no la armó para éso.

Nos ibamos riendo, pero también era risa de nervios porque de repente el conductor volteaba y seguía manejando, o de repente le metía de más a la velocidad o no sé jaja pero ibamos bien asustados.

Llegamos con bien a nuestro destino y neta jaja casi casi como el Papa besamos el suelo cuando llegamos sanos y salvos.

Todo éso me recordó una escena de una película que me gusta. Condiciones semejantes, pero a propósito.

Qué te gustaría hacer antes de morir?
Pintar un autorretrato? Tener familia? Casarte? Ver la boda de tus hijos? Exito profesional?

Ser feliz.

Qué me gustaría a mí? Tantas cosas que queremos la neta, y yo siento que no necesito nada. Si el día de mañana el Señor decide que mi misión aquí está cumplida, yo me voy tranquilo.

No quiere decir que me quiero morir ni nada por el estilo, simplemente que estoy tranquilo conmigo mismo. Sí me gustaría hacer muchas cosas... pero no me son indispensables en este momento para ser feliz.

Creo que quiero alcanzar mi felicidad, y creo que ya sé cómo. Estoy en el camino, y lo voy a caminar agusto.

Soñé que me moría. Me dio un poco de miedo, y al mismo tiempo fue algo tan bonito el vivirlo en cámara lenta. Me alteré (cuando me desperté) pero no fue una pesadilla.

So sick so sick of being tired, and oh so tired of being sick*

Ya no es por raro, ya no es por emo, ya no es por naaaa. Ya no sé por qué es. No quiero no quiero no quiero no quiero no quiero no quiero no quiero no quiero no quiero.

Creo que no somos paralelas. Mas bien es un plano cartesiano. Chingos de cuadritos.

Quiero sacar algo, pero no sé qué sea. No encuentro las palabras y me caga porque antes siempre las tenía. ¿Qué me está pasando?

Quiero dormir otro ratito antes de irme a la escuela. Hoy va a ser otro día larguísimo.

Ya no quiero ser yo.

p.d. me acabo de despertar y ando bien modorro, probablemente al rato ni me acuerde de qué escribí o por qué.

Hay una página que en mis tiempos de fan entusiasta de la lucha libre me gustaba visitar.
Hay un escritor/columnista en esa página (que ahora no es sólo de lucha libre americana... se expandió y hablan de otras cosas, entre ellas de música) que me gustó un chingo por su estilo y por lo que dice.
Kyle David Paul, ni al caso que alguien lo conozca. IWC nomás.

Este es un cuento que él escribió que me gustó un chingo.

My music will move you
Mike was sitting with friends. Week after week, month after month, two of the things I could always count on were the Blue Eyes bar serving half priced brew on Saturday nights and my best friend Mike Easton. Mike was always laughing. It was the perfect scene to walk in on. They all have drinks, they all listen to him and to each other and to me when I'm in better moods.

Directly above and just slightly to the right of Mike is a Television hanging from the ceiling showing the game. The Cubs were losing. That is to say they lost, today, both games they played. What was on the television was a recap show that told us all what happened in the world of sports. In the first game, the cubs lost by three runs. In the second game, they lost by four. They played two games because of one of those exhibition things where the opposing team comes into town to play a few days worth of games. I always thought that told a better story than say, the touring schedules of hockey, where the team is always on the road like a rock band, constantly wishing they were home.

Saturday was always the end of the week, and there were only a couple hours left in this exhausting long week. Not to say it was all bad. Ask anyone whose ever had a bad week to recap the whole thing, hour for hour, and that horrible week will quickly improve. I walked up to the table where they all were, where Mike was sitting deep in the booth, right in the middle, and he was the first to see me. I didn't come to the Blue Eyes bar to ruin anyone's day, but Mike took one look at me and began to scurry. He shuffled to the left, forcing the two pretty girls to shuffle along, almost falling out of the booth in those uneasy heels. He came up to me and took in a deep breath, and let it out in a comical sigh.

He turned back to his friends and waved. "I've gotta deal with this, guys. Sorry, this looks like it might take a while."

I waved a little courtesy apology as I could see them clearly distraught and maybe a little concerned about my condition. These were Mike's friends, but I'd put in time with them and they all knew my name. I received a few smiles before Mike and I left to find our own table.

We found one where I had a great view of the TV. Amazingly, they were going in depth on the games. I couldn't tell from the broadcast if there just wasn't much happening in sports that day, but the journalist appeared to be dissecting the game inning by inning.

Mike's voice was on the verge of hoarse when he said "I don't know if I want to ask. Man, it's been five days since anyone's seen you. You look like you haven't slept since. Look at you, just, wow, I don't know what to say." He sat back on the chair and sprawled out a bit.

"You mean the, uh..." I pointed to my clothes, my wrinkled white button up shirt, my wrinkled black pants; my noticeably unkempt tie; my perceptibly uncombed hair.

"Yeah," he said. He looked at me with the same concern as before, and in his hoarse tone he did his best to ask "Where have you been?"

I didn't know if it would be a little too much, if it would hit him like a drug or wouldn't phase my best friend, but the only thing I had to answer such a question was the basic and profound truth. I told him the barest of ways, "I've been in love."

Mike hunched back in the chair. He took out a pack of cigarettes and shook one out, placed it limp against his lips and lit. He exhaled and looked at me through the smoke. The bags under my eyes were enormous. I could barely keep them open. I was tired and defeated. It had all been way too much.

"Alex," Mike said, "That is the most telling thing you've ever said. You look like hell, really, and I'm being nice about that. Your clothes are messed up and dirty. Your hair looks like mud. Your eyes are sunk in so deep, man. Have you looked at a mirror? But you say one word, and it all makes complete sense."

Mike took a deep drag, but not long enough to let me chime in. "Your not a regular guy, Alex. I'm a regular guy, and love does things to me, yeah. It makes me spend all sorts of money, it takes up all my energy, it tears me apart, but it usually leaves me okay. It comes and goes. I know that it's just another of those things that make life worth living, but you, Alex, but you, you make it so much more. You take it to that beyond level that most of us never see.

"I remember the last girl you were in love with. I remember you keeping her picture everywhere, making sure you memorized her every word. You had everything she put out. You were so obsessed, it changed the colour of your skin. You barely slept, even then." Mike laughed through this, and I had to chuckle a little myself. It was quite a story he was telling. I could never tell my stories like he could tell my stories. "And she, Alex, she was just an advice columnist. You never even met her. You sent her an email, god, who sends emails? But you did, I remember it really well. You said to her 'Dear Anna, I have the deepest crush for someone, but I have no idea how to go about handling it. She's out of this world beautiful, even though I've only seen one picture, and she's so funny, even though I've only read her replies. I don't know if I have the courage to ask her to meet me directly... Oh, what did you say after that?"

"I said," thinking back on what seemed like years ago, lives ago, "It's someone you know, someone very close to you."

"It's someone you know! That's right!" Mike said back to me mockingly. "Christ, you must have learned your courting skills from prepubescent boys, Alex."

I asked, "Why are you teasing me?"

He took a deeper drag, "Because I'm pissed off, you inconsiderate dick. We had plans on Thursday, you remember that? And I didn't know about it at the time, but you had plans with Stephen on Friday, and so he calls me, accusing me of hiding you."

"Sorry," I said, shrugging my shoulders, "I didn't think he'd
be that mad."

"I don't like talking to Stephen."

"I know."

"Stephen is an asshole." Mike said it with such care.

"I know."

"So he calls me, and I have to convince him that I haven't seen you, that you bailed on me too. After I tell him that, he gets all panicky and worried. He moans and bitches to me about 'well, maybe he's not all right, you know? He wouldn't bail on both of his favourite boys without notice. What if he's been kidnapped? Or raped, or murdered, left in a ditch to rot away somewhere, never to be heard of again. Oh, Jesus Mike' he tells me, 'Who will take care of his cat?' Can you imagine having to listen to that? And then you come in here, you interrupt my dinner with my best friends in the whole world..."

"You didn't have to..."

"What choice did I have? Like I said, look at you! You need someone right now, Alex. You clearly do. This girl, she must have really broken your heart for you to look like this."

I crept on. "Five days ago I met her. I don't have to tell you the beauty. I don't have to tell you how she radiated, how she lit up the whole room. Mike, we're really good friends, so I don't have to tell you how what she was wearing, what she smelled like, how the way she looked at me made her the most attractive person I've ever seen in my whole life. We've been through too much for me to have to tell you the most amazing ways she smiled. But I should explain myself. I do owe you that, and I'm sorry your mad at me. Really, I regret not calling you, same with Stephen, same with everyone who was worried about me. So let me explain just how in love I was with this girl."

Mike finished off his smoke in record time. He said, "I'm going to need a few of these, aren't I?"

I nodded.

"Well, it probably seems like forever ago that you began this little journey, but maybe we should begin there. If you look this bad, then the story has to be really good." He repeated the same process with another cigarette. Mike was nothing without his consistency of melodrama. "And I don't want to miss a beat. I
want you to tell me everything, hour by hour."

"It was Tuesday night and I was lonely. This job, fuck, I've been hating this new job. I used to be a real writer, you know? I used to write short stories. They'd end up in Esquire magazine. They'd end up in Playboy. People really liked my work, they respected it and I used to get so much fan mail. I couldn't handle it all, but it was a wonderful feeling, having this pile of letters every week from people all over the country. I can't believe I messed that up, but sometimes, sometimes you feel like you have no creativity left in you. Sometimes you feel as if you've used it all up, and the only thing you've got left is formulas. But you know all this. You were there. You were with me when I bounced from magazine to magazine, from journal to journal, eventually from newspaper to newspaper.

"I used to be pretty hot shit. Now I'm doing D section editorials for the local, and I fucking hate it. It's so goddamn dry, the fucking politics of everything. And that little comic above my piece? I hate that comic! I hate comics in general, they're so simple and basic and appeal to the lowest denominator. People think that if they look at the little comic, then they don't have to read my work because it's spelled out for them in a joke. That's what I've become, just an explanation of a joke! And I'm not liking it at all. I've been really down these last few weeks, you've seen that.

"Anyways, it was Tuesday night. I was cleaning my kitchen and listening to the radio when I heard this voice come on around 3 in the afternoon. It was this girl talking about some give away the station was endorsing. She said 'caller 9 wins tickets to...' I didn't care what it was for, I jumped for the phone. It felt like it took me forever to remember the number, but when I called, I got a ring. I heard three or four rings when she picked up and said 'Hi, we're the Hawk..'"

Mike looked disappointed. "You listen to the Hawk?"

"Hey, they play good stuff."

He took another drag, and eyed the waitress to bring us some drinks. "There's no such thing as good stuff from the 80's, Alex."

"Anyways," I insisted, "I asked her if I won, and she said I did. I've never won anything before, Mike, and I just felt something when she said that I won. It was like she was saying 'yes' to me. I felt really good right then.

"So I told her that I hadn't won anything in the last few weeks, and that, sure, I could come by the studio later to pick up the tickets. And then, she told me 'to come by during her shift, to make sure I got them.' I swear man, I was a few feet off the ground. I was fucking floating!"

The drinks came, and Mike tipped the waitress. He said, "Alex, she has to say that. It's called being polite. She wasn't doing anything that she wouldn't do if I called."

"But she seemed friendlier than that, Mike. She sounded like she liked the sound of my voice. I didn't even know her name, but I told her that I'd be there as fast as I could get there. It took me twenty minutes, maybe, to drive downtown. She gave me the address, it was this huge building. There was a bank on the main floor, and I had to get on the elevator to the top floor to get to the radio station. There was a desk there, a receptionist, and I told her everything. She told me to take a seat and she'd page the DJ. I heard the over head speaker, and I could see the receptionist. She said, "April, the contest winner is here.'"

"Her name was April?"

"Yeah, isn't that just the best name?"

Mike was surrounded in smoke. "It sounds like such a porn name."

"Oh stop."

"You know, April showers bring May flowers, and all that." He laughed.

"Very funny."

"Okay, go on then. What happened after the porn star was paged?"

I said, "she's not a porn star, she's a DJ."

"Same difference."

"Anyways," I said, taking my first sip of the beer in front of me. It was crisp and needed. "It took a few minutes, but she finally came out. Man, we're close, so I don't have to go in how stunning this girl was. She was Blonde and tall and tanned. She had this long skirt on and a tank top, white, nothing fancy. She wore combat boots and was carrying a little pamphlet. She looked at me, and maybe noticed me staring at her, but she only said, 'You're Alex?' I stood up and said 'hi.' She came over and shook my hand and said 'Hi, I'm April. Nice to meet you.' I kept hold of her hand, not forcibly, but only a little harder than her grip. She smiled and pulled her hand away, and one of her nails scratched me when it pulled out.

"'Oh my God, I'm so sorry,' she said. She saw blood on my hand. It wasn't anything, just a scratch, but she insisted she help me with it. I said, 'It's fine, really. I can't even feel it.'

"'But there's definitely blood there,' she said. 'I don't like the sight of blood. Um, here, come with me.' She turned to the receptionist and said, 'Mary, I'm gonna go clean this guy up.'

"I said, 'it's really nothing, you don't need to...' but I figured, this was time spent. I'd get to hear her speak a little more. I'd get to be around her. I figured, whatever she wanted, you know?

"Inside the radio station, she took me by my other hand and led me down long and curved corridors of posters and white, wooden doors. She looked at me apologetically and kept saying 'sorry' with a smile. At the end of this hallway, she led me into a bathroom. She put my hand over the sink. There wasn't even enough blood for it to pour out yet. It wasn't anything at all. But she ran cold water over it anyway and pulled out the first aid kit. I looked at her and said, 'thanks.'

"She held the pamphlet out and gave it to me. 'These are your tickets,' she said. 'The show is tomorrow night. It's just a few blocks west of here, actually.' She added, 'it's sold out.' She took a cloth from the cupboard and dried my hand, then put a band aid on it. I didn't have anyone to go to this show with, not that I really cared about going.

"'This might sound a little forward,' I said to her, 'but, you want to go with me?'

"She was surprised. She flipped her hair behind her ears and coughed. I had made her uncomfortable, but she was still smiling. She told me 'I'd love to, but I have to work. This job, you know, it's great, but it takes up all my time.'

"Well, I couldn't just let this go, you know? I was all alone in a bathroom with this girl that was smiling at me and had cut me up, I couldn't just quit. It seemed too perfect, too made for television to give up so easily. I asked again, 'Come on, you fixed, you know, a mortal wound here. Who knows what condition I'd be in without you. I might be bleeding all over the street, balling my eyes out. I might not have made it home. As I see it, I owe you big time. And, even if you didn't, I don't really know this band all that well. I called really because, well, because it's something I just kind of do chronically. I never win, and I'm still kind of in shock, and I've got nobody to go with.' I said, 'you saved my life here, it's the least I can do.'

"So she laughed, and she looked at me like a study. In that small moment, I realized that if she said no, that I'd have to shake it off and go home. If I went for a third try, it would sound pathetic, and pathetic as I was, I didn't want her to hate me. As I saw it, I'd been relatively harmless here, just a guy that's come out of nowhere. I was nothing special, you know? But this was it. The air conditioner above us hummed as she looked like she was actually thinking about it.

"'Okay,' she said, 'What the hell. But I'll meet you there, okay? Nine thirty, at the front door?"

I sipped my beer some more, and looked at Mike like, wow, can you believe it?

Mike said, "You're shitting me."

"No, seriously, that's what happened."

"She just said, what the hell? What kind of girl says that?"

"Well, I'm getting to that, Mike. I know, it doesn't make too much sense, now, but look at me." I pointed to my clothes. I hadn't seen my apartment since Wednesday afternoon, right before the concert. That was four days ago. I said, "This doesn't make much sense, either man, and me not talking to anyone for a few days, that doesn't make sense either. I'm telling you, I've been in love."

"I'm not seeing this at all, Alex," Mike replied. "I don't see how you can go from asking this nice girl out to looking like this. I mean, what did she do to you? Kidnap you? Drag you out into the country, steal all your stuff, and leave you out there to die?" The thought went through me, and I compared it to what really happened.

I said, "No Mike. It was much, much worse. It wasn't anything she actually did. It was just the feelings I had. It was how I felt about her. That's what did this to me. It was because I loved her. It was because I became, you know, tunnel visioned. I don't have to tell you that love does strange things to me, Mike. You remember the advice columnist. I was crazy, man. I guess I still am."

Mike was my best friend, but I wasn't making any sense to him. He could imagine her beauty and maybe how she would make me feel, but Mike wasn't crazy like I was crazy. He never fell in love like I ever fell in love. The way I do it, it's not safe. I should carry a warning. It's beyond obsession. It's past safe. The way I love is dangerous. Mike said, "You're going to have to tell me. I can't even imagine what happened."

I took a deep breath and a deep gulp of beer and continued.

"I took, seriously, an hour to get ready. I tried on every single one of my shirts. Same with the pants, same with the ties."

Mike said, "You didn't wear a tie to a concert, did you?"

"No, but I tried them all on just in case."

Mike, he turned to the room and said "My friend, the teenage girl with a crush. Everyone say hello."

"Very funny," I said, turning him back toward me.

"Anyways, so I finally picked something to wear, and drove down there. It took me twenty minutes to find a parking space, and it was so far away. But, when I finally got there, she was there. She wasn't dressed too differently than before, but she seemed even prettier outside of her work.

"She said to me, 'I have a bet with my roommate tonight. She put twenty bucks on you being a big pompous jerk who only wanted to bone me.'

"I said, 'And you bet the opposite?'

"'I'd better not lose money tonight,' she said with a straight face. I was feeling guilty for ever thinking about kissing her.
The bouncer waved a hello to her, and we walked in. The scrawny guy in uniform clipped my tickets and we were there.

"'You're late,' she said.

"'Yeah, sorry about that. Well, we didn't miss them, whoever they are.'

"'No, but we're only going to catch the end of the openers.'

"'Openers?'

"'You know, the band that comes on before the main band. I really wanted to catch these guys live. Come on, we can still catch a couple songs.'

"I hadn't ever been in this bar before, but there weren't any seats. When we got in there, I only saw bare floor and a small stage. I kept thinking, I won tickets to this? It was crammed though. April took my arm and led me through the tight crowd. We wove through all the way to the front. I was only a few feet away from the lead singer. I hadn't ever heard the music, but I liked it. I looked over at April, and she was gazing up at him. She had a smile on her face and was dancing as much as she could in the tight space.

"The band above us played only a few songs before saying how much the audience rocked and then exiting. During this point in time, she asked me if I was having a good time, and I nodded and smiled. She saw someone in the crowd and screamed 'hey!' and walked off, disappeared through everyone. I was left there, listening to the overhead speakers play something I couldn't recognize, but liked. I looked around me, and all the guys had been looking at April. They all saw what I saw. She must have seen a friend or something in the crowd, but still, I felt sort of abandoned, and not complete without her there. It felt really overwhelming. I mean, I'd only known her a day, but I felt this connection."

Mike was yawning. He was disappointed. He finished his beer and said, "Okay man, you are now officially boring me with all your descriptions of how beautiful she is. To tell you the truth, I couldn't care less about her. And I'm not that big a fan of music. Does anything big happen during this point in time?"

I said, "Not really. She came back with a girl in tow, and she introduced us, and the band came on, and I had no idea that a band could be so crazy. I mean, they were literally jumping off the walls. It was insane. But really, I couldn't keep my eyes off April. She was everything man. You wouldn't believe..."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Mike said in quick succession. "Look, the whole great part of the love thing, it's nice and sweet, but really, nobody wants to hear about it."

The whole thing about going through a story hour by hour, and counting which parts are good and bad, and all of a sudden a bad week becomes a great one, just like that, well, I guess those aren't the most exciting parts. Mike said he wanted to hear it all, but he must have figured that every moment was spent in agony. He wanted to feel my pain, not my pleasure.

"This is why," he said, "The really happy part in a romantic comedy is kept to a few minutes, and the points in which they hate each other and are screwing around on one another and lying and stealing and fighting take most of the two hours."

"But this isn't a romantic comedy, Mike," I said. "That's just the thing. I can't really tell you about all the hard stuff, all the painful stuff. I can't get into it."

"Why not?"

"Will you let me continue my story?"

"Fine." He said in a huff. "Like, man, I thought you were going to bare it all out here, and I'd be here to tell you that love stinks, and that we've all been through it, even though you tend to be a pretty extreme case in that, but that it was going to be okay. That's what I'd say. And we'd drink and forgive her, because she's just as fucked up as we are, and to hell with people who don't forgive. Then, we'd get a cab and you'd fall asleep and wake up tomorrow and be so much happier." Mike looked wise. "And that," he said, "Is how it gets done. But tell me the rest of this story. I'm dying to hear it."

"After the concert," I said, "We filled out, and it was still really warm outside, though it must have been one in the morning. All the stars were out. I thought that there was no chance I'd ever see her again, that we'd do something lame and anticlimactic as shake hands. I was ready to walk back to my car alone.

"But, she gazed at me outside, and she bit her lip and asked me if I wanted to come back to her place. She looked a little nervous, like a spring coiling as she waited for me to say yes, but I did say yes. I mean, of course I said yes. Look at me. I wouldn't look like this if I had said no."

"Her place, like she'd said, was just around the corner, a few blocks away. Like, maybe 5 minutes. She had one of those apartments that was above a convenience store. Her door was in one of those little cubby holes off the main street. You'd never think it was there if you didn't know for sure. She pulled me in by the collar of my shirt and laughed. I took off my shoes and followed her up the stairs. Going up, I saw all these little paintings on her walls. I mean, like, right on the walls, I saw these paintings of faces and fruit and instruments. The weird thing was that there were frames attached to the walls around the paintings. It was this really cool thing I'd never seen before.

"She was out of my view, but I heard in the distance 'do you want a drink?' I told her 'anything you've got'. She brought me a Kokanee, already opened, and she toasted me in the hallway. I followed her to the kitchen, and saw pictures everywhere, little Polaroids, of literally hundreds of people. It was far from organized, too. There were overlaps, and big empty spaces on the walls, and it all looked crazily disheveled.

"I told her, 'I like your place,' and she laughed. 'Nobody likes my place,' she said. 'You're just being nice.' She came over to me and put her hands on my shoulders. 'But flattery,' she said, 'will get you everywhere and everything, whether you want it or not.'

"Then, she had me follow her to the living room, through another long and thin hallway full of strange paintings and posters, old movie posters I'd never seen or heard of before. At around this point, I was beginning to think this girl might not have been in my league."

Mike said, "Well, yeah, if you base the possibility of a relationship on the amount of pop culture knowledge."

"Doesn't everyone do that?"

He said, "Yeah, I suppose your right."

"So, anyways, back to the story. I walked into her living room. The walls were painted this blood red, and the rims for the two windows were black. She had black leather furniture and a black TV. She had two bookshelves full of books, and another one full of CD's and records. There was nothing hugely out of the ordinary in this room, except for one thing. Above the TV and hanging from the ceiling was this huge banner. It must have been fifteen feet long, and it covered almost the entire width of the living room. It hung at a 45 degree angle and looked down on the room. It was black cloth, and the edges were ripped a little. On the cloth, there were five words painted in white. It was definitely just plain white paint because some letters looked particularly runny, there were lines running through them like a crackled old sidewalk. I had to stand back and take my time to read it in order to figure it out, and when I finished reading, I realized that it said 'My Music Will Move You.'

"I asked her what it meant, if it was a DJ thing or
something.

"She said, 'It's sort of a DJ thing, but only because that's what I do for a living. It's a lyric from a song, my favorite song from my favorite artist. But it's more than that, too. It's how I see life, really. I see life as something in which you have force, and my personal force, well, the metaphor is music, but it's anything that makes you listen. I want to be able to make people listen, and have it mean something and have their force become something in tune with mine. I would love to be able to affect lots of people, whether that be through being a DJ, or a public speaker, or some kind of activist, or something along those lines. It's got more meanings than that, but we don't know each other quite that well.'

"At that moment, My music will move you meant seduction. It meant freedom and possibility. It meant the beginning of a great adventure. It meant romance and music and reality. It meant a little bit of happiness. And I was happy, Mike. Right then, I couldn't have been happier. Because I spent
the night there, Mike. April kissed me a few seconds after her big explanation, and I stayed the night there, and I was really, really happy. It felt like a true beginning again."

Mike looked like he was readying himself for the A&E Biography commercial break. You know the point, right after the big actress lands her biggest role, gets married, has one or two beautiful and smart children, the point just before the second last segment where the deep-voiced narrator says "And then it all went horribly wrong."

I said, "And that's it. That's all I remember."

Mike shook his head and sat up straight. "What do you mean that's it?"

"I don't remember what happened next. I fell asleep in her bed that night, and woke up this morning in my own, wearing the same clothes that I was in when I fell asleep. I was bruised up, cut a little. My hair, man, it's never been this filthy.
But I don't remember anything. It's all black, and I haven't seen her yet to figure out what happened."

Mike gritted his teeth, "You don't remember one moment? Not one moment from the last three days?"

"Nope," I said. I felt lighter.

"Doesn't that make you worry?"

"Not really. I mean, what's the worst that could have happened?"

Mike said, "This smells like a cop out. You just don't want to tell me."

"I'm not copping out anything. I'm telling you everything that happened, just like you asked. It's not the end of the world or anything. It's not like I forgot or was stupid. It's just black to me. It's just nothing. But I'm not sure I want to know, now."

"Why not?"

"Because I feel better," I said, smiling, "Especially after telling you this story. I feel a lot better. Because, you know, it's been a great week."

"Well," Mike said, frustrated and disappointed, "I'm glad you had a great week."

"You look disappointed, Mike."

"Well, yeah I'm disappointed. I thought there would be more to it. This is just so, I don't know, anticlimactic. It's kind of a let down."

"Well," I said, feeling understanding and wiser than just about ever, "It's not nearly the end. There's still a long way to go. And I promise you, there'll still be some good stories. There'll be plenty of payoff later. Don't you worry."

"You promise?"

"I promise."

Mike said, "I do like a good payoff."

We finished off the last of our beer and I paid the tab. We hugged and I promised him that before I was through, there would be plenty of whatever kind of story he wanted.