Tonight, tonight

Downtown has a distinct chill about it this evening.  In the wake of things unjust and unfair, it's bustling with warm bodies and first dates...

And I'm at La Carafe like "dbl IPA please."

Style

I'm rereading Murakami's "South of the border,  West of the sun" and it's giving me really weird dreams about Japanese teenagers, it is also, however,  reminding me of why I love his books so much: style.

It's all about style.

I was upset to see that I had all but forgotten the contents of its pages,  but the first couple of pages down and soon I was in rural Japan and omniscient observer of the events unfolding letter by letter. The progression in this novel is quick, and before you know it you've reared a child into an adult bearing witness to first relationships and awkward sexual encounters.  And that's just he first four chapters. Murakami's use of specific diction is captivating,  harboring the perfect climate for forcing readers to engage their imagination.  It's mastery epitomized.

It's more interesting still to see that a book, sentences and ideas penned on paper in 1992, are excepted from age.  You could read this book 20 years from now and it would still (hopefully) evoke the same feelings that someone who read it 20 years prior experienced. Timelessness is not inherent but a skill developed painstakingly over countless revision, the indicative quality of a good writer. But that's my opinion.  While his work is likened more to contemporaries like Palanuik, he is unique in the respect that his narrator's perspective breaks away from motif of the "unreliable" concept of post mordenist authors. His characters are real,  relatable and suffer the human condition honestly.

I hope one day,  as my writing matures and I continue to refine my style and identity as a writer,  that I too will learn to captivate and engage in a similar manner.; I believe that I'm not alone in this respect, either that or I'm suffering from blind sense of unintentional hubris. 

Guess I've got time to figure that one out.

Lunch

Be jealous.

More often than not

There are days when I feel like I could conquer the world, there is no feat too small, no idea too grandiose; I'm unsure of how I feel about today.

Let me tell you about my weekend.

Saturday night was a typical in the best sense, the bar was alive with a familiar faces and I was enjoying being at my home away from home, Grand Prize. Darkwave 80's tracks satiated the crowds need to dance and created a sense of community that was the close-knit family of the upstairs bar; familiar melodies of eighties classics became the lasso that held our members together and time seemed to cease existing. Soon the hour of power approached but the feeling of influenced elation was quickly replaced with that of sirens, flashing lights, and an eerie sense of alarm.

Emergencies are the be all end all of character judgement, truly. Here I was,  Saturday night,  staring at the body of a boy who drew no breath and heart had arrest. The paramedics arrived promptly and without haste compressed and intubated,  feverishly working to revive the boy. 45 minutes into eternity and finally a faint pulse, a glimmer of hope for the angel - faced boy,  without haste he went to the hospital.

I prayed for the boy .

He was a slight 21 and I could tell by the looks of distress awash in a sea faces of inebriation and morbid curiosity that he was loved. Saturday night should have been Saturday night and nothing more. I pondered about the concept of mortal coil, for I had just witnessed it unfurl with the greatest ease. He waltzed through the door and bid for a drink,  unexceptional, but in between the mad dash before last call and the blaring jukebox,  he'd found his way into the photo booth to rest his head and quietly slip away.

I'd seen death before,  and as frantic as the environment became, the only emotion i could conjure was sympathy because i knew that he'd leave us and with his departure there'd be a void in the lives of those who remain. 4 am drew near and we (a fellow bartender and myself) sat in the waiting room of the ICU with his mother,  father,  and boyfriend recalling every detail, providing first hand accounts and phone numbers so that we could facilitate the gathering of information and attempt to piece together a timeline of events.

His poor mother.

I sat with her and while I could sense she was overwhelmed with emotion but inexplicably stoic and calm in her demeanor,  and i found myself in awe of her strength. He looked so much like his mother. I clasped her hand once more and without words I relayed that she need not hesitate to ask anything of us and took my leave.

More often than not we place great emphasis on the why of things but that seems inappropriate now,  perhaps that's a product of our pop culture saturated society, but to his friends and family they considered not why he was there but just that he was there and they wanted him to know that there was no judgement.

In the early hours of Monday he passed, surrounded by people who loved him.

What a week.

I suppose this is a good place to close, see you next week.

Phase 1

Today I got a number and this is what it felt like:

And the planets aligned

Things are looking up