Tag: doors
Blog Posts / Random / Writing

The Interview

- by Typewriter Fox

It’s weird waking up to the realization that a whole city is going to read my name. Steel workers and teachers. Construction monkeys with blue on their collars. Empty suits shuffling meaningless paper. Coffee shop vagrants. And the matted masses collecting across the street for their yoga class. Or, as I like to call it, “Bendy Toots.” It was a strange experience being the subject of an actual interview. Usually I am the one chasing the stories. But instead, I stood awkwardly in front of a gallery wall covered with the stupid shit I drew and answered the questions of a talented reporter to the best of my socially retarded abilities. And he did a great fucking job with the story. Not only is it an …

Share
Read More
Blog Posts / Random / Uncategorized / Writing

Smokestacks

- by Typewriter Fox

A curious brutality is born whenever hearts combine.    It is often accidental. Seldom intentional. And if it is, that’s a type of abuse better captured by other, more competent, writers. My talents aren’t nearly impartial enough to ever capture that peculiar complexity.    It just sort of happens; no one is really at fault. Feelings and expectations combine as the commonality of mutual experience meld into a comforting pattern of disconnect. One that eventually erupts unexpectedly on some random Clinton County Wednesday morning.     It was a long time in coming, that breakdown of communication. There is only so much compassion one can find after only a few hours of sleep stretched out hard on thinly padded living room patio furniture. And before the strength …

Share
Read More
Blog Posts / Random / Writing

Musings on a Muse

- by Typewriter Fox

There is a profound emptiness in the lack of pretty green eyes.  A void that no song could ever fill.  A gap which no clever words could ever span.  A chasm echoing with the memory of her embrace.    I ache for the simple refreshments of her.  The sound of her laugh.  The way she leaned in when I reached to tuck wayward hair back behind a delicate ear.  Her smile.  The smell of her skin.  The trail of freckles down a perfect body that made me want to play a naughty game of “connect the dots.”     And then erase it and do it all over again.    She is astoundingly complicated.  Yet so graciously simple.  Flawed, but perfectly so.  Creative and brilliant, when she’s …

Share
Read More
Blog Posts / Random / Writing

Cliff Notes

- by Typewriter Fox

She’s not anything at all like the others.    I endured sleepless nights walking the face of this city trying to figure her out.  But all I discovered was vacant streets.  Empty bottles under bridges over a river that isn’t the Kankakee. Blinking WALK signs meant for other, more mindful pedestrians.  And a worn out pair of boots that squeaked from all the rain.    My first instinct was to run after those walks.  Because that is what previous circumstances taught me to do.  History dictates that complications frequently get ugly.  Emotions get roguishly invested.  Words are written—or said—that can never be taken back.  And then it all breaks down when exposed.   I learned to always have an exit strategy after tasting the first swindle …

Share
Read More
Blog Posts / Random / Writing

Magical Depression Tour

- by Typewriter Fox

It all used to be magic.    The surprise of a Christmas morning, racing to see what presents under the tree bore your name.  The giddy chaos of that last day of school, with the whole fun of summer on the other side of the school’s front doors, just waiting for you to burst through them.  The tingling shock surging through your body leaning in for a first kiss, that addictive, heady mix of awkwardness and excitement, arousal and achievement.   All these singular memories percolating inside my brain, caught in 1970s sepia-toned glimpses.  Those small little murmurs of pure happiness interwoven into the pressure cooker of grown-up expectation.  Those nagging splinters that rub to the surface in the predawn hours of another mucky February night …

Share
Read More
Blog Posts / Random / Writing

Flapper Dreams and Other Strange Things

- by Typewriter Fox

  There is nothing worse than finally meeting the woman of your dreams, in your dream, only to wake up and realize that you’ll never see her again.    And just to twist the knife a little bit more, when you do finally wake up, there are messages waiting.   Messages from a girl who has come the closest so far to meeting the imaginary benchmarks set inside the unpredictability of those dreams.   Much of it was washed out and ethereal, as dreams often tend to present themselves.  But some of the specifics stuck inside my head–hard.  And their lingering presence made me ache desperately to return to their simple, uncomplicated joy.   We were browsing at some ridiculously large antique mall.  Obviously on the hunt …

Share
Read More