The History of Changes That Happened in a Single Day in 2013

November 23rd:

Unfriendly Stranger

It was the late time I physically saw you. A day you did everything you could to avoid me. You lied, you mislead, and you did what you wanted to. Shame I didn't say anything that day. I do wonder, if you knew that would be the last time we'd ever see each other.
You came back from your party, and I might as well have not been there. I like Bobby; he is pretty cool. But I hope you know, I had gone to see you. I guess I should have known. I should have seen the signs.

The photo above, is the only photo I took that day. And that was before your bloody party. Interesting the symbolism and title that goes with it. Funny, it didn't occur to me at the time that it was what it was all about.
That night, was a low point. I said I'd text you when I got home. I drove too fast into the darkness to the west. Hiding on a Mountain View Corridor. I turned around, and stopped for a moment. I texted you that I was home. Then I drove around for a little longer, listening to Booker T Jones, and Mayer Hawthorne. Then I went home. I'm not sure what I did that night. I think I might have had a drink. I was into drinking to kill the pain at that point. I always drank alone, at home, because I felt safe. I never drank around you or your friends, because I always valued being able to leave, over the "fun" of social drunkenness.

November 24th:
The next day, I knew we'd not go to the barn. If you did, I wasn't invited. I was glad of it. I had gotten sick of taking photos of horses long ago.

Sunset Explorer

I called someone who was always there for me, no matter what, and hung out. It was a great day. An Incredible day. A day, I started coming back to life after nearly a year of being, and feeling, dead. A day I started feeling okay again.

The difference in the photos, is drastic. Astounding almost. Black and white, darkness and hostility, vs colorful, full of life, and a passion.

The Ian you knew, is dead. He died. He was killed. He was murdered.
This Ian, is different. I like him more. He is happier. He isn't alone all the time.

Joyful Exploration

A joyful exploration
of things I feared for so long,
blooming into a healing glow
which fuels me today
and makes me smile.
It erases so much of the pain I felt
I can't help but laugh, and wonder,
Why I ever let things,
get so bad.

December 9th, 2012.

I'm driving deaf dumb and with tunnel vision. It's late. School has just finished, and tomorrow is Monday. I don't have any classes to worry about anymore.

My heart is cold, and I have my, "I'm stomp through the world in straight lines, and god damn the consequences" theme on. I have my heavy "skull stompers" on; a simple pair of black work boots I have, that I wear to get more height, and to make each blow count. The beats are heavy, they hit like a punch, the synths are harsh, and buzzing. But for all that I enjoy this music, my mind is racing. I'm not listening to the music. It is just there, as I speed through the night to get to a bad place. I got a call earlier that night. She was scared. She was stranded. She had work in the morning. She didn't know what to do. She panicked when he was coming back down the stairs.

It had been at least an hour since I heard anything. I set my good friend to try to contact her, while I rushed boldly (foolishly) to the scene.

I got there, and their apartment lights were on. I stare up at them. I turn off my car, and get out. I armed myself well; My camera backpack, a flashlight, a few knives, my zippo lighter. I think I might have even grabbed a crowbar, or wished I had. My van used to have a crowbar... I long for my van. It would be such a short jump from the 3rd floor to my van. Or from my van, to the third floor. The lights are still on, and I can hear the vague sound of occationally raised voices. I stare, not sure what to do. Caught in a moment of indecision. If I was found out, there would be consequences. Maybe not for me, but she would certainly pay the price of my presence.

I curse myself softly for my indecision, and shiver. Not sure if it was the cold, or my adrenaline glands on full. I'm trying to appear composed. Admittedly, I stand out. Or blend in. I can't tell; I'm just another hooded figure walking alone in this shady apartment complex. I decide to walk around to the front. I walk up the stairs calmly, remembering the times I walked up them before. It was raining last time I was on these steps. The lighting cast threatening shadows. It still did. I imagined being a private eye. I might have smiled, or internalized it. Walking down the landing, I pass the other apartments. Some dark, some showing vague signs of life. I stop outside door 19. I hear the voices talking. More one voice talking, while the other (I imagined) coward bloody and bruised inside. I curse myself again for not having a crowbar.

"I could force the door," I think, "it wouldn't be the first time this door has been opened with out a key."

That summer. Newly weds and a roommate who was an alcoholic. Who never seemed to have rent ready, but spent hundreds on booze every time he went to the bar. 18 packs gone in a night. I remember holding her back from him, who antagonized her, but coward away from her, as she squared off to, (foolishly) punch his accusing face off. Right in front of the cops too.

"Classy."

I think about calling the cops. But I've already stood outside too long. I continue up the landing, as quietly as I can. Shivery again, my adrenaline on fire. My heart filled with ice. I feel like I'll never be warm again. I reflect on the possibilities of calling the police.

I have no real proof. Them showing up might just be a waste of time. She'd only defend him anyway, because she wants to believe she married someone she loved. Maybe it was love, maybe it was manipulation. At that time, I was certain it was manipulation.

I walked around the other side of the building. I'm looking into the apartment complex to see if I can get a good view on their window. The light is still on, but the blinds are drawn. I curse softly, and wish fervently for infrared gear, like you see in the spy and cop movies. I'm shivering almost uncontrollably now. I climb back in my car and get what warmth I can from the heater, without turning my car on. It's already gone cold. It must be really cold out. I can't really feel my hands at this point. I wait in my car. I decide I'm not going to leave until something changes. Not until the lights go out. I wait. I don't have to wait long. I sent a text after the lights go off.

"I'm here"

"You shouldn't be here, he'll be so angry if he finds out."

"If you need to leave, I can drive you."

"you need to go"

The messages are long gone, on my flip phone. I don't remember the words, but that is the gist of them. My phone is also dying. I've been checking it obsessively. My friend has been texting me, letting me know he hasn't gotten any responses. Her mother texts me, and I give her a call, and ask if she knows what is going on; she doesn't know much more than I do, she just knows something is wrong, because she isn't getting texts back.

I do one more walk around. Up the stairs, and calmly walking down the landing, trying not to uncontrollably shiver. Still not sure if it was adrenaline or the cold. I stop; no voices, just the sounds of a modern warfare game, and see that the TV is on.

"They both have work in the morning. This is not the time..." I get paranoid and move on. Shortly thereafter, I see a cop pull into the apartment parking lot. I decide to get back into my car and leave. I do so, and drive slowly away, hoping my numb hands and legs don't effect my steering in such a way that draws the eye of the police. I turn and head home, my mind quiet. Then I get another text; from her mother. She tells me I need to go back. I do a u-turn and speed back. I resume my old parking spot, and text; "your mom says you need to leave. I'm here if you need to"

The gist of the message is, "i'm fine, I have work tomorrow, don't worry." My adrenaline is pumping again. I call her mother and tell her what I've been told. She's worried. She's seen this before. This isn't the first time she should have left.

And it won't be the last time.

My Adrenaline ebbs, and I'm exhausted. So ready for a fight, so ready to assist in flight, and in the end, it was for nothing. Or something like that. I find myself vaguely grateful I didn't act foolishly. Don't need to go to jail for any stupid reasons. Don't need to be the hero so badly that I destroy another person. My phone is dead now. I find myself in need of a charger. Not that I was getting texts or calls...

That night, I put my phone charger in my car. That night, I was acutely aware of the change that had just taken place in me. The duality I faced down. The lose-lose situation I was in. The situation far beyond my saving. Far beyond the saving of any marriage counselor, or any other person who either would listen to.

I realize now, I'm not a savior. Nor should I act like one. I'm not the hero of the hour; never was, no matter what praises be sung to me. I'm only human, and that night, I faced that cold hard reality in the face. I couldn't be the hero people wanted. I couldn't be the hero I wanted to be.

Didn't stop me from trying though...

God damn them both.

Ghost Stepping

I visited a small town in Utah today.

A town I've not been to for, years. At least, not physically. A place I have some good memories of, but also have some strange reservations about.

The last time I was there, was in a dream of a fictional character, about the real back story of a fictional character they knew, briefly.

Before that, was in a screenplay I was writing (that I kind of let fall by the wayside) when a man meets God and The Devil at the end of the world, in this small town.

There is something intense about having characters walk in your footsteps, then walking in their foot steps again.

Like revisiting your own past, and having memories of things that haven't really happened.

The last time I was there, I visited family. This time, I didn't. I justified it with, I don't like dropping by unannounced. But I know I'm just making excuses. The truth is, what would I have to say? What would they have to say?

I probably should have visited them, just for a few moments. I'll try to be better next time. It's all I can do at this point.

I did visit the graves of my Grandma and Grandpa; something I don't do very often. Most graves of people I know, I didn't know that well, and, like my grandparents graves, are far away from my stomping grounds.

All in all, I'm glad the journey happened. It was interesting, and good to get out of the house. Even if I am typing this at midnight when I have work early the next day.

A spontaneous journey that will likely lead to more carefully planned journeys, that will likely inspire and accomplish artistic endeavors.This spontaneous journey reminded me of the memories from childhood. The conversations on the long drive (hahaha 2 1/2 hours each way isn't all that long), the shared experience of just wandering for the sake of wandering.

To the future, at a speed we still can barely comprehend.

Endings

I worry about endings.

I haven't wrote many endings in my time.
I've experienced a few; I don't think I'm good at them.

The times I've held on too long when things had ended, held me back.

Now I worry about the endings too much, and they are holding me back.

Nothing lasts forever. Our protective little mantra, our justification for letting go.
Evidence does suggest it is true.
That said, it should never prevent me from enjoying now.
I may quit my job someday, but not today. I may loose my job someday. But not today.
The sun may explode, but not today.
Love may come, love may go, but I shall cherish it always.

"Nothing lasts forever," they say,
"As if anything does," say I.

Today is a good day to live, and love, and experience.

Travel Light Manifesto II

That grey bus finally made it, just before the eastern star gently pushed away the darkness, cloaking the constellations in light. The light sneaks into my closed eye lids. I'm awake, and aware. I hear a diesel in the distance. Distant tires humming their own travel songs, carrying friends I may never know, to places I may glimpse briefly from a window of a car. Or through a window of a dreams that show familiar places stitched together to make a new place entirely.

The diesel gets closer. I finally open my eyes, the light has insisted on it. I look up the dusty road. The wind is calm; off duty, or on a break from moving the abandoned containers of travelers to their unknown destination. I stand up and pull on my backpack. My music player's battery gave out someplace in the night. No matter, I still remember the song I was listening to. I hear the diesel, but I can't see it yet. I walk out by the road, leaving my single suit case by the bench I had slept on that night, to look for the bus that didn't make it last night.

Gear shift, and climbing revs. The sound louder, growing, overtaking me far before the bus ever would. I scowl a little bit; I should be seeing the bus by now.

Then silence. Maybe, I wasn't waiting for a bus. I look to my left, and see a train platform. I'm certain it has been there all along. I pick up my suitcase and walk onto the platform. I hear the low rumble of a train. I'm no longer interested in taking the bus to the next place. I look down the rails, and see the headlights coming. The eastern star is risen fully now. I look the other way down the tracks; they curve away from the roads I thought I was going to travel.

What a welcome diversion. I am a little impatient to be moving again. My lack of sleep the night before, has me agitated. I look on the train platform. Dusty, like this town, yet it has more character than most of the town. This place has seen some interesting times and interesting travelers. I can't decide how long it's been around. I can definitely say I am not the first lost traveler it's been host to, nor will I be the last. I should come back here, when I have the things I think I need, to document it's story.

Sharpie on a glass divider, faded and scratched, but still visible. Cursive lettering, elegant and indulgent.
"My, how you've grown!"

Where will this train lead? I can't wait to find out.

April 15, 2014

"My how you've grown."

Time passes, and things change.
Perspectives change. Ideas change.
Feelings change.

All things change.
Some cyclically.
Some sporadically.
Erratic, malfunctioning, changes.


From what was once damaged beyond hope of repair,
Has healed and regained hope.

From the mind that was concerned about things like "right" and "wrong" with very little practicality or space in between,
A fragmented, polished, grey truth emerged.

But damn, does it good to feel alive.
Acting blindly, with no guarantee of anything good or bad, but acting anyway, because to fight change is pointless.

If nothing changed, but I acted honestly, I'd be happier still, than if everything changed, and I was still deceiving myself, that nothing had.

My how I've grown.