true story: i just got hit on by the energizer bunny of linguistics

hey folks- this is based on a quick write for it was a crime. enjoy and as always thanks for stopping by. . .

It was not a crime to walk way from him at the corner of Guerrero and 16^th right before the strike of new day. He sat there- more like stood there-with his appropriate uniform of bartender-but he was off tonight- the tattoos that clung and danced up his arm kept company by his tightish button down plaid shirt sleeves traveling up his arm. His ears had spaces growing for what I could never figure out- it just looks so very painful. Metal circles pushed the space between his ears to what he has created.

Talking non-stop, talking from the happenstance of standing next to him at the bar. At the bar earlier in the evening. It isn't a crime to talk to someone at a bar, of course not. Its the common ground church of the 20 and 30 somethings. The rotary club of our generation. The school of life. Where we put on our best dress-sometimes- and stand together as we befriend each other sprayed in our choices of denial, or release or freedom or poison or just the need to play some trivia on a Tuesday night. The light of a bar the next day always awakens the reality of what happened there in the dark could never with the lights falling down with the sun shining in.

Not a crime to speak to someone I didn't know. For I always do. Its one of my favorite pastime other than making out. Its half the eating up of time and space. But the other half is sometimes a conversation breaths air into my lungs. As soon as this man began talking I knew something was wrong with him. I just didn't know what. See I spent the last 10 hours figuring out what was wrong with others. At my jobs. I didn't want to figure this guy out. This reader of problems and hopes and dreams even deserves a night off. His language quick and fast sprinter like but there was not an end to the 100 meter dash. Just going again and again the energizer bunny of linguistics. He reminded me of myself upon too many coffee cups swigged down my throat. A Carl Lewis of sorts. But the finish line forgotten. I begin to look around the room. For my friends at the bar.

It was not a crime to have him join our trivia team. Our group small against the other big. He was a good team player. Sometimes. In and out. Outside. For a smoke. And back. To the bathroom. And back. The quick fire quick and the movements of the hands jerky. It is not a crime to see a man falling into pieces in front of you on a Tuesday night. But it might have been a crime for me to do something. To try and pick him up and super glue- I think I got some in my back pocket- and say how can I help you. He fell apart little by little I watched as he fell to the sticky bar ground. Just watching. So when his word of me and my beauty. Came. And his love for my last name. Everyone does love it. His desire to find a woman who bears the strength to keep her name. My beauty. He was a lapsed Catholic. You can't leave- we need more drinks. High five, we won. You are so beautiful. I would love to kiss you or have sex with you. You aren’t leaving. You say you will come back. I want to leave with you. Are you hungry?

He trails behind me as I exit from the wooden picture of the city corner canvas. Walking through. Don't leave your friend, I say. Don't worry she won't leave. She owes me a bag of coke. Do you guys want some? I got to give it to a guy who would share in the world of the drug of choice of secrecy. I decline and say I am trying to quit- the standard line for these type of situations even if the truth is my nose does not travel across white lines. It wasn't a crime to walk away from him on that street corner still talking and swaying and moving and begging and falling and complimenting- it would have been a crime to do any more.

an afterschool special of adulthood- i learned it from watching you

it might be my beginning to work at a high school that made me remember those after school specials they used have when i was growing up. they were bad even then. enjoy the weekend and thanks for stopping by! all my thanks always!

Telling the truth. I am attempting to tell the truth to myself. I am attempting to see the truth and recognize it for what it is. See I see things. I see them all. But then I ignore. Or pretend. Or remember the warmth of another and forget. So the other night, the other night I had met this man and we were off to go to the next thing. After this event to a bar. It seemed like I should go. That I should follow on the path of undetermined of where this night would lead until. Until as I walked them to their car (him and his friends) I was getting the directions. Just google it. I don’t have an I phone. I like to actually talk to people wit thrown their way. But makes it hard to find directions. Laughter. I will just follow you. No we got a stop.

Stop. See telling the truth I knew the stop was not a gas station, or someone had to pick something up at their house, or something normal. They were getting drugs. Drugs and they would of course be the variety that would lead to such secrets. Pot smokers-not so secret- they wear their pride upon their eyes, their shirts, their subtleness of discussion- the intentions in their voice- they share. But the cocaine folks no they are all about secrets. Secrecy of having it and who they will share with it, trips to the bathroom and they don’t wear the shirt of user. But in their behavior they always do. See telling the truth I saw it. And as I walked back to my car more slowly than needed. Each step I heard it. And I knew. This isn’t a world I want part of. I tired once to play the game of outsider in the the blowing of the lines. And failed miserably. I can’t fall in love again with someone who uses and lies. And lies and uses. Even if it was for the night. Even if it was for this moment.

I called my friend and retold her the details but she said just go and see what happens. Telling the truth I knew what would. Telling the truth I knew. I knew that these aren’t the type of folks that I would like to call my own. So we went from bar to bar and I stayed with my drug of choice alcohol and I tried to stay present but remain detective and still get to know this guy. Telling the truth- I am good at it when it isn’t mine. But there is no secrets here. So the moment I knew the truth was when I heard the words of stop.

I saw the slip to the back pocket and I love you and then the run to the bathroom. I envisioned the movement never slowing down- next stop keep moving- I couldn’t even finish my beer. When the night went on the secrets became less- if you have xanax ill trade you some cocaine. Out loud. No secrets. Telling the truth. They tell the truth when they need to.

As I walked in to the last place, the last place on my list of destinations, the man from behind the bar who had befriended me and had shook my hand boomed-who the fuck is she? Staring at my 5’2 and ½ stature in my vintage dress. I didn’t get the aggression until I looked down and saw his own father reaching down to blow a line. Telling the truth. Is we know the truth-we don’t need to dive in the depths of others realities to see it. As the father and son blew lines during quality time. I am nobody. Nobody to you. But nobody really is. I left to buy beers and never came back. Telling the truth is I like to hang out with drunks anyways. There are no secrets with them. Telling the truth is I knew. I knew. I knew.

champange hands

so it was not intended that i would write /post about cocaine twice in a week but this is the piece my teacher choose to post on creative caffeine as my best piece written last week. another ten minute quick write- so without further ad0. . . champagne hands.

http://creativecaffeine.blogspot.com/2010/06/bubbling-over-kate-bueler.html

gentrification is the new cocaine

The secret that would have ended everything. Everything. Brought it all to the end. Was. Was the emptiness of this party. This lifestyle-this work hard play hard. Play hard work hard life style. Lifestyle. See some can be appeased by the big paycheck and the limitless lines of coke or the bottles of whiskey passed amongst friends or any of it or all of it. Because. Because. Because. As I looked around at this party, party it wasn’t a big blowout at night of some great celebration because I can get that but on a Sunday afternoon, at 2:30pm, in the afternoon at a barbeque, I am indeed at a loss. I mean call me crazy but a good bbq for me is two hotdogs, some chips, and maybe a guy’s number. I didn’t realize that it would entail the not so secret bumps down the hall. The whisper in the ear, the ear so very not a secret, but then the smile and wrinkle of the eyes and the familiar walk down the hallway. They always think it’s a secret but it’s not. Never is. Back before you know it and the rubbing of the teeth, the twitches.

The secret that would have ended everything is that it is not a secret at all. We are in this glass house of late twenty something’s thirty something’s, I shouldn’t throw rocks I know I shouldn’t. The secret that would have ended everything is that this is as empty as you can get. Can get. It all means nothing but it somehow has became their everything. I almost played a game of stand on one foot and pick up a paper bag with your mouth. But then I thought of the dentistry. The tooth I just got fixed and I passed. A guy named B, my formers _____ name, tried to tell me I was special and touch my ass. I passed on that too. I glanced at the couch to see the gloss glaze of too many beers wrapped in a bow of some type of drugs overpriced like their time and I know I could bang each one and I pass on that too.

The secret that would have ended everything is that meaning, meaning, meaning meant everything. Everything and this meant nothing. Nothing at all. Because let’s talk about how I am helping the neighborhood (deep in the Mission) the host announces at 150 lbs wet and in his khaki shorts- how his gentrification ways are good for his brown neighbors because they are rich now because of me. He then takes a bump up his nose. Alive again. So dead to me. Dead to me. I bite my tongue until, until I say do you believe in Adam Smith too. Half the circle gives me crickets. Adam Smith is confused by someone else they met, they laid, they bought something off of. Invisible to them. Then one lawyer guy tall and goofy and somewhat ogre like who had cilantro in his tooth until I told him. Said I believe in the invisible hand. Of course you do. I say you are a lawyer you have to. A woman asked if we had a tampon- we didn’t, she said this always happens when I roll. If something made me bleed from my vagina other than my womanhood- I might stop. Just saying.

The secret that would have ended everything. Ended everything. A guy told me in his plaid. Plaid- that is was unique for a hipster it was from barney’s. The secret that would have ended everything. Everything was the secret. The secret. The secret that they all were searching for. Searching for sobriety. Sober to see it all. It all. That a search for the freedom in this type of freedom would be. Would be a bunch of people pretending. Pretending. The secret that would have ended everything. Everything. I was throwing a rock. A rock in their opaque houses. I didn’t care. Care because my house was glass. Glass translucent. You can see me in it. I couldn’t see them. Them at all.