The Drifter
Once there was a child who played. When older, the child and their friends began to play in the water. They looked at the islands far past safe swimming and said things like, “I can’t wait to live on that island,” “I’m gonna eat all the fruit on all the islands,” and “I’m going to burn that island to the ground.” No one actually ever said that last one, but it was true, nonetheless.
Eventually, as years went by, they learned to swim far and found themselves visiting nearby islands. Some were excellent swimmers and visited as many islands as possible. Some even decided to stay and live on them, as they predicted. As time passed, the child, now more adult than not, ventured farther out to sea to find unoccupied islands with their remaining friends. The sea became more unpredictable and occasionally more chaotic as the coast disappeared behind them. Then one day, the very much adult child, found himself drifting alone.
The drifter was tired, so they found a nice island. It was great to not have to swim all the time, to sleep without risk of drowning, and the island was better for them being there as well. But then, they realized something was wrong. The island seemed sick and somehow was making them sick as well. They didn’t want to go back to the cold, dark, and now stormy ocean alone, but the island was dying and their illness was getting worse. So, one day, they turned their back to the island and walked, once again, into the sea.
Years passed, the adult was now quite weathered and an expert at drifting alone. Very rarely now would an island appear through their salt-crusted eyes. And even more rare the decision made to put their rubbery legs on solid ground. If they did it was, if anything, to remember what land felt like and not to lose all sense of sanity. But there was always the spark of hope, that this time the island would fully embrace them. Yet, every time, in some way, the island showed its disagreement. And the drifter would drift once again.
—
Huuk! gak! arg! I woke up violently, shooting my icy surroundings from my lungs. Every nerve ending screams, my body convulses, oscillating between utter numbness and being engulfed by fiery magma—A cold so deep it radiates from inside every bone. Disorientated and water-logged, a wave punishes me for being in its way. I fell asleep again. Later, I look around for another island before I was forced under once more. How long have I been drifting? Years? Decades now?
I have never lived on an island. At most, I have visited a handful for an extended period. They have been my reprieves. And I am grateful for them.
I have a crude map of potentially new islands. When I find them, walking on land, it is utterly blissful. My legs, shaky and weak, feel good joining the fight against gravity once again. My ribs and lungs free of the pressure and constriction of an entire ocean. My skin drinking in sunshine, relearning warmth. So much bliss, sometimes I don’t realize the sand is burning my feet, blisters upon blisters, liquefying the dark side of my every step. If I stay long enough, I notice my presence is killing the island, as much as I might try to help, trees wither, fruit goes sour, the air thins. And I become hungry, nauseated, and struggle to breathe. I am not for you, it’s telling me, and it’s time to move on. Hopefully, my beautiful interlude reminds me of why I am out there alone drifting, swimming, why I endure. Before departing, I always attempt to leave the island better off than I found it, as a thank you, and perhaps it will be the perfect home for another, luckier, weary drifter.
Reluctantly, I sulk back into the sea and it is colder than I remember and the waves seem more brutal than before, something I did not think was possible. As ice permeates my soul, an angry, rogue wave punches me in the face just as its friend does the same from behind, retribution for leaving its clutches, for dreaming of warm embraces. I am plunged deep into its inky, cheerless grapple. In time, beaten and exhausted, I find myself drifting once more. I look around and where there have been fewer and fewer islands, now there are none. Aimless, I pick a direction and slowly drift that way, wondering if the right island, our island, will be the next or if I will one day find myself drifting downward.
01-14-17
I wrote a few years ago about my, now discarded, “Comfortable Hermit” theory.
We need these relationships just as much as we need to be our own person. Humans are social creatures, interaction was and is essential to our evolution. A hermit is not complete. They are missing a part of what it is to be human. Whether it through happenstance or just my bullheadedness, my heart has lived the life of a hermit. He is strong on his own, yet waits for the day he doesn’t have to be.
I took that new perspective to heart, but more so in the dating arena. I feel I also need to be more proactive in the friend realm as well. It’s been a difficult year in both. And it’s why I’ll still be continuing 2015’s project, dating friends for the foreseeable future.
Last year’s project fell flat after a fantastic beginning with a trip across the country that spawned no other ventures. That intriguing, yet odd companion I discovered in New York had an aura about her that was very seductive, but I came to discover there was also a harshness and bitterness underneath it all. As always, while I could have handled things better and I do not regret my time with them. I learned a lot about myself, even if in the end I was left baffled, and relieved it was over.
I joined a game design company last year, as their art director, art producer, and web designer. I feel optimistic about this new opportunity, only time will tell if we can come together as a team and succeed where so many start-ups fail.
So now here I am. The same house I was in almost 14 years ago. Still single, abet with a lot more first dates under my belt. At least I know better who I am and what I want. And, with the help of dating websites and apps, I discovered I live in a very poor area to find the people I want to date. Constantly driving miles from here to meet up with new people. So I’m seriously considering a move. Right now, probably Long Beach. But really to wherever I can get a new job, because freelancing is rough, I almost have enough to make it work, but even there I’d be making a fraction of what I’d make working for someone full-time.
on the melaton shores
On the melaton shores, inky blackness thunders its abuse.
Dean waits.
Its soulless depths hide the secrets of slumber.
Dean waits silently.
Treasures lure all who desire the closed lid.
Dean waits silently at the bottom.
The sea whispers, you’ll sleep when you’re dead.
Dean answers back,
I’ll sleep when I’m Dean.
whisperless
Dripping lights on the death of the day
in the palm of nothingness.
The toes slowly grow numb in the presence of the mini-flamethrower
and graveyards of ash.
Ink scrapes as the flight of strangers yammer
with their brains buzzing.
I let the bleeding pens and grains of yesteryear
wash over everything I have ever become.
Amongst these trapped treasures and abandon passions,
I wait, whisperless.
mirrors to windows
I know no one except through their passions.
Wrong.
I know no one except through how they express their passions.
Wrong.
I know no one except through how well they can express their passions.
Yes.
There are those of us who are lost, or meek, or afraid.
And we are not known. People see our reflections.
If we are lucky, they see a glimmer of who we are.
My passion is for them.
To learn ways to pull back the curtain.
And to always seek to turn the mirrors into windows.
The Overnighters, 2014
Desperation, hope, religion, judgment, generosity and fear.
A powerful documentary that centers on a pastor who offers destitute people a place to stay who are flocking to North Dakota desperate for work.
It’s an excellent documentary that will leave you with much to ponder. Personally, a few things stood out among them all. What does it mean to be a community? Where is that line between love and fear? How do we, as a society, treat our weakest, most desperate, but potentially dangerous brothers and sisters? The answers lie somewhere in our inner morality.
This quote also hit me pretty hard.
“It doesn’t matter what good a person does. Even if they are a hero today, five years down the road that’s buried somewhere. That’s not on their “record”, all that’s on their “record” that stays with them throughout their life is the negative stuff. And it’s sad because that’s how you’re judged.”
Side note: There are some spoilery things out there, so don’t google too hard.
The Neon Demon, 2016
The Neon Demon, 2016
Watched Apr 25, 2017 • 2/10
I haven’t seen a film this awful in years.
A film about sex, beauty, and desire was ironically unstimulating, while unironically hollow. They had one scene where they spoke on the concept of beauty. And it was apparently written by a 2nd grader.
It was, however, fit full of amateur, trite, yet mesmerizingly colorful style choices. Overall though, it was artistically crude and vapid, like watching an art school reject play with a room full of strobe lights after taking his first hit of acid.
The acting, if you could call it that, was uninspired, dull, and cringe-worthy. Everyone looked kind of bored and dead inside. Hmmm, maybe that was a good directing decision.
The pace and tone were all over the place with spurts of forced tension. It was like someone was trying to give this film the heimlich maneuver while randomly kicking it in the face.
The one thing I’ll give the film was it had great makeup and costumes. I can’t stress how many miss opportunities this film had to at least be slightly entertaining. Overall, however, the film is just a godawful, ugly mess (with supermodels.)