i was almost an abortion

Saturday, February 16, 2013

Born To Be Alive

Patrick Hernandez & StereomasterZ  Born To Be Alive Stef Konstan House To Disco

2 days more.
it wasn't special really,
it could have not even been something he ever thought about,
i mean, 
he wasn't really supposed to be here anyway.
it was all just a mistake.
a malfunction in one girl's
 control of her emotions.
and one man's lack of control
 to keep his cock in his pants.
and, well, actually, the most important one
is the unbelievably strong will
 of another woman, who,
just happened to be in the right place
 at the right time.

Otherwise, if the stars hadn't aligned in just the exact way they did,
if one thing happened differently,
or timing was off by by even a 
fracture of a second,
who knows?
maybe he would have never been given the chance to be here now.
maybe he would, by now, 
be a 46 year old corpse 
in the bottom of a garbage pile 
on Staten Island.
ya never know.
but he didn't have to be proven anything anymore.
whatever happened, good or bad,
each and every second was a gift.
one that he was indeed, very lucky,
and thankful, to have received.

And so, as the day turned into night 
and then into day again,
even though he wasn't a millionaire,
even though he didn't have 
the love of his life laying next to him,
and even though he wished he was maybe 
10 pounds beefier, more defined, etc.,
he just smiled,
and knew that it was all ok.
it was all good.
it was all, 
exactly as the universe had intended.
and the number that he was counting up to,
was just a number...
everything else was a gift.
even, and, especially,
that number.





me, photographed by James aka "Erik" Rhodes the day i shot him for the Blacksmoke.org,
                                                                                                          Danger Global Warming project


                                            then he thought again,
           and it all made sense...
maybe, no, definitely
he did have the love of his life laying next to him...
maybe, nah, definitely, 
he couldn't imagine another 
that could/would ever come close.

3 months lost

Depeche Mode
- Everything Counts (Luis Leon Unemployed Bootleg).

As if nothing at all had happened,
he woke up out of a sound sleep,
went to the bathroom, walking past the couch in the living room to pet his dog Buddy on the head, give him a kiss, and even popped into the kitchen to swig down some lemonade from the bottle before 
 digging through the pantry to get Buddy a midnight treat.
he then proceeded to the bathroom, where he, ritualistically, put down the toilet seat to sit and pee. he was too lazy to stand, and he always ended up peeing all over the seat anyway. this made it easier and more efficient.

when he was done, he stood up and headed back to his bedroom, but by this time, after his little side journey's , he wasn't really that tired. so he did what came more naturally to him, and sat down in front of the computer, turned it on, waited for it to load, and typed in his passwords, and logged into his email.it was only then that he had his first glimpse that something strange seemed to be going on, as he had more than 600 emails unread, some dating back to 3 months prior. as he began opening the first few, he heard a rustling from down the hall. he lifted his head away from the screen and down the hall, where there stood his mother in her powder blue nightgown, she appeared in shock, and for a moment, she looked like she was ready to pass out.
"hi" he said.
"what are you doing?" she asked, voice shaking.
"chcking my email, why?"
"who are you?" she asked, voice high and cracking.
"joey??" he said.

she burst into tears, crying uncontrollably, and then she ran in and hugged him tight. for the next few  hours, as the sun broke the horizon announcing a new day,they sat in his bedroom, and she told him the story of his last 3 months, the accident he totaled his car in, the coma he laid in the hospital in for almost a month, the cracked skull, broken ribs, and complete memory loss that was now just a void of time in his life. the doctors didn't think he would even make it, but there he was, and the memory loss, was something he didn't even have to forget. it was never remembered.

 photos of Charlie Harding, shot yesterday in my back yard at 810 Grand St, jersey City.