Merv (draft 1 — 11/14/2002)


Today people stared.

Not too awkwardly because it has happened before.

But it was weird enough.

Sherry had a smile that made men want to masturbate. Merv had a thing for Sherry.

Merv,  being a pervert and a nice guy at the same time, lived a life a solitary torment and excitement, also at the same time.

People would ask Merv, “Merv, why you tied down to one woman? You could be gettin’ so much ass if you was single…”

Actually, Merv was playing that conversation out in his head frequently. Merv would give himself pep talks in his bathroom mirror on mornings when he felt motivated enough to pop out of his bed and seize the day by its throat.

He would stand at his mirror, and focus intently on his reflection’s left eye. He was told that if he practiced this technique steadily enough day after day, he would be able to see into his soul. By getting deep inside himself,  Merv felt the rest of the world consisted merely of setting and supporting characters.

“If I was single,” Merv would begin his mantra, “I would be rich. If I was single, I would be drunk every night, eventually breaking down and soliciting prostitutes, or wining and dining girls so hard up for a man that they would swallow anyone’s unborn kids just to get some attention. If I was single…”

Merv would present himself with variations incarnations of this mantra each day.

He also had very little focus, so many days were trudged through without these meditations.

“I could only imagine Sherry in bed,” Merv told some his colleagues one afternoon in the cafeteria. They would gather there, usually sad looking men in overly washed and underly pressed white button-downs, frequently adorned with splotches of leaking ink pens or coffee accidents.



(This first prose writing was pulled from a file of many years. I am assuming that I was in a dark place. I’m glad I’m not there now)


     Everyday I seem to think back on the old times and feel a weird rolling of my stomach muscles — a tightening, a kick — something to put me in limbo between tears and laughter.

Deja vu seems very real, especially when you know you have been at a place, whether physically or spiritually, before.

     I don’t know what is going to happen later today or tomorrow or next week, month, year, but I do know that the mild, bittersweet happiness I feel right now is something I would love to bottle up and be able to spray on myself whenever the other half of me opens up.

     When I feel like I want to “kill myself,” I don’t truly mean this in the physical sense. I want to “kill myself” in the psychological sense.

     I don’t know why these tendencies harbor inside of me, but I do know that I do NOT like them.

    I always must remember that these temporary notions are not permanent. They will go away.

Serenity is at my fingertips, which are too often wrapped around the neck of a bottle containing despair and hopelessness.



(As stated before, this material was found in an old notebook of mine. I assume that most of these writings , which you will be seeing over the next few posts, are pre-1997. I am leaving them in the condition that I found them, even though many of them suck horribly. There are no edits; however, they will eventually be updated if I see potential as I am typing these into this long-winded blog. I will continue to preface upcoming posts with this side note until I get through all the amateur junk.)


There are forks in our paths,

Rips in the pages of a fantasy.

Unexplainable –

Inconceivable –

Yet these crossroads exist.

Up                   Up

Down                 Down

Another day goes by.

Time is a fragment of one’s subconscious

At a period with the past,


and beyond.