Between Blog Posts: Part 3

Over the past month I have been able to find a few second and even a few minutes here and there that have allowed me to let my mind meander about and pull together different images and glimpses into the lives of fictional characters. Even while trying to catch up on the blog, there were still a few much needed moments when I needed to take a momentarily creative leave from reality. It is still unclear as to what will be done with all of these little pieces and whether they tie together somehow or if they are completely separate stories. So, following my notes from New Jersey Transit uncovered in the beginning of August, part 1 recorded in the middle of the month, and part 2 published a couple of weeks ago, I bring you another installment in this sporadic series.

6AM

The neighborhood kids called him Mr. Brown but he had many different monikers throughout his life. Whenever they would call his name in the morning he would turn his head and give him them a slight smile. No one said anything else to him. They let him be and simply watched in silence as he went about his morning routine.

He peered out the window each morning at 6am looking up at the sky. When the sun shone on the horizon he would put on his slippers, a coat when the weather turned bitter, and opened the front door with a slow and deliberate precision that baffled those watching.

His purposeful steps didn’t take him far. They carried him to the corner of his walkway and into a gravel bed surrounding his flag pole. Her he would take the flag tucked under his arm, unfold it, and raise the stars and stripes in a way that is familiar to few but respected by all who witness the ceremony.

Every morning he would pause at half-mast with a kind sadness in his eyes that revealed much more about his routine. In a moment of stillness he seemed to mutter almost apologetically before hoisting the flag to the top of the pole. Securing the rope with a figure eight and solitary knot, he would then turn and return to the front door stiffly closing it behind him as if trying to keep out the memories.

When the sky prepares to succumb to the night everyone watches as he emerges from behind his seclusion almost with a sense of relief that the evening will soon descend and another day will end in silence. He returns the flag to the earth folding into a precise triangle, tucked it under his arm, and carried it with reverence back into his home.

As the amber deepens into red and before the purple hue of dusk, a small glimmer of yellow can be seen waiving lightly from the trunk of his oak tree seemingly giving farewell. The same bitter parting he was offered when his son was deployed.

And now the tattered ribbon tethers the memories of a neighborhood as they all remember the jovial laugh that would fill the small street every time Mr. Brown came home from work. A laugh that only lives in distance echoes. But now there is only night. Now there is only silence. For one more day.

Between Blog Posts: Part 2

Earlier in the month I shared some story notes that I uncovered during a bout of digital archaeology and last week I posted another piece that I jotted down between a couple of blog posts and projects. Well, it happened again. While doing some work and personal research this past week, a small light began flickering in my mind like a projector and played a small scene for me. All that was shone is what is recorded below. This, like the other ideas recorded on this blog, might be interesting to pursue when I have a little more time to commit to this type of writing. But, for now, here is what was played for me…

5AM

Jim was never a morning person and never pretended to be one unless he was applying for a job. This was the conflict that stirred in his mind as the alarm echoed off the empty apartment walls.

He kicked the soiled sheets to the other side of the bed and placed his hand in the cold empty hollow in the mattress next to him. It almost didn’t feel like it was worth it to try and get up but he could stand the thought of lying there alone.

As he staggered to his feet the faux floor whined between his toes. In the bathroom he plunged his worn face in the stagnant sink filled with the same water that had been lingering for days.

The spotted mirror told him all he needed to know reflecting his shadow riddled eyes buried behind his beard.

He rustled through his clothes looking for something that could pass as presentable, something that may have appeared on a store shelf in the last twenty years.

Cleaned and dressed to the standard that had haunted him for the past three years, he opened his bedroom door and walked down the short moonlit hallway to the stack of disposable bowls awaiting him in the kitchen. Like the hundreds of days before, he opened the only stocked cabinet, pulled out a box, and watched the sweet processed puffs as they piled into the paper vessel.

Some people take great care with their diet, Jim was not one of those people.

By the time the sun had begun to inch over the horizon, he was already walking deliberately down the stairs, step by step, counting each one as if the total would be different than all the other days.

The orange and red of the sky surprised him and a smile nearly curled the corners of his mouth when it was quickly slapped from his face by the noise of the city. His simple routine had taken him nearly two hours and now the remaining minutes of the early morning were few and precious.

While little had changed that morning maybe the day would be different. Maybe this would be the day when the burdens of the past would be lifted. Maybe the events of the day would allow him to forget. Maybe this job would be different than the last one, and the one before that, and the one before that, and the one before that…

Between Blog Posts: Part 1

Recently, while going from one topic to the next whether that be at work or while writing about different topics for the blog I find my mind wandering a little bit into the other side of my brain. It’s almost as if it fell off that fine line that I am constantly walking between the two hemispheres and all of the sudden the ideas for stories begin flowing through my fingers. They are only glimpses but, like the rough ideas that I shared before which I uncovered in my computer, I wanted to share them here. After all, you never know what I might do with them…

4AM

Ben had been up all night with the only light shining on the dark country road being the one piercing through his kitchen window. The highway asphalt in the distance had been quite for hours and the autumnal wind carried with it the scent of the approaching season. His work was done, for now, but his labor was just beginning.

The hinges screamed as he pulled the front door toward him. A sound that had become all too familiar in recent weeks. But in that moment, in the darkness of morning, he was the only one who could hear the house shrieking.

His legs were heavy from the rigor of the night and while a fog filled his eyes his mind continued to meander through memories. It took an unexpected effort to traverse the walkway but he endured the haunting thoughts and failing limbs finally slumping over on the rusted trunk of his car. 

He swung open his creaking door and collapsed into the tattered driver’s seat. Turning the key he hoped that the engine would start just one more time. He had a lot of things to do that day but his only desire was to stay home. As the exhaust plumed in the rear view mirror he swallowed the last remanence of cold coffee, rubbed his eyes with his red hands, and slowly skidded down the leaf strewn driveway.

The winding road coddled his eyes while the pings of loose pavement kept his lids from closing. It wasn’t long before he could see the lights from the gas station emerge from the crest of the hill, people walking back to their cars with steaming cups, and the traffic light blinking yellow and red like a beacon on a desolate shore.

As he turned the corner he could hear a rumble cascading across the road. By the time he turned his head the truck had already breached the passenger door. His body was thrown across the intersection until finally resting face down in front of the weathered array of lingering campaign signs.

When the police arrived, they found nothing to identify him, a car which had disintegrated into an unrecognizable heap of scrap, and a heart that had long since stopped pumping. The only thing that they knew about him is what witnesses heard him gargle from between the blades of grass…    

“It wasn’t me. It wasn’t me. It wasn’t me.”

I Created A Zombie Blog

This is where it all started... a few months after this picture was taken at the Aliyah Expo in Manhattan I started my first personal blog to record our Aliyah experience.

I have been writing my entire adult life but I haven’t always blogged. I started blogging for my former employer back in the fall of 2009 and would post something every month or so as we rotated content development responsibilities throughout the company. However, I still refrained from keeping a personal blog until I felt I had something to write about.

In November 2010 my wife and I decided to make Aliyah to Israel… I had something to write about and created the blog From Goy To Oleh (very loose translation: “From Non Jew to Jewish Man Who Moved To Israel”). After a few start and stop moments, I finally got some ideas together on the topic and began posting on a weekly basis slowly building up my readership and disseminating across the same social media streams through which this blog is distributed. Of course, it was a much more focused effort as the subject matter was tailored to a specific audience so there were other groups such as Nefesh B’Nefesh and the Jewish Agency where the blogs were listed.

The blog came to an end in late June 2011 just before our charter flight to Israel early the following month. While I had planned on continuing to write about our new life that soon evaporated as we found ourselves on a plane back to the states (more about this experience soon, I promise). So, since that time, the blog has remained dormant with the only exception being in May of this year when I posted the official closing blog and directed anyone who was interested to follow me here.

However, the blog lives on in a zombie like state. While no new content is being posted it is still viewed between 200 and 300 times per month. Occasionally people leave comments (and I still reply to them when I have a chance) but, for the most part, people read and move on.

It is amazing to think about the longevity that the blog has had but it isn’t surprising given the interconnected society in which we live when things “live forever” in cyber space. I guess I am just a little shocked that over two years later, since my last real post on that blog, people are still finding it interesting enough to read and it is still relevant enough to show up in searches. It just goes to show that you never know what people are really going to think about something you write until you get it out there.

This is not a new concept for me but it is something that, no matter how many times it happens, I am still a little taken back by it. Every time this occurs I am humbled by the life that creation has independent of the creator. You create and send it out into the world surrendering control of its destiny. It is a very spiritual experience because every time I see the life that my creation has made for itself in this world it brings me closer to G-d than anything else I have ever done.

A bold statement I admit but it is as an authentic feeling as anything you can experience within your faith. It is a bond that you develop over time with your creator that can never be broken. It is a gift that should never be taken for granted and the only means we have to live in this world beyond our years.

Don’t just live life, create life. Don’t hide from experience and participate in the world around you. You don’t have to put words on a page in order to create. Create action, make a decision, and take a stand. Share with those around you the knowledge and/or abilities that you have and affect change in the lives of people. Our creator has given each of us the divine ability to create and it is our choice as to whether we are going to accept this gift. I for one choose to accept this privilege and challenge.

Daydreaming And Driving

Most days and nights I fall asleep and wake up having felt I had just settled into slumber. I rarely remember dreams and the ones I do quickly blur and are taken over by the waking activity of my mind. I can’t recall the last vivid dream which flooded my nocturnal hours.

The dreams I can recollect are those that happen during the times of attention and activity. All my senses are occupied during these times of conscious aspiration and I hold those memories close in order to fill the void which the night brings. These waking wisps of imagination are the catalyst which fuels my motivation to keep writing and to keep pushing forward.

However, these too can escape my grasp on occasion which is why I have employed a dream catcher to hold those thoughts for retrieval at a later time, a time when my creative spirit may be lacking. My belief being that what is used to filter out the bad dreams from entering at night can hold onto the good dreams which blossom in the light of day. The only question was where do I put it? After applying an amount of thought and consideration normally reserved for a blank piece of paper, I found the place which would provide the most benefit. Hopefully the picture above was obvious enough.

As many of my dreams are birthed during the straight monotonous roads where muscle memory is more important than dedicated thought, I decided to hang this powerful receptacle in the back window of my car. With our increased travel lately, my mind has been working overtime during these trips to make up for what is absent during unconsciousness. This is the perfect position.

Will it work? I don’t know but being that my ability to create is so integral to my sense of self, I am willing to try. I have already come close to losing my ability to the void and I know how frustrating it is to have the wealth of life surround you but finding yourself unable to express those experiences on the page. I can’t lose that flame again.

I don’t just want to live life and experience as much as I can, I need to illuminate the world from my eyes, from my perspective. If nothing else, I want to constantly remind myself to dream and to keep pushing myself to create. I need to catch those moments and lock them tight within my words because without the fictional escape of sleep, written reality is all I have so I am going to make it as vibrant and beautiful as possible.