Sunday, April 19, 2009

This is a true story

(I wrote this short story in 2007. I realize it might be confusing to most readers, but I don't care, I still think it's pretty good. This was my first real attempt at writing. Ever.)

This is a true story.

It is Saturday, 6:04 A.M. I buy an old lady chandelier at a yard sale in Borough Park, disassemble two emerald green crystals from the tacky tentacles and I put them in my pocket for later.

I eat one Hitori Honzo sword for breakfast.

From there I place two Fender half stacks face down on the taut sacred Kentucky Fescue, then, in the middle of the hot bright American sky, at full volume, I lower the needle with calculated precision. This provokes an undirected static that flares like a magnified fuse to a car bomb. A crow yells at me. My heart grows into my neck. The symphony approaching on an inbound convertible bullet train. Nothing can stop this now. BOOM-t't-TAP-BOOM-BOOM-BOOM-TAP-BOOM not to be confused with ding-ding-ding-d'd-ding-ding. Freddie! Trouncing those gay words out from the deepest place in his soul. Singing the song he wrote for all those in need of change, for all those who want to break free. Shirtless and alive in all his glory. I hold out my fist above my head in awe for all times I felt happiness in my life because of him. And in my daydream of his momentary resurrection Freddie returns my admiration, gaping at my self-worth with undisputed respect he compliments my mustache and chest hair.

I research Rob Brezsny’s photo online, and as we pass outside of the Hyperion Trader Joe’s with a smile gracing my mug ear to ear I Hi-Fucking-Five him, my head rhythmically bopping twice the beat of my feet, “FUCKIN’ AY MAN!THWAPP!Fucking ay!

I see right through the cryptic disguise of Lex Luthor as he ice skates past the Transamerica building on Merchant Street. I follow him to Leidesdorff and fourth, and while waiting for the light to change my plan untangles before me. He steps in front of my Royal Purple Rav 4 and I flippantly tap the juice to knock him off his feet. In the mayhem of my defense while helping him up I reach into my pocket and swap the emerald green chandelier crystals for crude, unrefined, kryptonite, a feat that shall forever remain synonymous with what God did in 7 days, I get back in the Royal Purple Rav 4, drive straight to the water and mail that kryptonite so far off into the San Francisco bay I momentarily think it will hit Berkley. I am again, on my way.

I shelve the Rav 4 outside a bodega near Guerro and Mission, for obvious safety reasons, and continue on foot. 17 blocks East, 3 blocks South, cut through the park, I’m there. McSweeney’s haphazardly brands a sign above the door using electrical tape stretched three rows wide. I strike the entrance with a chipper two-handed paradiddle that repeats its catchy rhythm down the hall. No answer. I go at it again. Nothing. I pull my wallet to excavate for a photocopy of pages 260-261 from A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius, by Dave Eggers, it’s there, I write in the margins: “Dear Dave, the Pulitzer was yours, man. You were robbed! The good news is- even though you’re a really cool guy who plays frisbee I’m going to keep on making fun of frisbee players. Your Friend, J.G.”, ..I hear it again, J.G., and again, although I try to un-hear it this time, the phrase twisting in my mind, you’re J.G., then again, you’re J.G., again, again, for the next twelve hours, again, as I head South…you’re J.G., you’re J.G., you’re J.G.,. And even with all the limitless capability my imagination contrives from all the love and inspiration that has ever entered my life, I cannot stop the searing rhythmic pain in my chest, and before I know it, it consumes every atom in my being. Everywhere is pounding. All of me is pounding. Like a fish that has been put to the pavement by an innocent curious boy. The memories come flooding back. All those who floated in my wake hoping for a fun skip across the water, instead being overturned by a tidal wave, left to painstakingly abandon everything they love, including themselves, and swim for their lives back to shore. Leaving me and everything else to either drift away or sink. I duck into an alley off Sunset, my crinkled face is sopping, slimy and wet. I am confused by how bright it is in the middle of the night. I lose my feet below me and accept the pain. I lay there all night. Dying from the worst torment any human has ever endured. Facing the biggest mistake I have ever made. Mistreating and losing the most precious person I have ever known. Me.

[now this is the part where it gets good.]
Flying above with his keen ability to spot human danger and fear is Superman. He detects my sense of urgency, seeing me defeated, hopeless and dying in pure broken sadness, and he recalls a time when someone unbeknownst to him saved his own life. He directly descends to my presence. He cantilevers both arms, one beneath my back and the other behind my knees, then, ever so gracefully, he lifts me to my feet. I AGAIN STAND PERPENDICULAR TO THE WORLD. He tells me, "We are brothers. Born from the same universe, and from extraordinary people come extraordinary lives and I for one believe YOU to be extraordinary.” A soft breeze against my warm, clammy face, and he is gone. I am momentarily left feeling only, one, thing. Hope. .....And once again, I am on my way.

I spend the next 10 days in solitary deliberation with the inner most core of my soul before I make the decision. I courageously rip my vulnerable heart from my chest, and place it before me. It is hands down five times the expected size. Bigger than my entire head. Ripped and bruised everywhere. Thick, purple, red and black hues, shredded, oozing all over with so much dense beauty.Weathered like a distant buoy shielded in algae and barnacles. It's fucking beautiful. My separate critical being holds it for inspection. The warm heavy weight is cascading between my fingers. I gasp and return it before me. I am ready. I regurgitate the Hotori Honzo sword from breakfast, and with both of my unwavering hands I take hold of the fearless Japanese steel. I raise the heavy weapon as high as my powerful limbs can reach, and I come down the instant I hit my peak, with every single last ounce of force that has ever become J.G. ...And my heart?......My most vital, precious organ, vulnerable in times even to me,.... withstands a deathblow so powerful that my brain is left momentarily black. All I hear is an audible silence, interrupted only by the thunderous pounding muscular rhythm that shatters the ground beneath my feet. I tremble in wholehearted victory. Like anyone who as ever dared face their inner most fears and won. I explode into tears and pick up my extraordinary life. I tear off my bloody right sleeve and use it to strap my ravishing corazon to my arm for all the world to see. For the first time in my life I know without a glimpse of doubt I will never deceive myself again. I am the epitome of love, I am the epitome of hope, I am the epitome of courage, I am the epitome of honesty, I am the epitome of inspiration, and I am relentless in my pursuit of happiness, and nothing, not my past, not my future, not my insecurities, not my mind, not my job, not my girlfriend, not my ex-girlfriend, not family, not my friends, not my enemies, not my anything will ever keep me from that again.

The easy part for me has always been getting what I want.The hard part has been knowing what that is. I am reminded of priceless piece of advice I once received from the most amazing person I have ever known, “It only matters what you do from here.” Thank you. Now just watch me!

So what else do you want to know “about me”? I could bore you with stuff like I’m smart, I’m funny, I am a high-dive extraordinaire who created the ‘watermelon’…but I think it is much more intriguing to cut to the chase and vomit all over everything.


  1. Your voice is clear- keep it going.

  2. You were born to write my friend. Born.
    If you do not continue this you are doing a terrible injustice to yourself and the world. I'm not fucking kidding! I refuse to be friends with you if you do not pursue writing. And you'll be breaking a pinky swear to get things rollin' in your life. Plus, another pinky swear to always go with your gut.
    Think about it.

  3. Like your friend above commented, JG, you were born to write..seriously. I can't believe you have hidden this talent for so long. I have read all your postings and every single one gave me goosebumps, and made me want to be there for you. You have to keep sharing your writing with others... can't wait to read what you write next. ;)