Trash of the Gods. Chapter 9, The Wet and Sad One

Robert had been using on and off again throughout Senior year. A few weeks after tammy’s party was when it all happened. The sort of official beginning of the end.
One day, during Robert’s on again off again usage, Robert, myself, Steve and the rest of the boys were hanging out outside the strip mall. Robert was clearly coming down off of some kind of random narcotic, and we all had just finished smoking a joint behind the subway. We were hanging out up front, Steve on his bike and me leaning on the hood of my car, drinking Arizona in order to combat the cottonmouth. We were talking about random this and that’s as we usually did, and then for some reason Robert got into one of his moods where he enjoyed humiliating me.
I don’t remember what caused it but for some reason he decided to start pushing me down onto my car. He just kept shoving me with this brutal force, making me drop my drink and making me look weak and pathetic in front of everyone. 
“Robert, back the fuck up.” The more I said it, the harder he pushed back, and the more he laughed.
“Robert, back the fuck up! ” 
He laughed harder.
“Robert, back the fuck up!! ”
He’d push harder.
“Robert, back the fuck up!!!”
And then, all I remember happening next was instinct taking over, and the loud “THUD!” that was skin of my fist against the skin of Robert’s cheek.
Suddenly it stopped, he wasn’t pushing anymore and we were both just standing, and he was just motionless, in shock, as if he was still processing what had just happened.
“You just punched me in the face,” Robert declared, still in disbelief.
“yeah,” I confirmed, still in a karate stance waiting for his next move.
He then mocked a sudden lunge of his chest, assuring I would flinch into another karate stance.
He then chuckled to himself, said “I love you man.” and again, I replied, “yeah, sure.” but this time, with nothing but sincere anger and humiliation behind it.
He then, without looking at anyone or saying anything, wandered off, stoned and smiling.
For a second I thought I was the one humiliated, but then the boys started wooping it up.
“That was a sweet punch,” said nick. after three years of hanging out, he gave me a genuine compliment.
“You really hit em,” Steve said, hoping to move on. Steve was never one for drama, unless his pipe broke or coke got mooched.
“yeah, yeah.” I just kept repeating that. It was a shock, it was as if the punch had earned me their honest respect for once and not just their impatient tolerance. from that moment in their eyes I was an equal, a man, and all it took was humiliating my drug-addled friend.
I accept the praise with a smile and the temporary confidence that comes from validation. Of course, I then went home feeling nothing but guilt and wondered what it would be like to talk to Robert in newspaper the next day.
He didn’t show up for class the next day, or the next day, or even the third day. But on the third day I did see him at the end of school as we both walked to the parking lot.
“Robert, hey robert, man listen…” I said when I caught up to him.
He turned to me with a look of anger, not rage, just dead anger. I knew he was junking out again. Before I could even a finish my apology or even say the words I’m sorry, he spat on my shirt, and walked away.
And he left me there, humiliated and alone with a mucus stain on my shirt that wasn’t mine.  
A few days later he was back in newspaper class, clear headed and saying he loved me as if we would always be friends.
On the surface the matter was settled, but we stopped hanging out after that, and I stopped hanging out at the strip mall altogether. I decided to get my weed else where and to find new friends. I didn’t like the validation I thought I was looking for.
Robert eventually had to leave newspaper at the end of the semester because he was failing all his other classes. He had to either take everything over or not graduate on time.  
I was busy with my new AP classes and started taking my time in newspaper more seriously than ever.  
Robert started hooking up with another girl and they just started doing heroine together and fucking. It became a rarity for me to even see Robert around it the hallways at school at all.
Robert did graduate on time, with a D average. I was off to college, and Robert was off to nowhere.

The Man Who Is Tall Is Happy?

The man who is tall is happy.

Is the man who is tall is happy?

The man who is tall is happy.

Is the man who is tall is happy?

Simple, but not,

naturalized structure

and generation, and burden

of proof is on the state.

The burden of proof

of law, order, proffesional dissertation, facts

and the like.

Sweet and natural,

yet a constant redux,

and eb and flow constant

and layered 

and frequent.

Is the man who is tall happy?

Trash of the Gods.  Chapter 8. The Rejection

Tammy had 2 parties senior year that were of epic proportions. One at the start of the first semester and one at the end.
They were the first parties I went to that were bigger than kickbacks.
The first one is the only one I cam remember clearly, I went with Robert, he took a few hits of what he said later was bad ecstasy and he stayed on the back porch all night, glued to his seat and trying to smoke himself back to normal with whatever was passed to him or whatever was put into the bong he brought. Robert had a really cool bong at this time and was showing it off whenever he could.
As he carried on with that I went around smoking joints I brought with everyone I could at the party, while bumming a shot of tequila or a cigarette here and there, all the while assuming I was way cooler than I actually was.
Within an hour I was beyond cross faded. I came back to the back porch were Robert still was, about to smoke a joint with him and the rest of whoever was out there in that massive beyond capacity of the house over flow crowd. Yet I immediately pulled a terrible blunder, or a “party foul, ” as you’re more likely to understand.
I moved my chair to sit down when suddenly there was a loud clunk, and then immediately after, “CRASH!”
Using my flip phone as a flashlight, I saw what were the remains of Robert’s bong, that I had knocked over with my chair and shattered.
Of course I became the center of some rather unwanted attention at the party, but the matter was solved almost immediately.
Robert didn’t seem mad at all. He didn’t even seem to care because he didn’t even bother to get out of his chair.
After repeated drunken pleas pf “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry dude, I broke your bong man,” all of which Robert just laughed at, I eventually paid him for the bong, $60, and the matter was settled.
It was I think 2 hours after the party had started that the cops arrived.
soon we were dispersed from the premisses, I was relatively sober so i drove Robert and i home.  
I don’t know what it was, but after I had dropped him off at his house and left, as I was leaving, he said something that was beyond out of character. He said, “I love you man.”
And I just grunted and said, “Yeah, sure,” and sort of sighed as he smiled, still somewhat high on the ecstasy. That was the most sentiment he had ever shown me, and my only response was, “yeah” before I turned around and left.
A few weeks after this our friendship would basically be over, and a few years after that Robert would be dead.

The Meaning of Meaning

The question seems like a cliché in our jaded post modern millenial world;

“What is the meaning of life?”

But I put forth an alternative question, an expansion on the semantics of the words above.

I.e., “What is the meaning of meaning?”

A seemingly simple question if we stick to the absolute literal, that is the typical Webster’s or Oxford dictionary definition of the word “meaning,” but less so when we elaborate on the inherant absences of what we mean by the word “meaning.”

Yes, I know this sounds like a Bill Clinton redox on what “is, is?” but this is not some pretentious use of rhetoric to dodge questions equivilant to what might as well have been locker room talk.  

Essentially I am asking the question that when we do in fact ask, “What is the meaning of life?”  are we assuming that the definition of the word “meaning” is inherant or not?  Is the meaning of “meaning” all encompassing and do we ask the question assuming so?

And like Socrates was famous for, I leave this question unanswered to you all, to assure our minds carry on, even frustratingly so.  ;-)

Our Honest Jesters

Why do we hunt for truth

for those who were once our jesters?

There is more comedy in truth than comedy now

and we are but only in the first throws

of the labels in this century’s era.

Comic overthrough

and a degeneration of a mass produced culture

full of plastic and dead beauty.

Need not sacrifice joy in the revolution

but expand it

and find it one day sustainable.