Angel, Part 5 – Jealousy Breeds Over Angel’s Dancing

bunnyalexander

The nights dragged on into months. We both learned the game, with a quickness necessitated out of survival rather than, as she supposed, fun and glamor. My angels’ eyes lost their shine, being replaced with a distant look now shared with the rest of the dancers. She was fresh on the scene, and new girls make a lot of money the first few months of their rotation, their clients hoping to sway them with “generosity”. Other more unscrupulous men, professionals, hoping to secure her in their own businesses, would throw her lure after lure and line after line. Not knowing how to handle the growing concern and yes, jealousy, I tormented myself by watching her night after night, grinding on them, whispering to them, and worse still, disappearing into the private rooms that cheapened the scene, their rudely built walls ending a foot short of the ceiling. My guts ripped in agony night after night, developing a hardness of heart that was unnatural but soothing. One client in particular purposely set himself to provoke me, giving me the impression that he was a danger to my angel, which drove me near insanity. I begged to her to dance for anyone else but him, it tormented me. Many nights I watched him with interest and growing anger, burning deep inside, like only a jealous lover can feel. A hatred growing so strong as to rival the love I had and would soon turn me into a dangerous man. He took her one night into the room, I followed and sat close, as close as I could get. Tears welled in my eyes, anger pushing at me, jealousy tugging me, my own care for her demanding I take action. I had not yet resorted to violence in my life as a means to an end, but that would soon change. For now, I took an unconventional approach. I yelled for her to stop. I figured if she wanted money, I would give her money, I could give her what he did, or so I believed. I threw hundred-dollar bills in crumpled wads over the wall, pleading for her to stop. He was giving her what I could never give her again, a stranger’s attention. I stormed out of the building, everything in me screaming and confused and on fire with powerful passion. She came and found me, comforting me, with kisses now growing cheaper with time, telling me that it was her job, and it was. However, I would learn that there are other parts of her job that were not so well advertised to those on the outside. This lesson I would be taught well, emphasized by the peculiar fact that I never saw those hundred-dollar bills again, ever, it was never even mentioned.

  

Also published in Broowaha

12132011 



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Angel, Part 5 – Jealousy Breeds Over Angel’s Dancing

bunnyalexander

The nights dragged on into months. We both learned the game, with a quickness necessitated out of survival rather than, as she supposed, fun and glamor. My angels’ eyes lost their shine, being replaced with a distant look now shared with the rest of the dancers. She was fresh on the scene, and new girls make a lot of money the first few months of their rotation, their clients hoping to sway them with “generosity”. Other more unscrupulous men, professionals, hoping to secure her in their own businesses, would throw her lure after lure and line after line. Not knowing how to handle the growing concern and yes, jealousy, I tormented myself by watching her night after night, grinding on them, whispering to them, and worse still, disappearing into the private rooms that cheapened the scene, their rudely built walls ending a foot short of the ceiling. My guts ripped in agony night after night, developing a hardness of heart that was unnatural but soothing. One client in particular purposely set himself to provoke me, giving me the impression that he was a danger to my angel, which drove me near insanity. I begged to her to dance for anyone else but him, it tormented me. Many nights I watched him with interest and growing anger, burning deep inside, like only a jealous lover can feel. A hatred growing so strong as to rival the love I had and would soon turn me into a dangerous man. He took her one night into the room, I followed and sat close, as close as I could get. Tears welled in my eyes, anger pushing at me, jealousy tugging me, my own care for her demanding I take action. I had not yet resorted to violence in my life as a means to an end, but that would soon change. For now, I took an unconventional approach. I yelled for her to stop. I figured if she wanted money, I would give her money, I could give her what he did, or so I believed. I threw hundred-dollar bills in crumpled wads over the wall, pleading for her to stop. He was giving her what I could never give her again, a stranger’s attention. I stormed out of the building, everything in me screaming and confused and on fire with powerful passion. She came and found me, comforting me, with kisses now growing cheaper with time, telling me that it was her job, and it was. However, I would learn that there are other parts of her job that were not so well advertised to those on the outside. This lesson I would be taught well, emphasized by the peculiar fact that I never saw those hundred-dollar bills again, ever, it was never even mentioned.

  

Also published in Broowaha

12132011 



Angel Part 1 – The Lure

ning

The face of an angel. Papa always told me to beware of the woman who had the face of an angel. I’m not referring to natural beauty, but the innocent purity and helpless look that compels men to protect her, regardless of their logic. That’s how it was with her, an angel. I should have known better, my guard was down, my heart was broken, my mind was confused, all from going through a hell on earth known as divorce. I managed to find my solace, like so many others, at the local brewery, throwing down drink after drink in an attempt to drown myself or lose myself. I was at a low that only happens once in a lifetime, I lost everything, hell, I even lost my teeth to an unfortunate, “turn of events” known as getting my ass stomped. At that time, I figured, hell might as well lose these too, and spit them out at the feet my attacker, spitting out more than teeth, I spit out my self respect and self esteem. This is where she found me, a woman like that finds you, like a wolf finds a rabbit . I sat alone, a good drunk at the edge of the dance floor eyeballing the pretty young things, an old guy with no front teeth. I was as content as you could be, spending the last dime, on the last drink, and knowing I had nothing left to lose. I sat, unaware of the changes that were about to happen, and happen quickly, like lightning, and about as unexpected too. Turning up my beer to ease my pain, I lowered it satisfied, just as the angel approached. It was a line dance and the whole line of women were advancing like troops on the field, I sat giddy, like a kid in a candy store. But she, 18 years my junior, she stopped my whole world. Black tight pants with a gold belt that followed the curve of her waist and accentuated every not so subtle twist of her strut. She purposely stepped a little further than the rest of the line until she was directly in front of me. Me, a silly man, a deer in the headlights, eyes wide open, not knowing the wreck about to happen. Ignorance and lust, nothing like it to make a man sit stunned, a mark in every sense of the word, the angel, she knew she had me, she knew. That was it, she knew what she was going to do.

Also published in: Broowaha
12012011 

Angel, Part 8 – Drug of Depravity

annallese
I took her to the club the next evening and we walked out back to light up before I left. I stepped over popped balloons, looking at first glance, like a kids party gone wrong. My shrinking naivete was talking, but when one stuck to my foot that explained it all. That’s were she chose to tell me what her sinking mind was planning next: she wanted to do private parties. Mother fuck me hell of hells. How many levels of pain are there in following this broken Angel? My mind tumbled down the stairs of her attention driven wanderings. I supported her, God knows I wouldn’t want her alone with a bunch of drunk men, but for how long? She would introduce me as her “bodyguard” so her tips weren’t affected. If the customers knew she had a boyfriend there, their cash would stay in their pockets. So there it was, I’m downgraded, at least publicly to “someone who watches out for me” which is quite a bit different from “someone I’m in love with”. I learned a bit of self control after my explosion in the club and the hardness settled in nicely around my heart, like when it’s cold and I pull the blanket in close. But the blanket never seemed big enough and part of me was always feeling the cold breeze of greed and deprecation blown by her incessant curiosity and growing boldness.

She made the arrangements and scheduled her appearance at a party in, of all places, a trailer park. I shook my head in disbelief. A shitty trailer park? Why couldn’t she see the sick way her life was turning? I went, nervous and sweaty, shaking inside with fear and disbelief. Showing no emotion in my eyes, I awkwardly performed my tasks, playing her music and verbally acknowledging what was acceptable. Her eyes lit with childlike excitement as she played the role, her young body teasing the men to a dull frenzy. She turned and smiled at me, enjoying her power over them, over me. Something fucked up happened though, I felt turned on by this, seeing her in vulnerable positions, just short of following through. Guilt over my arousal, confusion over my new role, and a consuming love for her, brought the flames from the devil’s den to the door of my mind and fueled a fire that changed my desires forever. This is how it happens. How a man can slowly become the thing he hates by following a woman he loves. My appetites wet by this indecent exposure set me on a new collision course of right and wrong, love and lust, money and sex. Caught by my Angel, my innocence used against me, luring me away with knowledge of depravity, a drug of different sort. I tried to resist this descent, but my Angel, she swallowed the hook, the only question was, who held the line?

What She Thinks – An addicts inner struggle after relapse

“Knowing trees, I understand the meaning of patience. Knowing grass, I can appreciate persistence.”Hal Borland
“Permanence, perseverance and persistence in spite of all obstacles, discouragements, and impossibilities: It is this, that in all things distinguishes the strong soul from the weak. Thomas Carlyle

 

“I will not give up, I don’t care what I feel like, what they say, or how many times I fail, I will keep trying…” This became my mantra on nights that never seem to end.
 
Up all night. I’m tired but can’t sleep. I ache with fear, anxiety, wanting so badly to do good, to be a better person. Seeing the sunrise through my tears, sobs coming deep from my soul, I’m ashamed at what I did to get high. My will’s held captive to this lifestyle that I despise, and yet seek at every opportunity. Shame burns in my soul every time I fail. I overheard their comments, “she’s so cool except when she gets high.” Thieves gather around my life and seeing my weakness, they intend to rob me of what little possessions I have, my own body. Here’s my shame, I know better, I can do better, yet I fall prey to my craving and the traps they lay for me. I pray for a way out, morning after morning, failure after failure, long tortuous night after long tortuous night. I no longer enjoy getting wasted, it leaves me wanting, thirsty for more, there’s never enough to make me satisfied. There’s so many people to blame and I even blame God for the cruel things that have happened to me, time and time again. Funny how I blame and cuss the same God I call on for help when I’m scared out of my mind. Deep inside, I know that I can get out of this mess. I will be a success. Someone will love me, not just use me. I’ll stop this madness, my shame will be forgotten and my tired soul will sleep without fear. Until then I’ll keep trying and never stop getting back on my feet.

 

“No matter what others see, though I’m beat down on the outside, inside I refuse to give up and I will stand again.”

Also published in: Wingposse, 05-08-13
 

12112011

                            

The Beautiful Rejected Ones – Spontaneous acts of kindness

 “Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a harder battle.” – Plato
“If we have no peace, it is because we have forgotten that we belong to each other.”
Mother Teresa
 
paintingmania

How strong am I? I didn’t know until I faced death, loneliness, depression, lost a loved one, felt the pain of hating my body, experienced the betrayal of a lover, and wrestled with an addiction. These I have done and come back from, being rewarded with an understanding and compassion for those teetering on the point of no return. So many people on that edge, looking self loathing, rejection, and death in the face. These are the outcasts, the downtrodden, the incarcerated, the elderly, the dis-formed, the dysfunctional, the addicted. I will be a friend, a partner to those rejected by the crowd. Starving for affection and acceptance, withering beneath the blazing sun of rejection by family, by friends, by society. Orphans, left behind, stranded on islands of disorders: disorders of eating, thinking, mobility, and socializing. I don’t know their pain, their reason for leaving the path to wander aimlessly through a deep and lonely sea, finding themselves without a way back. I will be the ship on the horizon. I will send up the smoke of my prayers that they may see a sign before they see me and have hope.  Many don’t want, or will refuse help. I mean no offense to their independence, I don’t want to change them, that they must do themselves, if they need to change at all. I wish only to offer a respite from their routine. That is my resolution for this new year, to travel to the edge of my world, the edge of the parties, the edge of church services, the edge of bars, the edge of communities, and bring to them a concerned and loving hand of compassion. I will bring hope, an opportunity to get back up and try again, a break to breathe easier, refreshing them. With this sip of cold water, perhaps I may save a life or revive a weary soul to get up and come out of the cold, into the warmth of love. Look for me this new year, you will find me in the company of these, the beautiful rejected ones.

Also published in: Broowaha 
12312011

The Beautiful Rejected Ones – Spontaneous acts of kindness

 “Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a harder battle.” – Plato
“If we have no peace, it is because we have forgotten that we belong to each other.”
Mother Teresa
 
paintingmania

How strong am I? I didn’t know until I faced death, loneliness, depression, lost a loved one, felt the pain of hating my body, experienced the betrayal of a lover, and wrestled with an addiction. These I have done and come back from, being rewarded with an understanding and compassion for those teetering on the point of no return. So many people on that edge, looking self loathing, rejection, and death in the face. These are the outcasts, the downtrodden, the incarcerated, the elderly, the dis-formed, the dysfunctional, the addicted. I will be a friend, a partner to those rejected by the crowd. Starving for affection and acceptance, withering beneath the blazing sun of rejection by family, by friends, by society. Orphans, left behind, stranded on islands of disorders: disorders of eating, thinking, mobility, and socializing. I don’t know their pain, their reason for leaving the path to wander aimlessly through a deep and lonely sea, finding themselves without a way back. I will be the ship on the horizon. I will send up the smoke of my prayers that they may see a sign before they see me and have hope.  Many don’t want, or will refuse help. I mean no offense to their independence, I don’t want to change them, that they must do themselves, if they need to change at all. I wish only to offer a respite from their routine. That is my resolution for this new year, to travel to the edge of my world, the edge of the parties, the edge of church services, the edge of bars, the edge of communities, and bring to them a concerned and loving hand of compassion. I will bring hope, an opportunity to get back up and try again, a break to breathe easier, refreshing them. With this sip of cold water, perhaps I may save a life or revive a weary soul to get up and come out of the cold, into the warmth of love. Look for me this new year, you will find me in the company of these, the beautiful rejected ones.

Also published in: Broowaha 
12312011