Saturday Night Conversations.

Here it is man. I told you I would post it. Classic. 

There can be no introduction this. There are no words to describe the awesomeness. There is no under current of a lesson learned. There is no closing paragraph to leave the reader with a sense of (compassion, joy, etc.) This is simply the unedited conversation between my friend and I. The only set up I can offer is we started at Bronx Bar in Rice Village. I am in bold.


"Man we just have different tastes in women."
"Yeah... I like em to look good." 
"Whatever, you're just too damn picky."
"You do realize we don't HAVE to scrape the bottom of the barrel, right?"
"I'm not scraping the barrel I just don't have the patience tonight."
"So you'll go home with Gorilla Jane over there?"
"Jesus."
"Yeah you would."
"Fuck it. Yeah."
"I bet she's a silver back too. That's hardcore right there."
"So you're telling me you would rather go home alone than just hook up."
"Standards my friend. Standards."
"Ok so those two at 3 o'clock. They've been staring at you since we got here."
"Too far."
"...what?"
"What if she's stupid? Then I walked all the way over there to hear some stupid shit."
"I don't know what to say."
"Where the hell did Pink Panther go?"

And that was an actual conversation from my Saturday night.

The conversations my friends and I have in between dosing ourselves with copious amounts of alcohol and dancing with random women to songs that we wouldn't be caught dead listening to anywhere else are simply the best conversations in the world. You ladies thought you had meaningful discussions? Negative. Nothing is more insightful than what you just read above. This is top secret guy stuff right here. From taste in women to discussing the reasons why aluminum foil doesn't get hot in the oven, our conversations go so deep at times it feels like Oprah is right there at the bar. We even had a conversation revolving around mental telepathy:

"Those four behind you."
"Hey. I'm Muden." 
Blah blah blah blah blah blah blah visiting from Mexico or Puerto Rico or some shit blah blah blah works at a hospital blah blah blah sure what hotel are you guys at blah blah blah only two rooms you say blah blah blah you are from the Dominican Republic? blah blah blah why would I be named modem? blah blah blah lets go across the street. 

So this is the defining moment in any pre-one nighter situation. The moment where after all the flirting and playful caresses the involved parties move to a different location. Serious business. The ladies always group up for a moment to discuss "things" and the guys hang back a second to pay the tab and in my world, have this conversation right here:

"Dude! I told you I wanted the Dominican one!"
"I'm sorry man I forgot to put on my chastity belt."
"Fuck it. Does the tall one look good."
"With or without heals?"
"With." Thoughtful pause. "Without. I don't fucking know she's the tall one now."
"Word."
"Why would you ask that?"
"Sorry this girl behind me thinks I'm with her party so she has been handing me shots all night."
"Haha! So let's switch."
"Alright whatever."
"You sure?"
"I don't at all care."
"So your standards go as far as is she hot or not."
"12 drinks in that's exactly as far as they go. Hurry up I have to pee again."


Fast forward 30 minutes to across the road at Baker Street. I switched to "the tall one" with the Selma Hayek accent after Mr. No Standards confessed that the Dominican one was so beautiful that she had his heart in her hands. Nothing beats drunken over expression. Nothing. But what follows is classic. Simply classic. 

"Will you just pick one?"
"Huh?"
"You have the Dominican girl dancing on you and you're talking to the tall one."
"You said you wanted the Dominican one! We switched! Go talk to her!"
"I meant mentally."
Long drunken pause. "Man what the fuck does that mean?!"
"I meant mentally switch."
"Holy shit you said it again!"
"I mean we switch mentally!"
"How does that make sense to you?!"
"I can't talk to her. She's into you."
"Want me to fart or something?"
"Could you?"
"I have been all night."
"What the fuck man! I've been breathing right next to you!"
"Now we're brothers for real."
"That's disgusting."
"Ok I just did it again. I'm wafting it over to her."
"God dammit!"
"You probably shouldn't be standing next to me."
"Well now it feels like I'm getting your fart girl."
"Look man, I'm going back to that hotel and you can either be with a hot fart girl or you can go find the silver back."
"Did you mark your ex with farts too?"
"No love and farts don't belong together."
"That was poetic."
"I have another one ready to go are we doing this or not?"

The Archetypes of Facebook

There is absolutely no shame on Facebook. For the the brief 10 seconds it takes to update your status, there is absolutely nothing standing between you and complete fucktardery. That being said, I have spent the past year doing a study on the archetypes of "Facebookers" and I have come to the conclusion that something has to be done to stop this madness. My research shows that these Facebookers can be placed, quite neatly, into 5 different categories.

THE FIVE ARCHETYPES OF FACEBOOK
1. The Vanilla Cowboy
2. The Misconstrued Social Beached Whale
3. The Horny Goat Boy
4. The Awssom Possum
5. The Rockstar

THE VANILLA COWBOY
The Vanilla Cowboy is most easily defined by a complete lack of any real sense of humor. In addition, it is literally impossible to read all the way through their updates without thinking to yourself, "Damn... this shit is boring." Sadly, the Vanilla Cowboy is almost always completely unaware of the mundane nature in which they conduct themselves. This results in an unfortunate amount of updates about being ready for a nap and/or being hungry. The most common response solicited by the Vanilla Cowboy is one of, "DON'T CARE DON'T CARE DON'T CARE." This bracket is separated from the "Misconstrued Social Beached Whale" by random posts, roughly one a quarter, confessing to the world that they got a little crazy and had TWO drinks while out with the girls. You naughty naughty girl. Curiously enough, my life seems somehow complete knowing that you are, in fact, ready for sleep.

THE MISCONSTRUED SOCIAL BEACHED WHALE
The Misconstrued Social Beached Whale (henceforth referred to as MSBW) is one of the most tragic stories ever told by Facebook. As the title suggests, this bracket is the precise opposite of a social butterfly. Completely unaware that no one cares, these individuals update their status to reflect EVERYTHING. This is not an exaggeration. It just simply does not stop. From , "I just woke up!" to describing their plans for the day. Somehow along the journey through life these individuals came under the impression that their lives are as interesting as that of Brad Pitt and Brittney Spears. It is impossible to discern what force drives these individuals to update their status so carelessly. One would think the need to mate pushes the desire to publish such crap. However I am convinced that it is a desire for social validation. The next grouping of Facebookers is evidence of this.

THE HORNY GOAT BOY
The Horny Goat Boy is by far the closest equivalent to "bottom of the barrel" that one can achieve while perusing the interwebz. Most commonly found involved in a parasitic relationship with Misconstrued Beached Whales, the Horny Goat Boy feeds off of the hosts need for user comments and validation. The evidence supporting this theory is staggering. When a female MSBW publishes something completely insignificant such as, "Today I plan to get stuff done!" it is completely common to find a disturbing number of Horny Goat Boys leaving comments such as, "Go you! I like getting stuff done too!" Translated from Man-English this reads, "I want to bang you." The Horny Goat Boy can also be defined as "That Guy" in that they more often than not have shirtless pictures of themselves somewhere on their page that are taken in a bathroom. When dealing with a Horny Goat Boy it is important to remember that they have no real personalities and when confronted with others of their kind they will pop their collars in an almost flatulent display of girly-manliness.

THE AWSSOM POSSUM
The Awssom Possum is, without a doubt, who you want to read about. These individuals have a talent for making everything entertaining. From quoting funny TV shows to posting completely ridiculous photographs, the Awssom Possum knows how to turn a frown upside-down. Often referred to as the "Smart Ass" this bracket is most commonly associated with witty banter and playful insults. It is extremely rare to see an Awssom Possum publish something mundane about their day. This is because they have a profound understanding of how little anyone else cares. Aside from the Horny Goat Boy of course. There is a single word that can be used to describe this group. "Win." The Awssom Possum is a bracket that is often found with, if not mated with, the next archetype.

THE ROCKSTAR
The Rockstar is a tricky archetype to assign. One does not become a Rockstar by simply drinking copious amounts of alcohol. On the contrary, the Rockstar is defined by posts that quite literally make you think to yourself, "WTF?" Adversely, the Rockstar is often found asking, "Did that just happen?" Classically, this archetype is the profound opposite of the Vanilla Cowboy. Every so often we find that the Rockstar will delete his/her incriminating photographs in an attempt to "clean up his/her act." This is futile of course in that while we all want the money, the booze and the women... the Rockstar wants the whole lot. It is inevitable that the shenanigans will bubble their way back to the surface as the Rockstar does not choose the situations, the situations choose the Rockstar. It is a classic "Chuck Norris" scenario. Rockstars are inherently irritated by Vanilla Cowboys and Horny Goat Boys are often found trying to mimic them. Furthermore, the Rockstar is easily identified by posts that include sweeping generalizations and opinions that are without a doubt, epic in their insulting nature.

Love Defined.

We look back on the paths we have crossed and the enemies we have made. We look back on the ones who broke our hearts and the hearts we ourselves left stranded in the rain. We remember the pain and the inherit insanity. And while we remember I ask:

What if I said everyone deserves to feel love? What if I said everyone deserves to feel the warmth of a caring smile... and the wash of utter desperation that comes with loss?

I do not, for a second, believe that we get to choose who, or how, or why or even when. I do not believe that you can set down a time when you are ready for love. There is a certain familiarity that two people can instantly feel with each other. An absolute bond, as if they have known each other since the dawn of time immortal. The only real choice we have in the matter is whether or not we choose to acknowledge that defining moment when a shared smile is the eclipse of our eyes and in that fleeting moment we know, without a doubt, that we are content standing still in time. If only to share in the profound resonance of that eclipse. Whether it be an afternoon together or a night in front of the television. And even if it was only for a night, we shared in that eclipse. And it was the best night of our lives.

I believe that love is born of our most simple of human needs to find a kindred. A hand to hold. A soul to confide in. Someone to share with during the pains of climbing from our own wreckage and the joys of living above the world we have created.

There is nothing, in my belief, that can ever be done to halt the burgeoning tides of affection. The soft wash in that single moment of dawning comprehension when we realize, all too suddenly, that we are completely exposed to this other person and while we are afraid more so than we ever thought possible... there is a certain comfort in knowing that this person accepts you for who your walls are meant to conceal.

This is the definition of love, no? Being emotionally present while someone exposes their soul to you, and feeling connected to them for it. Because it is in this moment, that brief half hour of truth, that we are as the first morning dew of a fresh winter. Fragile and quivering in the cold. I suspect it is during this time that we truly know whether or not we are connected to this person. Because even in its most convincing of forms, lust cannot be mistaken for love when he or she stands before you cold and naked.

Had I taken a moment to step back and feel with my heart instead of my head, would I have spent the years I did with past lovers?

Absolutely not.

So I say again. Everyone deserves to feel the warmth of a caring smile... and the wash of utter desperation that comes with loss.

- Muden Siddiqui

Coalescence (Excerpts)

 I have been working on an ever evolving story for a few years now. What follows are a few snippets taken from one of the main characters reflections somewhere halfway through what has become a huge project. 

"Breath taking shades of purple and green, red and blue, orange and yellow. It was almost too much every time he opened his eyes. The beauty of Woodhurst had never once escaped him. Not once. Fierce echoes of beauty resonating from the rich soil to scream their defiance at the encroaching lumber camps. The lush green canopies above gave the soldier shade even when the rest of the world would celebrate the Midsummer Fire Festival, every explosion of foliage strewn together by thick vines and swirling ivy stalks to form the most intricate of designs ever beheld by his tired eyes.

     He inhaled deeply of the crisp morning air, exhaling slowly, feeling the energy of his home leave the body only to be refreshed with every breath. Like a newborn child, still puzzled by the possibilities around him and just as riddled as the tides, Darrian Payne lay beside himself in the echoes of what was once home. Darrian Shadowblade lay beside himself in the arms of death his bride.

     He had come so far and yet he had only stepped farther away from the proud image he envisioned for himself as a young man. A youthful poet in the throws of an infant romance not yet burdened with a shield and a purpose. And therein, as the bard would say, lies the rub.

     The thick blades of Woodhurst grass cushioned his armored frame effortlessly, wrapping her son in a blanket of clarity so pristine he lost himself in his own rationality..."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

     "And that was the catch. The thorn from his lap of memories that pricked the thumb and drew from him a storm so loveless it rained down around him in death's shadow. The need to survive, the sacrifice he made hour after hour, drop by drop, and none of it could free him from the bondage suffered him by his captors. The darkness they drew from him and harnessed into a finely wrought steel blade only to point him at something hardly more sinister in nature and order him to bleed that they might flash shiney objects for their peers. There is much to the soul that he would never fully understand, many depths and crevices of his own to which he had no access. But he did understand the battered and beaten husk they had left him when he was no longer so anxious to please them. He remembered full well how small the prison, how sore his joints at being caged. He was fully aware of the sentient entity within his own soul that had fought him daily for control over what actions and choices were to be made.

    

     The rub indeed, was the very shield before him. The very thing that would symbolize his peoples fierce appetite for poetic justice and survival. The object that bore him his name, and yet, denied him his title. Darrian Payne would be the great guardian of Amundane, the person he, in his wildest fantasies, sought to be. Darrian Shadowblade, the person he had become, her loyal assassin. The irony did not escape him. His greatest accomplishment, the single ever burning flame in the void, was the catalyst through which his title was born. If Darrian was a Goliath behind a shield, he was a demon behind a sword. He remembered well that night so many years ago on the Wintershore when he first found in her a beautiful innocence wrapped ever so carefully in tempered ferocity and calculated rage..."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

     "It was not always Jeslyn he pledged his shield for. It was not always Jeslyn he harnessed his rage and pushed through enemy lines to return home to. Not always. He had once known the love of a woman with the most profound auburn hair and the deepest jade orbs he had ever seen. She drew him into those beautiful orbs the first night. Her smile. Her intoxicating scent. He could still taste her on his lips. Feorielyse had been his greatest blunder. Far graver a thing to lose than any battle, is the love of another. Often he thought of what could have been. And yet he knew it was not meant to be. That was not who he was. Darrian Payne, Darrian Shadowblade, was not a homely spirit and for the better part of twelve months he struggled to work through the staggering reality of losing Feorielyse"