Quin Galavis

THE BATTERY LINE

Chapter 1 of 12 in the book "Evelyn Restarts The World"

La Triste Relación (Poem)

 

Everything that I’ve done has led me to this,

a decaying vessel that should not exist.

I was born on a dark moon in the east most of Spain,

to a mother that left me for debts she must pay.

And every word i learned was for my queen,

the protecter of sorrows to keep the world clean.

And all through my life I just learned from the sword,

the gun was my father and death was my lord.

When word spread of a new world to steal,

I jumped at the bargain of this new deal.

San lucar was the port I have dreamt all my life

and the five ships that lay there were to be my wife.

The voyage was long and full of disease,

the ocean was fearsome and too hard to please.

With every new island we were met with pain,

the men were deserting even despite the shame.

600 strong when we left left that blessed land,

300 weak and most cannot stand.

Florida was going to change our fate,

but more death lay there and now we can wait.

So the decision was made to split up the men,

we followed the coast for nothing but when

the greatest of storm lay our bruised ship ashore,

the company of 80 could not take much more.

Cabeza De Vaca he was our guide, 

a brave noble man with undying pride.

The natives were friends and foes alike,

but cherished our leader for his deep sight.

This land of Texas was crude and ill,

but had a strange power that all men could feel.

One day as we led the horses to drink,

a young native women sank into my dreams.

She knew I was worn and seeking bliss,

she gave me a trail that I can’t resist.

With three men with me and her as my guide,

we chased Rio Blanco deeper inside.

When the river dried out to just a small creek,

the water grew dark and we could not drink.

Tired from our journey we all went to sleep,

our dreams stopped by the sound of mens feet.

They tied us up and they cut at our feet,

demanded we tell them what we came to seek.

The sickest one of us was so close to dead,

they shortened his journey and cut off his head.

The other two men began to spit and curse,

they met a fate that could not be worse.

They took me their insides and screamed in my face,

demanded again what I came to chase.

Before i could speak a knife plunged in my gut,

it wasn’t deep but i knew twas enough.

The native girl then let out a great shout,

she had cut through her ropes and she quickly ran out.

The men they gave chase and left me alone,

I seized at the chance that girl had shown.

As a divine guidance i knew where to go,

my feet where bloody, my body was slow.

I made a great distance between me and the tribe,

my path became clear yet so hard to describe.

I crested a hill to a large open field, 

the late afternoon sun was comfort to feel.

And near the edge, to a dark lonesome wood,

was a small pit, with two guards that stood.

It was an old man who shook while he spoke,

and a boy child hidden under his cloak.

He told me he knew that I would arrive,

a sacred place he guarded and i can’t come inside.

Frustrated at the sight of this four foot hole,

I yelled at the old man can this save my soul.

He shook his old hands and told me to go,

I strangled him there and threw his body low.

The child with great fear leapt in to the trees,

a regret washed over me with the new breeze.

My blood dark and flowing from its wound,

I fell in the pit and made it my tomb.

As soon as my back touched the soft ground,

there was a blinding flash and a deep sound.

I was pulled to a place that I will try to describe,

streets made of tar and steel chariots ride.

Down the road, the old meadow remained,

but in the field many children played. 

People moved on this old sacred land,

like it was nothing under their great plan. 

And then appeared a man who knew my name,

his eyes where all black and so full of pain.

He said I had took him here so long ago,

I told him he is a man that i do not know.

Then there appeared a great black screen,

that showed us events from creation to unseen.

As shocked as i was at this new insight, 

I begged for the old me and my old life.

The Man and I now back where I last stood,

he said his good byes and entered the wood

I stood for a year and watched my body decay,

this brave conquistador just rots away.

I stood for a day, i stood for a week,

i stood for there for years with no words to speak.

One day that child now so old and grown, 

came to bury the old man that he left alone.

And a deep shock run all across his face,

as I stand there arrogant, in this sacred place.

The warrior grab his knife and said he is unafraid,

he inched his way closer tight to his blade.

The warrior angry kicked dirt from the ground,

I didn’t move my feet, I didn’t make a sound.

He shouted to me "demon why don’t you care”.

I told him my new name, please call me the mare.

 

 

Chapter 2 of 12 in the Book "Evelyn Restarts The World"

The Dueling Gardens Part 1

     The universe is a cold place, in temperature and soul. Its drive for balance makes it this way. When evil rises up, the universe will vanquish it, and all the souls rejoice. When good rises up, the universe will vanquish it, and all the souls mourn. It wants balance from the micro to the macro. It will not stop the murder, but it will punish those responsible. It will not make your job better, but it knows of a better job. It will not stop the accident, but it will provide seat belts. When Manuel Diaz’s father died in the vast expanse of the South Pacific, the universe did not hear his cries as he descended toward the unknown, but it did hear the cries of a mother as doctors franticly worked on bringing life back into her new born child.
    Manuel Diaz did not know of his true father until he was an adult. His mother was seventeen and two months pregnant when she learned her boyfriend and father of of her unborn child died. Afraid of what an already judgmental society would think, she quickly married the first man that was interested. She told herself over and over that she would learn to love this man, that he would be a good father, but sadly hopes like these seldom come true. Instead he was an arrogant drunk, vicious and abusive. He broke the young woman's spirit, made her feel ashamed and guilty of her own emotions. He created walls of abuse that she eventually mistook as security, and with this she would not leave. The one light in her life was her son, not because it reminded her of a deceased boyfriend, but of a deceased self.
    She had six children with this man. As the years went on, his drinking went from drunk at the job, to drunk with no job. Starting at age ten, Manuel Diaz and his mother were the sole providers for the home.  When one was at work, the other watched the children. Keeping a large family fed is hard, keeping a large man drunk, is even harder. Manuel Diaz was a good man. He never blamed his mother, he never took his anger out on his half siblings, and he never showed resentment to the man who created this world. Manuel’s calm attitude angered his step-father, making violence in the home a nightly occurrence. This sort of environment is viral, it infects the mind and reproduces. It takes almost a supernatural strength to stop the spread of abuse, but it can be done, and Manuel Diaz was living proof. Through his teens he was an anchor for an entire family. Sadly his siblings could not shake their childhood and slipped into destructive and often deadly situations. His brother, second oldest and just a year younger than Manuel, was killed in a botched robbery at the age of sixteen. Manuel sold his only possession, a 1958 Fender Stratocaster, to pay for the coffin. When his fifteen year old pregnant sister was arrested for accessory to armed robbery, Manuel worked 100+ hours each week for a month to bail her out so she wouldn’t have to have her baby in jail, a baby the state immediately took.
    Manuel Diaz’s first love was music. He finally saved enough money to buy another guitar, but knew it could take him a year to save for an amp. He was a regular at the music store, so he asked if he could clean the shop for credit, which the shop owner agreed to. Being at the music store was the first happy time of Manuel’s life. He would often forget about the burdens of home, when deep in a music conversation. His taste refined past what the radio would play, his playing ability shifted from recital to creativity, his raw talent and soul became a new drive. At the store he was around people like him for the first time and he loved it. Manuel was an encyclopedia of musical knowledge: gear, bands, theory etc. He knew it all. The shop owner, impressed with Manuel, offered him a full time job with commission, which would earn him more than the three other jobs he had combined. The shop owner even printed business cards with Manuel’s name on them, something he hid from his step-father but showed his mother. It was the first time in eighteen years that he saw true joy on her face. He met guys from all over town, some even referred to him because of his knowledge. Often when a group of individuals get together to talk music, there is an inevitable bookend statement...”We should start a band!”   Manuel did not suggest it but was overjoyed that someone did, and then another one of Manuel’s dreams came true; he had a band. The shop owner had a head for business and knew that these guys were great, so he let them practice at the shop and sponsored them; he even bought a car for them to tour in.
    "Los Truenos Pesada” was the name they settled on and they were a hit in the Chicano Rock scene. Manuel Diaz was a dynamic and innovative guitar player. He played loud and soulfully and he went against conventions by using high gain and thicker gauge strings than his contemporaries. With the heavier sound, they may have pushed away more of the pop audience but gained massive respect from their peers, which led to a great influx of business for the shop. It was an exciting time for Manuel: he had money to support his mother, his step-father was growing weak and docile, his siblings who were still in the home were old enough to help his mother. Manuel toured with his band for six years all across the United States, he even played some shows in Great Britain. During those years he never got married or had a serious girlfriend. He loved his independence, since it was the first time in his life he had it. In May of 1969, Manuel Diaz received a letter to his mother’s home. The letter read that he had been selected by the draft to serve in a war he knew little about, in a country called Vietnam.
    Manuel learned of his real father before he shipped out. His mother, distraught, was convinced her son would have to face the same fate his father did 25 years before. She pleaded with her son to object; he was older and had a career, so it was possible to get out of service, but Manuel didn’t want to. When he learned of his father it became a missing piece that left him with a new calm, a reassurance that he could become his own man and his step-father was no longer a vision of his future.
    Manual Diaz was one of the oldest drafted men; his caring nature and confident demeanor, along with his age, quickly made him the wise older brother of his squad. The men and even some commanding officers came to him for comfort and strength, something he was willing to give even as his own anxiety would rise. While on patrol on a balmy July day in the A Shau Valley, Manuel’s platoon was ambushed. It was fast and fierce. Manuel was shot three times, once in the abdomen and twice in his left thigh, which completely shattered his femur but missed his femoral artery. He was the second person to be hit in the attack and was rendered unconscious immediately. He did not hear his friends cry out to him for help as they were mowed down, thankfully it is something he never knew. Manuel was rescued, barely alive. He went in to cardiac arrest twice but pulled through. “Miracle Manuel" is what the the doctors called him. A miracle indeed but not with out a cost, his leg was gravely injured; the doctors removed portions of his femur making his left leg shorter than the right. The muscles were completely destroyed, causing him to walk with a limp and a cane. After recovering in Japan for six months, Manuel received his disability discharge and was sent home.
    Manuel settled back into life. He couldn’t physically handle life on the road so he decided to not rejoin his band, but he did go back to work at the music store. Before the owner died, he made Manuel the general manager: a wise choice. Manuel made it his mission to keep the store current and hip. He built a stage in the back of the store and let new bands play, and he added new records to the inventory. In August of 1976 a young woman named Patricia came into the store to buy an acoustic guitar for her brother. Manuel helped her and the two immediately hit it off. Patricia would come into the store frequently and eventually Manuel asked her out on a date.
    Over the next ten years the two were inseparable, they traveled the world and traveled their souls. The two never married; they didn’t see the point in it. They learned early on that Patricia was unable to have children; she would frequently get depressed about this but Manuel reassured her of his love and would always bring her back up. In 1984, Manuel surprised Patricia with a home. Their home was small but with two big yards, one in the front and one in the back. Patricia loved to garden and before they even unpacked she was in the front yard mapping out her dream garden. Though she had the talent to grow anything, her passion was flowers, especially roses. She made a beautiful walkway to the front door lined with a spectacular array of rose bushes. People would come from all over to look at them in bloom, often asking if they could take wedding, Quinceañera, and even funeral pictures in front of them. For two years Manuel and Patricia lived in complete bliss, until the spring of 1986.
    Patiricia was diagnosed with a rare and aggressive form of cancer. Though she put up a fight, she quickly succumbed to it and passed away in July of 1986; this is what finally broke Manuel Diaz. He slipped into a deep depression, fueled not only by the loss of his best friend, but by the forty-three emotionally and physically painful years he had lived. He stopped going to work, started drinking heavily, and never left the house. His stepfather died in the winter of 1986 and his mother moved in to his spare bedroom. She tried her best to bring him out of his depression, but nothing was getting through. Patricia’s garden rotted away, and with each dying plant a little of Manuel died as well. One morning in March of 1987, Manuel Diaz decided to commit suicide. Knowing his mother could not handle him dying, especially to suicide, he decided he would take his kayak far out into the ocean and go overboard. With his disability, the ocean would take him quickly, and if someone found his body there wouldn’t be much left to identify. It wasn’t the best plan but desperate men rarely are looking for perfection.
    Manuel was just finished loading his kayak into his truck when he heard someone approach him from behind.
    “Hello, going fishing?” the person asked. Manuel turned around and saw that it was his neighbor from across the street, Mr. Powell, whom he had never spoken to. Patricia and Manuel went to say hello when they moved in but Mr. Powell never came to the door. The times they saw him after that he never responded to their greetings. The other neighbors told them that Mr. Powell has lived on this block forever and was a mean man who has always looked that old.
    “No…just a canoe trip,” Manuel responded, a little shocked and annoyed that today had to be the first day he spoke with Mr. Powell.
    “Hmm...didn’t pack many provisions,” Mr. Powell said as he looked in the bed of the truck. Manuel moved to block Mr. Powell’s prying eyes.
    “No, it’s a short trip.” Manuel, clearly frustrated, turned on his truck to leave.
    “Well, I figure I will start growing some roses, it couldn’t be that hard. Since your wife died, this block has lost a lot of color, and since you are clearly going on a one way trip I figured you wouldn’t mind,” Mr. Powell said as he poked at one of the dried rose bushes. Manuel was taken aback by the comment, not just how rude it was but that Mr. Powell knew what he was planning on doing.
    “What did you say?” Manuel angrily asked as he stepped out of the truck.
    “Well, I have seen that look in a man’s eye before, and that’s the look of a man who has decided to kill them self. So I figured I would come here to let you know that I was planning to grow some roses. Patricia did a re-"
    “Don’t ever say her name again. I don’t know why you are bothering me. Go away, now.” Manuel demanded.
    “Okay, well I hope you reconsider your plans today.” Mr. Powell began to walk back to his house but as he got halfway across the street he turned back towards Manuel.
    “They really made the block look great…I think I will start tomorrow.”
    Manuel was furious and shaken. He didn’t know what to make of his encounter and decided not to go to the ocean that day. Instead he paced around his living room, thinking of things he should have said and done. The next morning he patiently stared out of the window at Mr. Powell’s house. Sure enough, at 8 a.m. Mr. Powell emerged with a gardening hat and shovel. Manuel couldn’t believe it; he cursed and punched his wall. The ugly man across the street was going to try and mimic something his beautiful wife put her soul into? Manuel was not going to stand for such disrespect. Within these moments a warmth flowed through Manuel, a life and new reason came to him. He was going to honor Patricia and make her garden grow again. At quick glance it seemed to be out of spite for Mr. Powell, but to Manuel it was about creating life where there was none, in the soul and in the ground. The next day Manuel started early, pulling the dead bushes out of the ground, laying new soil and planting seeds. Mr. Powell came out at 8 a.m. and looked at his new competitor.
    “I’m happy you changed your mind about your trip,” Mr Powell shouted across the street as he began to dig. Manuel smiled and paused from his work.
    “Good luck to you Mr. Powell.”
    The two men went back to work on their gardens.
   

Chapter 4 of 12 in the Book "Evelyn Restarts the World"

Melissa and Tobias(Toby)

They haven't been able to get together in months. Tobias started working for a same day, twenty four hour courier service, the money is great but requires a flexible schedule. Melissa is still at Dr. Sanders’ office; she loves her job but between the family and work, getting time to herself is an all but rare treat.
    “Toby, I’m sorry I suggested downtown…I’m sure you are tired of it,” Melissa says as the two walk down the club lined street. It’s early enough to make it calm and a bit serene, just tourists and their families rushing to their cars to escape the inevitable onslaught of the revelers and special nighters.
    “No, no don’t worry about it. I like it down here,” Tobias reassures. He pats Melissa’s shoulder. The two take in the setting sun as the bartenders scribble their evening two dollar you-call-it deals on chalk boards.
    “Well little brother, how have you been,” Melissa asks as she playfully nudges her brother.
    “I’ve been well, just keeping busy…or trying to,” he quietly answers, staring at his feet as they walk.
    “That’s good. Still writing?” asks Melissa.
    “No…not really,” he quickly answers.
    “Toby you love to write, don’t stop,” Melissa encourages.  “And what about Daryl, are you still seeing each other.”
    “No, well, kind of. He’s been on tour for while and has been sort of weird when he’s in town-“ Tobias sighs, stops and checks his phone. “Or I’ve been weird. Where do you want to go?”
    Melissa closes her eyes and spins around with her finger extended. Tobias helps her spin, as a brother would.  Picking up speed and losing balance, she suddenly stops. Melissa has made her choice.
    “Ahhhh-THIS ONE!” says Melissa as she regains footing. The bars are the same, the drinks are the same, maybe some subtle differences in decor. But this one felt right to our siblings, it was quiet, maybe overlooked by the hordes. All bars have their flaws, some play music to loud, some play music to bad, but this one seemed right.
    Catching up is important to any relationship on any level. The real pity comes when seeing someone after a great distance in time and being uninterested in telling them your life and even worse than that, hearing about theirs. This was not the case with our siblings, they truly enjoyed each other’s company. They were excited to share some of the future and unashamed to remember the past, while allowing each other to finish and express their thoughts. With each drink and good conversation, their surroundings seemed to improve. The confused theme, Irish pub meets some sort of island rum bar, seemed almost ironic. The jukebox, 90’s pop punk with with a splatter of over played 60’s and 70’s soul and R&B, had them singing along. The Bartender, also singing along, but really trying to hit the high notes, was desperately trying to sell them on some crudely named concoction made mostly of everclear and cranberry juice.  He convinced them to buy one despite its ten dollar price tag.
    When you’re comfortable and alcohol has activated the spirit, the reliance on traditional story structure becomes more apparent. Keeping conversation light throughout a solid brother-sister happy hour event is an exercise in futility. Melissa knows her brother, and though he appears to want to change the subject back to the trite bullshitting of the night, he really wants her to dive deeper. For Melissa, this could be a dangerous endeavor. Tobias is sensitive, and he has put himself in extreme situations to either prove to himself or the world that he is not. Melissa knows that their life wasn’t that bad, but she has learned how unproductive the “Get over it-” or “Other people have it-" statements can be. So with the caution that sometimes only an older sibling can possess, she dives in the dark water of a sensitive mind.
    “So Toby, Mom says your therapist from group called her worried, looking for you. Did you stop going?” Melissa asks.
    “…yeah…” Tobias softly answers while playing with his drink.
    “Toby! I thought you liked it, you told me it was helping so much.”
    “I did, I did- I just felt weird about my issues. Some of those people are military and saw combat-saw some real shit. I felt like a fraud.” Tobias continues to swirl his ice with the straw.
    “Oh Toby,” Melissa puts her hand on his shoulder. “You’ve dealt with a lot since dad died, I think that’s why you wanted to be a paramedic. I have always admired that courage, especially with the anxiety you have.  You know your job wasn’t easy, right? Toby?
    "Yes..yeah I know. I just feel ashamed for quitting. I also feel ashamed for being such a wreck for six months; group really did help at first. I got some tools to help with the PTSD and met some great people. Just, after a while it started to weigh on me and it had me thinking…my whole life has been devoted to death,” Toby says and quickly downs his drink.
     “One more please,” Toby politely asks the all too present bartender.
    “Well that seems like a good epiphany, like maybe you can start focusing on life,” says Melissa.
    “No, no it’s not like that. It’s almost subconscious, like death is a theme that was predetermined for me. A lot of people lose their parents, a lot of people have jobs where they have to deal with dying. My life seems built for it, or least my thoughts do.”
    Tobias stops talking as the bartender places the drink on a bar napkin, which Tobias will inevitably roll nervously into a ball then shred into a thousand little pieces.
    “I will take one more as well,” Melissa says to the bartender as she sips the last of her drink. “Toby, death is a theme for everyone. You are so creative and truly caring…I think that adds to the anxiety, making you see death in the things you love," Melissa says with deep concern for her brother.
    “Maybe, you’re right. My imagination gets to me sometimes,” Toby says as he puts his hand to his head.
    “You are going to be okay Toby, we all are,” Melissa says as she hugs her brother.
    After the death of their father, their mother had a hard time coming to grips with his passing. Melissa was fifteen years old, going through what normal fifteen year olds go through, as well as having to be the emotional back bone for her mother and her brother. Melissa learned to mourn inside while keeping a stone face to the outside world. Tobias admires her, and of course is always worried. Two more people enter the bar, they seem intent on doing some serious drinking. Something our siblings seem to have done on accident. A good night of drinking has no plans or intents. You see, that’s why celebrations fail; when give yourself the expectation on how you are supposed to feel, you never meet it. It is the same with anxiety, when you always plan for the worst thing to happen, and then it doesn’t, you get another tool to fight it. You think to yourself “How could I imagine the worst thing and then it actually comes true?” That’s just not possible and would introduce a supernatural element that you and I do not have the mental capacity to explore.
    “Something really weird happened to me last week,” says Tobias.
    “Whats that?” Melissa asks, as she hums along to the trash spewing from the jukebox.
    “Remember I told you before dad died that, in the hospital, he woke up from his sleep?” Tobias asks.
    “Yes vaguely. He said something to you right?” Melissa asks concerned,
    “Yeah, he just woke up and mumbled something, you and mom had gone to the cafeteria. And he sorta thrashed around then stopped and
 said “Toby it’s okay, it’s okay” and I came up to him and told him “I’m okay Daddy" but he kept saying “it's okay, it’s okay." I thought about getting a nurse because I didn’t know if he was supposed to be asleep, but as soon as I was about to leave he opened his eyes and looked right at me.”
    “What did he say to you?” Melissa asks with anticipation, as her eyes visibly well up.
    “He said “Little Toby, no one ever dies.” and then smiled and went back to sleep.”
    “Toby, was that the day before he died?"
    “Yes,” Toby answers nodding his head.
    “Toby, that is beautiful. No, I don’t remember this.” Melissa says as she wipes a tear from her cheek, takes a breath, and regathers her thoughts.  “Wow. So what happened last week?”
    “Well, Daryl has been on tour for like a month. We have been sorta texting, last week he was in St. Louis, his grandma lives there so he went to visit her before the show. She's like this New Age healer and psychic."
    “Really!”
    “Yeah big time, she has a palm reading fortune shop off of the interstate. Anyway, Daryl was texting me about being at her place, so I asked him to say hi for me, he did, and she responded that I had been on her mind.”
    “Had you met her in person before?” asks Melissa.
    “Once at Daryl’s sister’s graduation party, for like 20 minutes.”
    “You’ve got that lasting effect Toby,” Melissa jokes.
    “Ha I guess, so I’m wondering if that’s a good or bad thing…you know coming from a psychic.”
    “Totally.”
    Toby takes another drink and pulls out his phone and scrolls to find the text thread.
    “So here is what he responds, “She said, tell Toby that no one ever dies…idk.” Tobias takes a deep breath, puts his phone away, and takes another yet larger drink.
    Melissa, obviously taken aback with the text message, shivers as the goosebumps rise. She doesn’t put too much stock in coincidence, but she is human and some connections are just too on the nose.
    “That is weird Toby, you never told Daryl about what dad said?” Melissa asks searching for a smoking gun.
    “Absolutely not. And Daryl is a vault about personal things; he is uncomfortable even remembering.” Tobias defends.
    “Toby, that is a very strange coincidence-I know you Toby,” Melissa leans in. “I know you are going to read too deep into this. It's just a sentence, a generic sentence. She probably knows the type of work you did and offered some hippie spiritualism to make you feel better. Everything is okay Toby.”  Melissa says and finishes her drink. Tobias also finishes and stares off, while the wheels of his imagination begin to turn. Melissa quick to notice these thing, goes for a tested diversion.
    “Okay, let’s have one more and get out of here.” Melissa asks the bartender for one more round. He quickly abides.
    “Speaking of text messages, I got one from Evelyn a few days ago, she was just seeing how I was doing,” Melissa says.
    “Really? I saw Paul at the store not too long ago, he looked terrible. Dark eyes, obviously tweaked out,” Tobias says as the bartender places their drinks down.
    “Hey guys, in a couple of minutes we are starting our open mic,” the enthusiastic bartender says.
    “Really? Like singer songwriter stuff?” Tobias asks in an obvious uninterested-but-trying-to-be-nice tone.
    “Sometimes, but mostly poetry, some spoken word, and comedy. It’s pretty cool,” says the even more enthusiastic bartender.
    “Sounds cool, but I think we are going to close out,” says Melissa trying her hardest not to sound rude.
    “Cool cool,” the bartender says stylishly as he walks to the P.O.S..
    “Yikes, perfect last call,” Tobias says, relieved at his sister’s fast action.
    “Totally, but yeah, that’s the main reason I don’t call Evelyn anymore. Paul is a shitty guy, I don’t want to be anywhere near him,” Melissa says, continuing their conversation.
    “I can't believe she is still with that guy. You know, Paul and I got in a fight in the fourth grade. He pulled a knife on me!" Tobias exclaims.
    “What!? Toby! You never told me that. Where was that?” Melissa asks shocked.
    “It was right in front of Manuel Diaz' house. Ha, right in front of his award winning rose bushes. Ha,” Tobias says laughing.
    “Wait, you mean nice Mr. Manny’s house? Evelyn and I used to help him with those roses. Oh my god, I bet you those terrible nephews had something to do with that.”
    “Yeah, Mike was the one that got us to fight, I didn’t want to and I think Paul didn’t want to either. I ran away once he pulled the knife out. We never talked about it again. I mean we weren’t friends or anything, I bought weed from him in high school and saw him at some parties with you and Evelyn,” Tobias says, as he notices a group of people come into the bar.
    “Paul is trash, I just can’t be there for Evelyn as long as he is around. He is dangerous- looks like the entertainment is here, let finish these,” Melissa says as she and Tobias guzzle down their drinks.
    The bartender lays the tab on the bar, thanks them, and goes to help with the P.A. as the Next Big Star takes the stage. Melissa and Tobias sign the check and get up to leave. The Next Big Star looks nervous. He brought three or four friends to the show tonight. That should help with nerves, I have heard alcohol is good too. When taking a stage for the first time, it’s good to read your audience. If they look uninterested in you, accommodate them. If they look like they want to party, give them a party. You are NOT sacrificing your art, you are just adjusting to what they want. Remember, you are there to entertain them. Sadly, The Next Big Star is green to such things and he does what I feel to be the most embarrassing and amateurish action that can ever be perpetrated: Begging for fleeing audience members to stay!
    “Hey, where you guys going? I’m just getting started!” the foolish Next Big Star loudly asks, as the mic feeds back.
    “Sorry have to go, have a good show buddy,” Tobias says politely as he and Melissa scramble to the door.
    “Ah ok…what's y’all’s names?” the Next Big Star (bozo) crassly asks our very uninterested siblings.
    “Um. Toby and Melissa,” Tobias says as he finally makes it to the door. Melissa nudges Tobias as if to tell him “Why did you say anything?”
    “Cool…cool, well I’ve got some poetry I’m going to read tonight. This one goes out to Melissa and Toby…It’s titled “No One Ever Dies.”
   

Welcome to my site

The First Cut Is The Deepest

To me, true artistic expression has to be self aware. It must have the ability to criticize and encourage, as well as laugh, mock and loathe the fact it exists. With this intelligence, it allows itself to be interpreted any way it and the observer see fit. The goal of my art is for it to exist free of time, shaping and growing with the observer. 

A Story?

There is a story, a very long story. The Characters all exist here and there. Some are obvious, others might take some interpretation of facts presented

Music scene melody pop art..

Music is the corner stone of every scene.  Sometimes a song is just a song, sometimes its that last piece of the puzzle to fill out your most treasured scene. 

My name is Quin, an artist who plays music...I am a main character