THE BLOOD TRAVELS
21) There was no turning back now. You can't give someone an ultimatum unless
your willing to accept the outcome weather it is in your favor or not. You
must commit to the idea that you are at the end of your rope. You've done all
you can and are able to do. You know what you want, of course you do. But you
must be willing to accept the outcome. Thing is most of the time when you give
an ultimatum, just on principle you've already lost. Even if you are right and
the other person accepts the shear nature of an ultimatum. This forces the
person to reject you solely in the interest of their pride. Once again it is a
last ditch effort. Anyway, he hadn't spoken to her in days. The first days
were the hardest. After the ultimatum you erase any shred of hope. Nothing
left to hold onto, not even hope. But, it is necessary before any healing can
begin. Everyone knows the acidic stomach sickness of love. First when it's
new, lastly when its torn out. When it comes it reminds you there was nothing
there and you feel your new love. When it leaves your are reminded where there
was something now there's nothing. No need to go into detail, those who know,
know. These who don't will. Yesterday he put all the pictures in a box
gathered all the odds and ends movie tickets, buttons, and all kinds of
sentimental crap. A couple of pair a panties were in his draw and under his
bed was a broken shoe, all that went into the box too. He drove around with
the box in the back seat of his car for about a month. No one ever said it was
that easy, but it couldn't be that hard. He pulled a u-turn and drove into the
parking lot of a drive through burger joint. He dumped the box into a bin at
the back of the parking lot. On the way out he ordered a big burger, two
orders of fries and a cherry cola. His stomach felt better.

THE BLOOD TRAVELS
21) There was no turning back now. You can't give someone an ultimatum unless
your willing to accept the outcome weather it is in your favor or not. You
must commit to the idea that you are at the end of your rope. You've done all
you can and are able to do. You know what you want, of course you do. But you
must be willing to accept the outcome. Thing is most of the time when you give
an ultimatum, just on principle you've already lost. Even if you are right and
the other person accepts the shear nature of an ultimatum. This forces the
person to reject you solely in the interest of their pride. Once again it is a
last ditch effort. Anyway, he hadn't spoken to her in days. The first days
were the hardest. After the ultimatum you erase any shred of hope. Nothing
left to hold onto, not even hope. But, it is necessary before any healing can
begin. Everyone knows the acidic stomach sickness of love. First when it's
new, lastly when its torn out. When it comes it reminds you there was nothing
there and you feel your new love. When it leaves your are reminded where there
was something now there's nothing. No need to go into detail, those who know,
know. These who don't will. Yesterday he put all the pictures in a box
gathered all the odds and ends movie tickets, buttons, and all kinds of
sentimental crap. A couple of pair a panties were in his draw and under his
bed was a broken shoe, all that went into the box too. He drove around with
the box in the back seat of his car for about a month. No one ever said it was
that easy, but it couldn't be that hard. He pulled a u-turn and drove into the
parking lot of a drive through burger joint. He dumped the box into a bin at
the back of the parking lot. On the way out he ordered a big burger, two
orders of fries and a cherry cola. His stomach felt better.

THE BLOOD TRAVELS

20) Neither of them had sex in a very long time. It had taken him a year to get
beyond the woman he loved who had left. He knew he would never love anyone
like her, he also new he couldn't go on masturbating for another thirty or
forty years. She wasn't coming back and he had to move on. Her reason was not
lost love but she wouldn't sleep with a man unless something in her stirred.
She, not the "ex" but the new one hadn't stirred in a long time. She resisted
him at first but it wasn't that big of a deal since he didn't really try that
hard. Something happened though and here they were naked and in bed. Things
moved slow and that was o.k. With the both of them. Lots and lots of oral sex.
It had been so long that it wasn't such a bad thing. They both closed their
eyes and dug in. Locked into one another in the classic sixty-nine position
for what seemed like days. They may have lingered down there a little longer
to prolong the fast approaching moment of sex. He would have to enter her soon
and he was thinking about it too much. It had been so long; the pressure was
on him to be completely and totally erect. All the little tricks he knew
really only worked when it was with a partner you intimately knew. Then there
was the condom, that act unless you're hard on is raging can set you back. She
was in no hurry either; she was excited she could feel herself becoming
increasingly wet. She wanted him but was sympathetic she could see the
pressure he was putting on himself. She stopped him and started kissing his
neck. He felt her lips on his neck and he new she was understanding, they
stopped, and he took a breath. She laid back and he just looked at her, he
stopped thinking about the act. He looked at her breasts; it had been so long
since he just stared at a bare chest. He felt the weight of them in his hand. The
nipple perked up a bit which drew his lips to it. He sucked on her nipple for
some time biting and licking he began to explore her body with the tip of his
tongue. Her fingers clasped him behind the ear gently pressing his head. He
sat up and looked over her body. He looked down to the little tuft of hair
between her legs, gently he parted her legs and at this moment he realized he
was erect. With out a thought he lowered himself into her all the life rushed
back. It was as if a switch was flipped. The sex took over from there, they
were just along for the ride. They finished quickly there was no holding back.
He rolled over; there is something about that after moment, just lying there
on your back. He didn't love her, She didn't love him. They needed each other
for now. Shortly afterwards he became erect, she climbed up on top of him and
they rode into the night. They would get together roughly every other night.
It all came back to him he was a good lover and she was willing to explore.
They would experiment with positions and costumes it was exhilarating to say
the least. He didn't love her, she didn't love him. This went on for months,
she moved in. The sex was still good but only once or twice a week. They went
to party's together and shared recipes. He didn't love her, she didn't love
him. A year went by and they got married. A small ceremony some family and a
few friends. The priest said will you and they both said I do. He didn't love
her, She didn't love him. A few years pasted they had a son. He loved him, She
loved him. The boy grew up they had good jobs. One autumn day he was walking
through the park and he ran into her. The one he loved and had waited a year
for. They exchanged greetings and caught up on what had happened over the
years. He felt himself stir as she talked, he took a deep breath and looked
deep into her eyes. He still loved her, she didn't love him. They shook hands
and she walked away again. That night he lay awake in bed his wife next to him
He didn't love her, she didn't love him and she didn't love him. A strange
feeling rolled over him, nobody loved him and he didn't care. A smile came to
his lips he rolled over and mounted his wife. He made passionate love to her
with wild abandon. When they finished he went into the kitchen to make a
sandwich. As he sat there naked his wife came into join him. He offered her
half of his sandwich, which she ate. They looked at each other as they sat
their naked in the dark. There was just enough light for him to see her mouth.
He loved her mouth. He'd grown accustom to it. Not just the lips but the way
they moved. Her eyes were great, not in color but in depth after the years he
had a better understanding what was behind them. And those legs, just looking
at them made him erect. She stood up kissed him on the forehead and she walked
silhouetted by the light from beyond the kitchen door back to the bed. As he
watched her beautiful ass while she walked away he felt stupid in that
pleasant way. Somehow, some way, he was in love with his wife.

THE BLOOD TRAVELS

19) Love was something they'd never forgotten about nor ever talked about. Ever
since he'd run way from home as a teen he'd been damaged beyond recognition.
Family was something he'd read about or seen in some movie probably a foreign
film. He'd always dreamed about family and became a happy home loving father.
She was an affectionate mother from an affectionate mother and love was in
abundance. The children were generic and mundane. Spoilt left out uncovered;
all that love had gone bad. They were in love all right. The bickering they
could not live a day without. The annoyances they'd grown accustomed to. They
loved each other's faults to a fault. Endlessly, tirelessly, miraculously.
What was the point of marriage? At least not in the sate they were in.
Mentally, physically and geographically. It all goes back to a moment, life
has those moments. Those ones the good ones. Then the love happens after that,
plant a TV in the center of the room, put the pictures on the mantle, go to
bed. Plan the event take the picture tell the neighbors and the in laws a
co-worker then go to bed. The same picture as everyone else's save your own
fattening face. All those pictures on the mantle on the desk, been there done
that, tick the box, score the card. A menagerie of moments sparked by that
lost moment of love. Milian Kundera writes about it the best, Everything is
dead gutted and stuffed. But neither one would admit it. Love was dead,
mothers day breakfast in bed, fathers day a tie, some package trip or last
minute to Vegas, Easter is slipping away, a birthday an anniversary a wedding
or two, thanksgiving turkey and pumpkin pie, Christmas credit cards, lots of
junk on expensive present for him from her and one for her from him, repeat,
until divorced or dead.

THE BLOOD TRAVELS

18) Nothing seemed real. No doubt she was in another funk. In addition she kept
wondering what it would be like to be black. What was realty interesting was
her curiosity about the black experience had nothing to do with her present
funk. The idea had just presented itself, just like that. She grew up in and
around extreme prejudice but as soon as she grew older and developed a mind of
her own and all of that nonsense dropped. She saw all people the same, no that's
not true she admired the blacks. "The Blacks" she now wondered if it was even
proper to refer to the people she was thinking of as the "blacks". She spent a
moment wondering if she was ignorant but she thought not. She wasn't sure if
it was considered insensitive or not. What she was sure of was whatever she
meant or thought was in no way malicious. That she knew for a fact. She
thought for a moment then she realized that she never thought of herself as a
"white". She never referred to her family or friends as the "whites". So she
realized she was wrong, "black" or "Blacks" was not right. It was just to
think of all people the same in her mind. When she thought of her friend jack
she thought, "Jack", Blond hair, big nose, great smile, very pale, shabby
dresser, good-looking mans for the most part. If she thought of a "black" man
it should be as a man like Jack not as a man who is prefaced by the word
black. It should just be another part of what makes them, them. "James" who
worked with her was abut 6 ft tall, Dark hair, brown eyes, conservative
dresser, glasses, nice voice, brown skin, big ears, great guy. So James is
James and Jack is Jack. So now she wondered what it would be like to be James
instead of jack. Still she felt there was a difference. If there wasn't she
would wonder what it was like.

THE BLOOD TRAVELS

17) As it turned out his so-called freedom was just a role he was playing for
all the people he had left behind. In his lone wandering he was bound to an
image and an idea. Modern rouge, a rebel of sorts. His father had sold pool
and patio furniture and his office was the front seat of his car, imagine
that, strange. They never had a pool or a patio. They lived on the second
floor of a converted hotel His first role, as a boy was the one in school of a
middle class kid. No one knew he grew up in a hotel. The other kids knew he
wasn't rich but they had no idea how poor he was. Never brought any friends
home in the 6 years of high school. That was work, if a friend ask to go to
his house he'd always say lets go on an adventure instead. So instead of
sitting around watching TV at someone's house like most kids they'd storm
parking lots or terrorize department stores. He was a man of great adventure
to his friends; truth was it was just a diversion to not have to bring his
friends to his house. But, you do something long enough it sticks. It was
natural for him after school to go on living his life as he pleased differing
from place to place. He had lots of friends from school he'd left be hind and
none of them left the town. It was easy for him he'd only ever been a hotel
guest. He wasn't cast in his role, no one questioned him, he just occupied
space and time in the way he did. In that sense traveling trough time place to
place for himself as well as the friends he left behind was his occupation you
could say. When he was in some big city alone walking down main street looking
for a certain type of bar. He go in have a drink, light a smoke and sit alone.
It took a special situation for him to make a new friend; he wasn't chatty and
didn't enjoy talk about the weather. To friends he was a force, friendly and smart. He rarely met new people and usually sat alone. He knew back home all the old guys were sitting around thinking of him and his adventures. He knew to them he was at a party or in a hot tub surrounded by women traveling fast in expensive cars. He was a movie star to them. A movie star who had never been in a film, the film was in their minds, in their dreams. A few months would pass he'd drift into a new town sometimes even a different country. He'd lost him self in the role. He didn't know if he kept moving because he still wanted to see it all or because all the people back home needed a champion to carry on so they could live there lives dreaming one day they could be like him. The worst part was he could never ever go back it would kill them, hope would be lost. He lived in exile for the sake of those imprisoned by their lives. But in truth it was the moments he lived for. When
you're out there you're alone but every now and then it hits. The most
beautiful woman arrives on the scene and for a few days or months you share a
bed. If you think you've imagined a beautiful woman, amazing mind, amazing in
bed. Stop, then multiply your vision times ten. Or you come across another mad
fellow and have an adventure involving Ferris wheels and shaved heads only to wake up with an Indian tribe in some desert. Then there were the landscapes, more
addictive than cocaine. You can't just see them you need to be in them.
Canyons and rivers, palaces and churches, town squares and country roads. He
knew his only escape would be to sit down one day and write. Where ever and
whenever he stopped and put pen to paper and wrote a book from all this, that
would be home. The End.

THE BLOOD TRAVELS

16) It all looked so nice on the TV each on of them thought as they stepped out
of the car. They looked around for a moment, They were there, and they saw it
with there own eyes. They got out of the car stretched and asked a stranger to
take their picture in front of the sign. The moment right after that they all
got back in the car and sat quietly for the long trip home.

THE BLOOD TRAVELS

15) Sometimes everything seems to be going o.k. Nice weather, good pair of
shoes, money in your pocket, The sun is just shining all over you. But we all
know it's gotta rain some time. Someone's bound to say; well it's good for the
crops. You need the rain for things to grow. But, it's easier to accept the
fact that the plants need the rain. A man on the other hand don't exactly love
the rain. Sure some do, They like the sound of it or the smell of it. But
that's usually on a Sunday in the late afternoon. Most of the time it rains on
you when you gotta get some where or do something that is going to be hindered
by the fact you are soaking wet. Sitting on a porch looking across a lush
green lawn watching rain pour down on the trees while the water cascades off
the roof ain't half bad. But, it don't always come down like that. I knew a
girl once who said she hated nice sunny weather. Said it obligated her to do
things. Everybody says, It's such a nice day outside we need to do something.
Her complaint was on a nice day your meant to feel guilty if you don't do
anything. She's got a point. Regardless. You need the rain. There's nothing
like sitting on that porch in June watching the rain pour down at dusk. Sure
as hell beats "do'n something" on a sunny day. Picnics are over rated, they
are disguised work. If you're lucky you'll get a clap of thunder and the
lighting rolls in. On that sunny day you'll get sun burned or heat exhausted.
Looking out from that porch in the rain everything just seems o.k. Specially
if your lucky enough to have a dog that's afraid of thunder, the way they
huddled up next to you, makes you feel like you have it all under control.
Sometimes are better than others, sometimes, come rain, come shine. That is
fact. At some point you gotta accept that. Some time it rains, sometime it
don't. Sometimes the rain is good; sometimes it's not. Many foolish people get
upset or change their condition depending on the weather conditions. They
forget any moment it will all change and the clouds dry up and the rain goes
away and the sunshine falls down. Sometime the sun don't make it better, that
heat makes it worse or maybe it's just the same but the scenery changed. Do
you get off the porch and walk around in the sun now that the rain has stopped
or do you take a nap and wait for it to rain again. He fished around in the
breast pocket of his coveralls to find a coin. He didn't find a coin but a
token from the arcade it a had a horseshoe on one side and a four leaf clover
on the other. He was there from a summer long past when they spent the month
up at the lake and it rained the whole time. They spent all day in the arcade
on the boardwalk playing games and drinking pink lemonade. He rubbed the coin
between his finger and thumb before he flicked it into the air he missed it
coming down and it hit the ground. He looked but could not see if it was heads
or tails, heads would have been the horseshoe by the way. He decided not to
pick it up but, he'd become too fat. He decided to stay put and have a little
nap. As his head fell back in the chair and he began to snore the roof began
to pitter pat with a sun shower that soon turned into an all out rain. This
day was better than others. And that was definitely on account of the rain.

THE BLOOD TRAVELS

14) She was smart like a man. Not that a man's smarter than a woman and this
particular woman aspired to exceed her gender boundaries. Rather, her way of
thinking was typical of a man. Who can say thinking is typical? What should be
said is she was ballsy and forthright in a way that typically is seen in a
man. That's an accident waiting to happen because most men don't like their
women in the forefront. Maybe in thoughts but definitely not deeds. Most men
feared her but many admired her, other women just stayed away. She never knew
her mom and her dad was not a drunk. He was worse much worse. He was a man of high unyielding faith and learned moral convictions. Practiced in the
preaching rather than the practicing. He made her strong, he made her silent
in spite of himself and what he thought he was doing. Sometimes the absolute
worst role models and authority figures are the absolute best. The lead by bad
example ensuring the follower will never do the same wrong usually by pure
disdain. They instill qualities of truth and honesty by the blinding example
of their false lies. Basically you would rather die than be like them. She
turned eighteen and never looked back. As long as she is alive as long as she
thinks she is moving forward like a comet shooting across the sky you can help
but watch her go. She might be beautiful that depends on who's looking. The
men who loathed her loathed themselves. Had she have been a man they would
have admired her. But she wasn't.

THE BLOOD TRAVELS

13) He could make them love him but he could never stay. A few months maybe,
sometimes a year. Whatever the length of time they always ended up hating him
in the end. He never cheated, never lied, but, he could never stay. When you
remove love from the space it occupied in the brain there appears a tremendous
void not in the place where it was in the brain but oddly enough in the
stomach and the person is left with a nagging stomachache very much akin to a
toothache. The difference is a tooth can be pulled. When love is torn away the
only thing that will coagulate in the open wound is hate. Usually after a year
the hate resides and bygones are bygones and sometimes these ex lovers become
very good friends. After all there was some sort of intimate connection. Of
course some can never release the hate. You accept that in some way it is
their right, they are within their rights to hate you, even if they were
wrong. But really great hate comes from really great love so at one point it
even for a point it was really great. Too bad you can only see that in
hindsight and too bad the point is usually a sexual peek. So you are drawn
back by the sense that something was great, something that should not be
tossed away. But you can't offer the other person what it would take. So much
more fortified then becomes their hate. Best to back off for good you'd think.
But once you've been intimate with someone for the rest of your life if only a
random moment once in ten years you wonder what that person is doing right
now, and with whom. Many would agree that love is a phenomenon, but so too is
hate. And when love is not available and you are drawn to something or someone
that will inevitably turn to hate. By that time everyone knows it's too late
but, you begin all over again.