... as Pizza is to Love

Poems about Love and one about Pizza
by Kyle Sanders

Pebble

Among the ash and dirt on my wooden floor
You sit, a lonely pebble.
The soles of my shoes have carried you in
From your home in the yard.

I cursed you for being underfoot,
For scraping on the wood.
Today or tomorrow, I may tire of seeing you
And kick you out of my house.

You will be replaced by another pebble,
Whether you like it or not.
Fate had brought you into my life
But we both want out of this abusive relationship.

I Meant To Say, Don't Leave Me Just Yet

It's Christmas Eve, don't be late for dinner, she said.
Meet my family but don't talk too much, she said.
Bring your gifts, wear something nice, she said.
This is really important. Don't screw it up.

I'll be in town for just one day, he said.
I can help you make that table, he said.
It will take all day, he said.
She's going to be mad. What will you tell her?

I'm going to be late for dinner, I said.
I'm doing carpentry with him, I said.
I'll call you when I'm done, I said.
I forgot to say I'm sorry.

She wouldn't say anything.
He couldn't say anything.
I tried to say something.
Damn you, damn you, beer pong table.

My Pizza

Black olives means I'm sophisticated.
Pepperoni says I'm still a kid.
Sausages are for nerds.
Peppers say, "I know pizza."
Regular crust is for lovers.
Sauce is for fighting.
Extra cheese all the time
Because I don't know where I'm going.

Navy Letters

I wrote you a letter since you're so far away.
Email would be faster, but I hated that desk.
I said what I wanted; it's still true today.
I poured out my heart while it was still fresh.

I'd hoped you'd understand my life on my boat.
There was more to that letter, but I sent much less.
I wasted hours and hours rewriting that note.
I just didn't get it. I was kind of a mess.

Four things I wanted; I had a list at the time.
Three things I forget, but I know the fourth was you.
I forget what else I had on my mind
As I poured out my heart across miles of blue.

I hated Ronnie though we two rode fences.
But we became friends, because he knew you too.
We shared memories, stories, and experiences.
But shipmate,you loved me less than I loved you.

The Third Pillow

There's a third pillow on my bed
That's a different color than the others.
Formerly, I just used one pillow,
By itself, no need for more.

Suddenly, there's another two.
I used to be
A single pillow kind of guy
Until I met you.

You can't lay on my chest all night,
But I still want you to stay.
Tomorrow, you bring your own pillows.
I'm no longer a bachelor.

I threw out my white sheets,
Replaced them with purple sheets,
With two purple pillows,
But the third is a different color.

It's usually just me,
But I still have three pillows.
I'm used to your presence
Even though you're long gone.

Canyons And Stars

We bounced up the canyon road.
Your lil' Jeep was built for this.
We came to a spot and stopped.
The rocks on the edge, you said.
This is where people make out.
Shall we get out, you asked me?
Let's keep going to the top
Of the mountain, whispered I.
The hood of your Jeep was warm
On our backs as we star gazed.
I held your hand, remember?
We spotted Mickey Mouse in
Star constellations above.
You were happy; I was, too.
We talked on the phone all night
After you moved far away.
But remember, as I do,
Canyons around, stars above,
White knuckled ride down the trail.
I'll see you when we're older.

...as Short Story is to Masquerade

     Ok!  So first things first, this last Saturday's themed party was a huge success.

     I'm really excited at the prospect of continuing to host theme parties in the future.  This party was pirate-themed; we all dressed like pirates, and even had grog and Caribbean music playing.  The grog (rum, water, sugar, and lime juice) was a huge hit!  Yosh put it out in a big blue punch bowl, and the first batch was gone in about two hours.  He only made one more batch after that, but only because we ran out of juice.

     There was no drama in the house this time, unless you count Nicole climbing into the attic crawl space as drama, but I count it as "flavor."  Yeah, Nicole Garces decided she wanted to be up in the crawl space above the garage, then in the house's crawl space.  I followed on the second crusade, and we found duct tape (score!), the biological and technological distinctiveness of which has been added unto our own. We are the borg, resistance is futile.

    The next theme party we are planning is going to be a Mardi Gras party, like a masquerade.  Our new roommate, Stephen Carter, (oh yeah, we have replaced Ray now) tells me masquerade parties are a lot of fun.  So, this Saturday, I will be hosting a mask-choosing party, similar to a tupperware party, if you know how those work.  It turns out that my friend from Physics & Calc classes, Bradon, has a girlfriend who makes and sells fancy masquerade masks.  So, Saturday will be the day for people to come over, have some champagne, hang out, and most importantly, figure out what they want to buy from Bradon's girlfriend, or even have her make a custom mask.  Both the mask party and the full masquerade should be a lot of fun.  Also on deck are a zombie party, an 80's party, and maybe even a Hawaiian Luau when it gets closer to the summer.

     Here is a short story I wrote for my Creative Writing class called "Short Story". It is an incomplete story, but the assignment was only to get through a chunk of the rising action.

Short Story

                Maria swung herself down from the apple tree she was climbing, her bare feet sinking into the moist grass beneath the tree. She folded herself down onto the ground in front of her younger brother Edward, their knees touching, both bent forward to inspect their treasures.

                Edward picked from the little pile of dirt in his hand an earthworm, the plunder from their joint expedition to the bank of the creek behind their house, and presented it to his older sister. “See,” said Maria, “worms like to live in apples,” and she placed the worm onto the apple to see if it would burrow in.  They watched their little friend squirm upon the apple’s surface until it fell off into the grass.

                “Get it, get it!” yipped Edward.  Maria plucked up the earthworm and tossed it onto Edward’s face in one motion. He squealed in equal terror and delight, falling over backwards, dropping the rest of his worm-dirt in the grass.

                Maria’s twin brother Sebastian stepped out of the woods and called out to her. “Maria, mira,” Sebastian beckoned Maria over to see what he was holding. Maria shuffled to her feet to see the prize that Sebastian had brought back to them. Sebastian carried his shirt bundled up in his arms, but dumped it at Maria and Edward’s feet. He kneeled in the grass, unfolding the cloth to reveal a small box-turtle that Sebastian had found in the pond in the woods. Edward squealed again, clapping his little hands, wanting to hold the little brown and green turtle.

                “Edwardito, no, vas a casa,” said Sebastian to little Edward, telling him to go home.

                “I want it, I want it!” cried Edward.

                Sebastian left the shirt on the ground and carried the turtle away, its head and legs tucked defensively inside its shell. “You want to see it?” chided Sebastian, “Then go and get it!”

                Maria realized what Sebastian was about to do and threw her hands out at Sebastian crying “Hermano, no!” but it was too late. Sebastian threw the little turtle as he did with many other toys of Edward’s, up on to the steep roof of their house. The poor creature bounced dully off the cedar shingles of the garage, then slid down into the gutter overhanging the back porch.

                Little Edward balled his fists into his own messy brown hair, and made a face like he was going to throw a fit. But he didn’t. Fists still in his hair, he ran across the grass and through the open back porch door into the house.

                “Edward, no! Wipe your feet! No, no, no!” screamed their mother from somewhere in the house. “You come back down here this instant! Don’t make me come up there!” She started counting, as if that was all it would take to bring the youngster back and stop the muddy foot-prints from continuing on through the house.

                Outside, Sebastian laughed. Maria hit him on the arm twice, three times, rattling off all the bad words she knew. “Now mama’s going to make us clean up the mud in the kitchen, Sebastardo,” Maria swore at Sebastian.

                “I gone get it, I gone get it!” they heard from around the corner of the house. Out of his bedroom window, Edward climbed, dropping slowly down towards the peak of the garage roof.

                “Edward, no! Come down from there!” shouted Maria up to her little brother.

                Edward dangled by his elbows and forearms, trying to reach with his tiptoes the steeply angled roof. For his older brother, this would have been an easy task, but Edward’s little feet dangled dangerously a full three feet or more above the shingled roof.

... as First-Person is to Third-Person

This is my latest English assignment.  I'm supposed to write about a shoplifting incident, first from first-person point of view from the thief, then write it again but from third-person subjective point of view.

The Thief, First Person

    “Boring teeth, boring teeth,” I think out loud, as I step out of the summer sun into the Walgreens. I rub my tongue back and forth over my upper incisors, feeling the smoothness. My teeth are fairly straight and fairly white; my gums a decent shade of pink. I have no idea how to make my teeth more interesting. Aren't teeth supposed to be flawless? That's supposed to make them the most interesting teeth, ever. What am I here for again?

    Snacks. Birthday cards. Feminine hygiene. Pharmacy meds. Okay, snacks is a decent start. I like Doritos, grab a bag; no, the Family Size bag. I wander further down the aisle.

    Hair-spray. Deodorant. Toothpaste. There are a dozen brands of toothpaste. What do I have at home? “Mmmm. Pepsodent. Heh!” I laugh to myself, my own personal inside joke. I haven't used Pepsodent in years. Colgate, perhaps? But Colgate-what? There are like 4 Colgates. I don't care. I grab one. I grab another so I don't have to come back in here for a while.

    I take a turn down a different aisle. This one's mostly cleaning supplies. Compact fluorescent light bulbs, perfect. They're bright as hell. Al Gore said they save the planet. They have white and they have off-white and they have blue. What if my teeth were a different color like blue? Even smurfs don't have blue teeth. I would be Time magazine's godamn man of the year if I had blue teeth.  Maybe then she wouldn't say I had boring teeth. I skip the blue light bulbs, grab a white one. My hands are full, or I would grab like four of these.

    I need a basket. Back up the aisle, through the front door, there it is. There's purpose in my stride, and I step out into the sun again. Everything goes in the basket. Now I can buy whatever I want.

    “Hey,” says a stern voice behind me, “I think you better stay right where you are, son. Sam, yeah I got him, and he sure is that same punk kid.” His radio mumbles something, and Mr. Guard tells me to sit down on the curb.

The Thief, Third Person

    A wayward soul floats on the stifling summer air, chancing through the Walgreens' front door. His long-sleeve jacket with the hood pulled up just about screams “shoplifter”. Sam the manager glances up from his Farmville efforts in the back room to the security feed on the monitors. It's the same guy as last week!

    The intercom pisses out some kind of pipe-fed noise called Muzak into the store from speakers embedded above. The theme today, like every other day, is elevator music. The piss-music is interrupted, “Marvin to the office.” The wayward soul falters a step as he considers whether the words “Marvin” or “office” might have anything to do with him. Of course no one in the store would be calling out to him, so the wayward soul drifts down an aisle or two, snatching items from the shelves haphazardly. Toothpaste, a bag of chips, and a box of light bulbs jostle for finger-holds in his hands.

    Old Man Marvin, in his blue rent-a-cop outfit, stands behind Sam. He speaks into the radio on his shoulder, “Sam, why don't you try the radio. I'm right the fuck behind you.”

    Sam, still seated, picks up his own radio, speaking into it as he turns around in his chair, “Smart ass.” Sam taps on the TV, pointing at camera four. “There he is again, Marvin. And oh! Oh! Right for the door!”

    Marvin is out of that back room before Sam can even get the chance to boss him around. Marvin knows his job. He's been put here on God's Green Earth for one reason and one reason alone: to beat the snot out of this little shithead, should he resist arrest of course. Marvin catches up to the shithead in the green hooded jacket right outside the door. “Hey I think you better stay right where you are, son,” he says to his thief. All that evidence, right in the basket, how perfect, thinks Marvin. To Marvin's great disappointment, the thief turns around slowly. “Sam, yeah I got him, and he sure is that same punk kid.  Sit down, punk!”

... as Fate is to Love

I just had an interesting text-conversation about love, that I'll share here.  The beauty of texting is that you always have a record of your conversation if you want it.  (and sometimes a record when you don't want it)  I appended a little, but I'll leave you to guess which parts are new and which are original.

    I believe in fate even though I believe in free will: those things that I can affect, I will. But, those things I can't affect, will go their own way.  This applies to "the one" just fine.  You see, I am destined to find the circumstances and situations that I do find, and to miss those that I miss.  I can try and try to be with someone that I think might be the one, but I fall accidentally in love just as often as when I try real hard to be with somebody.  With love and fate, it's all circumstances that I'd like to control, but that I can't really control at all, that leads to love.  If I miss the one, it's because that one was not for me.  Some people are destined to find none or just one "one" in life, some a series of "ones."  I hope I get just one.  I can't really control who enters my life any more than I can control who is or isn't in my college classes.  I can try to put myself in a situation where I might encounter a certain person, or kind of person, but it's still a crap-shoot.  And there's also no such thing as "one that got away" for me.  If they were here, then that situation existed for its own purpose.  If they left, they're destined for other things.

I think that my life will bring me where I am going to be, not necessarily where we think we will be.  My input into my life's events only affects how my situations may play out, but I can't really affect what situations do come. Sometimes someone might reemerge into my life's stream of encounters after leaving, but this is never certain, and almost never steerable.

... as Tonight is to Free-Writing

I wrote a second paper in response to my first, but I won't post that here.
I wrote a third paper as a journal, but I won't post that here, at least not in its entirety.  Here's a few excerpts:

Virginia's Pies

    Passing by the apartment of old Misses Virginia, which sat below and offset from my own, was a staple of my day when I was a hundred pounds lighter and twenty years younger. I used to race up those old metal and tile stairs, skinny knees pumping spindly legs up up up two steps at a time. She used to leave her newspaper out front of her door in the dark mornings, leaning against her door frame, like a secret signal that only Virginia, my mom, and I knew: pick me up on the way to school, she's done reading me.

    She used to bake us pumpkin pies and apple pies, but I don't remember why, only that I was happy to gallop down to her door with a five-dollar bill in hand. My mom told me she supplemented her income with baking those pies, explaining to me that living on a fixed income meant you had to bake pies or you couldn't afford to live here. I didn't want to get old like Virginia. Now and then the ambulance would come to save her when she fell down and broke something.

    She's long-dead now, but I'll always remember her accent that both scared and comforted me. “Kaahl,” she would pronounce my name Kyle like she was from a funny movie, “Tell ya mothah that I have a packidge fo' huh.” As years have since passed, I can only guess if her words in my head sound anything like the real Virginia. But time has not diminished my connection of fresh pie to Virginia's twangy voice.

And also:

New Years

Bright lights, a tiny wish of a parade, and a steady amount of drinking and punk rock helped to drown my failed-relationship disappointments with half-naked girls on trampolines and the smell of strangers' bodies pressed against my own. “The music's so loud, you can hear the sound/ Reachin' for the sky, and churnin' up the ground,” lyrics from Rock & Roll Fantasy by Bad Company could have capped my night there, but instead I pressed on. I pulled up to the house of someone I didn't even know. Armed with rockets, snap-n-pops, and an almost-sober head, I couldn't compete with the playful dog, classic record player, pungent smoke, and the multiple 30-racks in the kitchen. Somehow, there was even rave music. 

Lastly, a response to a piece about Hoover Dam:

  -At the Dam

    All I want to mention about this piece (which I really liked) concerns a single perfect sentence, “I will be driving down Sunset Boulevard, or about to enter a freeway, and abruptly those power transmission towers will appear before me, canted vertiginously over the tailrace.” I don't even know what the words “vertiginously” or “tailrace” mean, and I haven't even looked them up, nor do I want to. I've seen these power lines once before, and the bewildered awe they struck in me then is mimicked in the strange words of that single sentence. They leaned way over the precipice in a way that only demons should know how to do, supported by something that only H. P. Lovecraft could have designed. Those two words, they must have concrete definitions, but for now, I am content to let them be a mystery.

... as Dreaming is to Creative Writing

Last week was the first week of class, and I think my favorite class is Creative Writing.  I missed the first day due to a schedule change, but I'm just about caught up now.  My first paper assignment was to use metaphors and imagery.  Without further delay, here is that paper.

Good Morning

With a syncopated thump-thump to match my heartbeat, my footsteps down the carpeted wooden stairs of my grandmother's house set my back a-hunch with anticipation of my name being called from above. My steps are never as loud as I imagine they are, but fear of waking Dad keeps me on edge. Now, I'm standing below, with the banister-cap in hand, so soft and erotic between my finger-tips. The light from the piano room is so bright. How long have I been standing here?

    The creek-water running down the hall is frigid, so I pull my knees up, getting my feet back under the covers. They swish and slide, like the leaves being raked outside my window. Rake, rake, swish, swish, the noises I make rolling over, away from the sun, are noticeably loud.

    My knees bump against some foreign obstruction in my bed, a knot of covers, perhaps. I open my eyes to see the matter, and the mess of blonde hair and pale skin confuses me just long enough for my heart to misfire. I smile a little and tangle my cold feet among her ankles, making her squirm. The skin of her back is right in my face, magnifying her freckles to Gorbachev size. I pull the covers up to my head, and kiss her between the shoulders. Her skin is cold on my lips from exposure to the air, and salty on my tongue with the dried sweat of last night's efforts, like chilled fish at the market. My jaw is stiff from clenching all night; I can hear it pop and snap in my ears as I yawn wide.

    Breathing in from my mouth for the first time, my breath has that unique flavor of morning ick. My alarm panics at the time, screaming right behind my head, sending my back a-hunch again. Or maybe it's a-hunch for the very first time. Mornings are always so confusing.

College is to Beer as Kyle is to 2010

First post, so it's a doozie.  tl;dr: 2010 turned out allllllright, brotherman.

  I can't believe it's 2011 already.  As Graham (more than) once said, "It's damn near the Jetson's!  Where's my flying car?"  But 365 days ago, I was looking forward to what the year would hold for me, and it's turned out almost exactly as I was looking for.  Here's the highlight reel in chronological order as far as I can recall; touchdowns and fumbles it's been a hell of a year.
  I moved here from San Diego at the outset of the year, and it's been mostly awesome ever since.  I crashed at Jim and Josh's briefly, before staying with Graham for a couple months.  Graham had a kickin' pad! His cat Nina and my cat Ben eventually got along, and the two were cute in epic proportions.  Some time in the second quarter of the year, I moved to a house down by the mall with Josh, Jim, Megan, and Tate, followed shortly by Ray "Guy On The Couch" Miller.  We tried to give him hassle, but the guy's got thick skin, and despite my best efforts to drive him insane, he eventually moved to a permanent position in the household.
  Sometime in the early summer, a simple game of Texas Hold'em escalated into a bi-weekly party at our place involving beer and booze, BBQ sausages at 5am, Rockband 2, and even someone pressing boobs against the sliding glass door (many, many times).  One of the most memorable parties was our Bridgette: Farewell party, where we all were dressed to the nines.  A glorious evening.  Eventually all good things must come to an end; our last party here got a little out of control, but the summer was ending, what better time to call it a night, right?
  I got to meet Liz, Ray's girlfriend, and her wonderful sister Piper, who I ended up dating :)  She moved to Seattle for photography school before the Bridgette: Farewell party, and still attends to this day.  As the relationship grew, I fell in love with this woman all full of smiles..
  At the end of the summer, difficulties arose between Jim and myself resulting in he and his girlfriend Megan moving out to their own place down the street.  They have since picked up the crowns of Party King and Queen, and have hosted their own Friday night blow-outs with great enthusiasm.
  College over the summer went great with A's in both ENG 101 & 102, and I rolled into the fall semester with the same excitement I had at the beginning of the summer semester.  This time it would be pre-calculus, philosophy, US history, and photography.  Piper loaned me her 35mm camera, and I had a blast being a shutter-bug for my photo class.  My teacher, Ed Honda, is an amazing instructor.  He made me like photography, and I'm just sorry I don't have room in my spring schedule to take his class again.
  During the summer and fall, I struggled to find something extra-curricular to occupy my time with, as school studies leave me wanting for something to do.  I started out riding my Yamaha Virago motorcycle all over the county looking for adventure, but it's hard to find the diamonds in the rough without a guide.  I got set up to volunteer at the fire department after a bureaucrat's mother-load of paperwork, but that wasn't really what I expected, so I quit after one day.  Once into the fall semester, having met Mr. Honda, I started volunteering at Buena High School, assisting with their film photography classes on Fridays.  That was a blast!  I'd love to continue doing the same during the spring semester, but Buena is cutting their entire film curriculum.  Bummer. Ed has suggested I help with the digital classes, but we'll see how that works out.
  Halloween was a total blast; Dani (Bridgette's gf) and I did a coordinated costume of half-man, half-woman, split down the vertical middle of the costume.  My left side was a suit and tie, my right a skirt and blouse.  Dani did the same, but reversed.  We had our hair and makeup done by her should-be-pro roomie.  We went with Alex and his friends to Tucson and hit up two of the gay clubs; the whole event was pretty freakin' sweet, if I do say so myself.
  Oh yeah, some time in here, Graham and I did tailgating at UofA for the Wildcats first home game, versus Citadel, I think.  Of course Arizona stomped all over that east-coast military prep school, but we did have some great fun there.  Next time, I WILL bring a vuvuzela!
  December came and the winds brought Piper down from the Arctic to be with us for Christmas break. But as it turns out, our relationship had got frostbite, and we went our seperate ways before the New Year's celebration.  I spent the evening in Bisbee bar-hopping, and even experienced my first rave.  I don't know what exactly I was expecting, but Club K just seemed too... clean.  To be oddly specific, I imagined the ceilings would be much lower, and the whole place to be dark and loud.  The ball drop was celebrated with a round of jager-bombs and party hats inside a bar, then with champagne and firecrackers outside.  Some time that night, we discovered an awesome little music venue that had some kind of punk music going on, and we all crowded in.  For one band's number, Melissa jumped on a trampoline!  After Bisbee, I decided to visit a house party in South Sierra Vista, and it was completely awesome.  We lit off the rest of my fireworks, I met a bunch of great people, and we spent a good part of the wee hours sitting on the floor of a smoky bedroom listening to legends of the vinyl era on a classic record player.  It was a far-out evening, for sure man.
  Now here am I, with my classes registered, and books paid for.  My college experience continues on Monday, and I'm totally excited.  I'll try to keep this blog going, with shorter and more varied entries next time.