something about home

something about an old guy waiting for the bus with his closed eyes. something about the young girl with a scorpion tattood on her half-naked breast. something about the gap between the two of them. something about the bench. something about people in the early hours of my mornings. something about waiting. something is missing, something is not there.

she says this guy wrote home is where your heart is. that's cheating. that's just not fair. it takes homelessness to a whole new level. now you need to know where your heart is before you could call anywhere home. now you should... heart?

heart. that's what's missing. it's gotta be heart. there's got to be a heart somewhere. beneath the young girl's breast. behind the old man's closed eyes. within the gap between them. a heart waiting for the bus to arrive.

something about the moment the bus arrives. same time, same place, same old man, same girl, no hearts. something about this empty bench I pass by everyday on my way to work. something about the way it catches my eyes when they're looking for signs that make them feel like home. something about a dream, when there's nothing to be seen. something about feelings, or lack thereof. something about home, nowhere to be found. something is missing. something about me.

"why johnny, why?" by Shahin

"Prelude" by Shahin

"Johnny needs a fast car" by Shahin

"johnny, where art thou?" by Shahin

"Johnathan, leave." by Shahin

why johnny, why?

retreat. johnny's back.

there's an extremely thin line between blissful exuberance and paralyzing depression, and johnny's walking on it. no, i take that back, johnny *is* the line itself, almost non-existent, residing alongside both extremes.

johnny ignited the engine as the leash tightened around his neck. good morning america, courtesy of uncle sam and sons. it's a beautiful day, just like every other day. weather is alive. inhale. johnny sips on his stainless steel coffee mug, eyeballing the first page on wall-street journal. reverse. brakes. drive. the flamboyant blonde neighbor salutes johnny in her denim jumper suit. mountains in the horizon, mist in the air, green grass odor. america roars highway 73, marching ahead. park. atm. deposit. fast cash. sip. ignite, reverse, drive. progress on sanctions. cell phone. hi dad. poker night for him, mom's gone for the night, 19th, of course. park. stare. why? why here? click, beep. sip. johnny glides up the stairs, smiling. cubicle. johnny's now engaged, struggle, survival, senseless. why?

play. daf. johnny, hang in there. change. i can hear the bubbles, it's boiling.

patience johhny, patience.

Johnathan, leave.

hauling his freedom, she catwalks away.

two years have now passed and he calls it past. more years will go by and he knows it'll last. hatred and anger, love thy will be done, bling, belong, blast. premiers tuesday, 10pm central, on fox thirteen.

Johnathan is high. Throwing the remote away, he kills the tv. I lied. Johnathan's not high, just barely drunk, he's staring at the tv, holding on to the remote, defeating gravity.

Johnathan's happy. I lied, he's not, he's just not sad. He's leaving soon, a long awaited leave. He's happy, he's not, Johnathan's not sure.

Johnathan's got himself a line. He's going to go fishing, but he doesn't know how. Johnathan's lying. I am going fishing, and I've got no lines, not that I would care.

Johnathan's deranged, deprived, demotivated. Johnathan's lying, he's too excited. I lied, he's not, Johnathan's just dead. Lies, lies, everthing's a lie, Johnathan's not dead, Johnathan, johnny, can you hear me? I am not lying, Johnathan, you don't need a line, you've got what you need, Johnathan, just go. Johnathan, just leave.

leave it all behind.

johnny, where art thou?

oh sweet portlant, loved your willamette, loved your brewery below that bridge, fields of hillcrest, cute coffee shops, wonderful people. remember that time? when i looked at her in the chilling water of crater lake? oh sweet portland, you're too good for me, too nice, too sweet.

oh my dearest saint of the cities, cutest of all, san francisco. how many evenings on your wicked heights, your grizzly peaks, watching the sunsets... you look so free, you look full of life, under your piers, inside the starbucks on union square, where i spent days watching happy gays smile at the barista when they picked their red cups. you know i love you, but you're too free, you'll never be mine. i'll never be yours, i shall visit soon.

vegas, you're a whore, i could party hard with you, but we could never talk.

you lot love me not, tampa, phoenix, atlanta, highlands, charlotte, houston too. i was raised elsewhere, i can't be you guys. glad we all met, glad you're all set. aurevoir people, auf wiedersehen. some day you will know, or maybe i'll know, till then, tschuss, ciao, peace, out.

my lord, my dream, once my destiny, new york new york. respect. i signed my vow and sealed a pact, you're the beast, the god, the genesis, you're infinity, you're the hell frozen over. i'm not ready yet, one day i will be, one day i shall be. one day i shall come, when i grow up, when i grow cold.

hola diego, yes you, i don't do minors, but i like you too. you're hip, and you know it. stay cool.

one day it's new york, one day chicago. sometimes it's portland, sometimes san fran. it's ugly, it's neat, it's big, it's really big. millionaires driving by, homeless guys all over. there's a gay bar down the street, and there's nothing else. there's a mosque next to the star, there's a dirty lebanese cafe underneath that new starbucks. it's dry and it's by the ocean. it's a big city full of small people. it's me and you and everybody else, it's nobody. noone's alien, noone's welcome, noone's not welcome.
it's just like life, one day it's great, one day horrible. identity is its middle name, its got plenty, a little of bit of each, one piece at a time. don't we all?

i'll live in la, that's where johnny lives.

Johnny needs a fast car

johnny's got a big fat belly and a big bald head. johnny's got no money but he ain't poor either. johnny's come a long long way, somewhere along which johnny's lost a dream. johnny's got a mission : johnny drives trucks, big old noisy ones, he crosses the land, the deserts and the fields, seeking his dream. johnny ain't no fool, johnny's got a gun.

johnny likes it big. johnny's got the heart of a lion, eyes of an eagle and fists of a bear. johnny never cries, johnny rarely sighs. johnny's got it all.

johnny's got a secret, a big old dark one, johnny doesn't like : johnny's not himself.

Johnathan is tall. He's got soft palms. He's a barista in this coffee shop around the corner, he makes espressos. Johanathan is gay, but he doesn't know. Jonathan's not shy, but he seldom talks. He worries too much, johnny's in his head.

Prelude

brace yourselves.

what blog? what words? what bland sequence of letters is going to help anyone feel any better? words are cheap, action speaks louder. i made a promise, but it broke.

what action? what feeling? what the hell, of all the people i shall choke.

Jonathan, it's time.