Put Your Money Where Your Mouth Is

The modern endeavor of public protesting has evolved into a tiresome exhibit showcasing the worst traits of humanity. How can the irony be overlooked that the rioting groups in the wake of the Olympic torch's journey to Beijing themselves possess no respect for societal boundaries in their own cultures, as displayed by rioting and introduction of utter chaos?

To the majority of these vile hypocrites, who seem to value the red light of the television cameras over the ideological consequences of their reactionary composition, violence from law enforcement remains the only solution in restoring order. Freedom of speech notwithstanding, the reality of the situation dictates that the majority of hooligans engaging police and attempting to extinguish the torch are comfortable only in the revolutionary unrest socialism as a reflection of their own warped self perception and subsequent realization of a sterile intellect and flickering consciousness. Using the non-issue of China and Tibet as a vehicle for chaos allows these individuals to destroy public property and commit an array of violent crimes. These fine examples of the enlightened world will never understand the true standing of China in the world's economy and political infrastructure, or riots would ensue daily demanding a change in the UK's immigration laws, monstrous trade deficit, Hong Kong debacle or the billions of pounds being poured into China.

How can the gaudy British, much like the nature of Piccadilly Circus, not be able to comprehend the real issues? Thankfully PM Brown endorsed the torch’s abbreviated tour with a handshake to a Chinese official and sent a proverbial one fingered salute to the angst filled masses lacking a necessary inclination towards civility or progress.

Love, the Learning Curve

Sometimes
Sometimes, David McConnell thought, within the furthest reaches of night and the nearest borders of dawn one can almost see with a clairvoyance reserved for the light of high noon. The low hours of two and three AM, heavy with the dew of the night, the sounds of the city amplified. Leaves scrape across the empty sidewalk like the sound of a rake in autumn, while the soft hiss from the passing automobile keeps sleep away.

Nestled in the confines of a bed, he rested in a pool of light and darkness contemplating the wonders of life, as the faint fog horn like groan of train in the distance reached across the still city. A woman lay next to him in a deep and peaceful sleep. She was like a fallen deity worn from the duties of managing the universe and the earth, he thought. Her splendor like Diana and Aphrodite, beautiful and mysterious; her shapely body personified by the odd light of the room, her essence dipped in champagne and femininity.

His eyes shined as blue emeralds in the thick atmosphere of the bedroom, unblinking and intense as if they were attempting to grapple the very reality of time to a complete halt and prolong the reality of this special night. He surmised that he was safe until the onset of morning, though the paradise surrounding him remained tenuous as if any moment the light from the day would end the magical night and lead to the inevitable, “Good bye.” He focused his attention and intense concentration on her being, their bodies touching in places, his gaze shifted constantly from her chin to her forehead.

He watched her like a sentinel, a guard, the ache of love tingling the nerves just beneath the eyes, while the prospect of lust waited idly until the sunshine of the morning. Not wishing to disturb her, he held back the urge to kiss her full red licorice lips, waxen in the psalms of slumber. Instead he whispered, “I love you Sonya.”

And he waited, with an anxiety burning for the arrival of morning and her reanimation, with an equal and competing force pleading with the night, love and peace never to end. The pendulum of anticipation and grief swung back and forth and threatened his very being.

In an effort to relax, he attempted to match her metered breathing and recall the events of the dream that was last evening. As the slight intoxication from the beer and the liquor wore off like a hammer striking the bridge of the nose with a sparkling blast, he cried out within his mind, a sound of savage and insane intent.

“I truly adore you David,” she remarked at the Cactus Bar the night before, her warm voice playing the instruments of harmony in his heart to perfection.

The bar stood adjacent to the restaurant and was vibrant and bustling with a happy hour crowd content with the end of another workday. He looked at the wavy and medium length cut red hair and caught her scent, while his mouth mumbled, “Thank you.”

The two were seated at the bar and the vortex for the most frequent activities of licking salt and the final clink of a shot glass on the marble surface. Tequila flowed like water. In an effort to escape her prying smile, and knowing gaze, the piercing green eyes probing, teasing, wanting and loving, he took a sip of the golden beer and glanced to the side and the ordered chaos of the restaurant.

Like a fresh mint leaf sprayed with the garden hose in the heat of the summer, the minute water droplets echoing the colors of the rainbow, she sat radiant and real and captured his essence. He had not seen her since the latter half of the holidays, the last meeting stilted and stagnant, the stinging wounds from the comedy of love festering with trepidation and guilt. Their six months together during the summer and fall was like being born and dying each and everyday. They fumbled the notions of true love like children, learning the age old game of catch. Inwardly, they wept and laughed until finally the end came. It was now March and she was back in town and more importantly back in his life; at least for the instant. Hope became as important as water or air. They had agreed to meet after a series of correspondence which spanned the communication spectrum and ended with a simple letter published with the shear force of deep thoughts and soft tears.

“So I promised Senator Wilkes when the weather actually warms up that he can ride in my car with the top down,” she said with a natural laugh, her personality and Texas accent overtaking a large portion of the bar.

“Keep in mind that he is 80 freaking years old,” she cackled as she picked up her beer.

No, the vibe is entirely different from our last meeting he remembered himself thinking. The evening had begun not with the kiss of a friend, but from the interlocking embrace of lovers unchained from servitude and ready to pillage.

The glacial doldrums of the slow night continued to reach towards an impossible morning and he could still taste the remnants of her ambrosia on his tongue. Still haunted by the thought of their time together coming to an end, he allowed himself to laugh at the pleasant surprise of his current predicament, her sounds in sleep pleasant and womanly.

Through out the January and February in her absence she had evolved into a legend between his family and friends. Interestingly, her full lips had become the focus of his energy and imagination. As if they took on a persona of their own, the lips had taken on an abundance of metaphors, including “hot dog lips”, “bullfrog queen” and a variety of other labels. The exercise had helped him to maintain his sanity and provided him with a tangible goal if ever were they to meet again. Once a rendezvous had become a reality, it had become his sole goal to bestow those lips with a passionate kiss of the most extreme nature, enjoy a few rounds and leave separately as friends. Now, lying in the comforts of her most sacred domicile, the gentle cool of her skin touching his and tempered by a breeze of love, he simply accepted the events of evening as the realities of life.

“I’m sorry Sonya,” he couldn’t look her in the eyes as he held his head in shame and understanding to the gravity of the situation.

He had decided to apologize immediately after the initial passionate kiss. The months of guilt and sadness culminated in extreme joy and unabashed pain. It took him a few moments to look the woman that he truly loved in the eyes.

“It’s okay,” she said smiling and in a comforting and reassuring tone. “Let’s enjoy our time together.”

The night had flowed without flaw, the conversation lively and the months and hours dissolving away and yielding to new cherished memories and the beating of two hearts. Her time away from home proved friendly to her career and she had even taken the step to acquire a boyfriend, which she assured him was strictly for the convenience of companionship.

At the end of evening he had delicately embraced her and deftly kissed the skin just below her ear, she purred and immediately asked the most unexpected question of all, “Do you want to come home with me?”

His reply of "Yes" came with a tenderness and calm demeanor he did not know that he possessed.

He now lay still and transfixed in the pale darkness, the past and the future saturating his head with thoughts, plans and prayers. He knew that as soon as was she finally awake in the morning, the ultimate judgment would commence. Blast the cruel and foreboding morning he thought, as the rest of their lives and celebration of hopes and dreams danced in his mind. He still loved her more than himself as he imagined ways to spend the rest of his life by her side.

At some point he reflected, every science fiction writer peels back the layers of the bittersweet institution of love. His mind wandered. A man and a woman are separated by relativistic distances dictated by the universe, while one proceeds to outlive the other. To find out that the love of your life exists only as 300 year old dust, while you have aged only slightly after a decade of travel remains a poignant and cruel realization. The idea of writing a similar theme simply to describe his current feelings seemed ridiculous.

He yawned as he looked over at the burgeoning goddess in the light darkness of dawn’s arrival. This is no story, he contemplated. She is so close, but as far away as a distant star; the tears welled up in eyes in anticipation of a wondrous finality. There are only two answers, two substantial ideas; together or apart? She will decide whether or not there is a place for me in her life, he thought as a chill passed over his body. Either way, I will have to accept her decision however painful it is.

For a moment she stirred and his heart began to race, the adrenaline pumping, but her breathing resumed its normal functionality. It was as if he had all the time in the world during the desolate long reaches of the seconds, hours and moments evolving into the past as the reality of love loomed in the air. He became drunk from her perfumed effervescence and the fantasy of a closeness and understanding existing for eternity, the lack of sleep threatening to throw him into a state of dreamlessness. Morning would eventually arrive with a thundering of trumpets, light, revelations and soft music from the I-pod, the grave injustice of a new day testing the very reaches of soul, but relenting to the hidden and secret treasure chest of his memories. His heart would always be a part of the quaint bedroom amidst a galaxy of billions of suns which pulsated with the simple ideals of love and the union between two random souls, the idea both powerful and inexplicable in its beauty. Together or apart? The caustic morning and first light of day would reveal the answer to the most important question, but could never defeat the memory of her smile, a memory that he would cherish until the day that he died..