Archive for February, 2010

Me in you

Posted in Expression in poetry on 23/02/2010 by markcalles

Now, when you go,
you are quick to slip, quick to fade.
Yet, my mind is on a looping cycle,
and it is not I who keeps the pace.
Not why, but when I never know.
Quieter and closer coming each day.

Now, I know in time,
that memory is something we all escape.
But comfort never comes in ‘all paths end eventually’.
The only answers are in that which connects our states.
In what is not commonly realized,
that all come to. that all come from, the same place.

We knew you all along,
but it is you who chose the way.
To take different names,
To wear a different face.
You always remember,
when I’m too far gone.
When will you figure out.
it has always been.
the me in you, I miss the most.
It is the you in me, that never stays.

How I met Lars

Posted in Lars Meadow on 22/02/2010 by markcalles

It’s about 12 at night on a Monday. I just got off my connecting train at the central station and am heading to a different track, hopefully to the train that will take me home.

I walk down the platform and spot my train. 5 minuets left till it takes off. I take my time and have a smoke. With 2 minuets left I drop the butt and head for the door. Before I can open it, I’m met by a shabby looking homeless guy. He pushes his hand out toward me and asks if I have some change. “Småpenge?” I shake my head. “Nej, unskuld.” (No, I’m sorry). He mumbles something incoherent and pushes the button for us. “beep beep beep.” The door sighs and slides open. I follow after Mr. homeless who is now walking down the train seeking more change. Mostly ignored he shuffles down the isles leaving a trail of open doors and now more apprehensive patrons.

I watch as he asks a man reading a newspaper. The man looks up and shakes his head and before the homeless guy can even offer a “thank you anyway”, the paper is back up. It seems as if he is using the paper as a shield against any prospect of interaction. I’ve seen it before, someone that just wants to be ignored. Someone that doesn’t need one more passé moment to fill their day just so they can feel fulfilled in some sense. Someone that wishes to be left alone unless completely necessary. I can see it, plainly, because it’s a feeling I’ve felt myself, wearing my ear phones connected to a dead ipod. Sometimes it’s just easier that way.

I see it and still decide to sit down, right across from him, in an empty train car to boot. I’m up, it’s late, and I’m in the mood for a bit of a social experiment. He doesn’t even seem to notice, and that’s good, actually it’s great, it is just going to make this all the more fun.

For a while now I’ve had the habit of watching people and I don’t particularly care if they notice because sometimes the reactions are the best part, but I find it far more interesting if the person doesn’t notice and continues acting accordingly, that is, keeps acting honestly. I want to see people for what they really think of themselves and there is no better way to gauge a person’s self-image then how they interact with themselves.

So, constantly using public transportation has presented a great deal of viewing pleasure but also allows me the unique opportunity to go seemingly unnoticed. You see, there are a plethora of windows and reflective surfaces and even when I’m looking directly at a person through a reflection, in say a window, even if they notice me, they think I’m just looking out at the scenery or the passing city. It’s almost too easy.

So there I am, an unsuspecting, nervous, and apprehensive guy sitting across from me. I’m watching him through the window now and he seems pretty engrossed in what he is reading, but I know sooner or later he’s gonna have to notice and this time I’m not going to just watch.

The moment comes when he turns the page and shakes his paper to work out the kinks. I see it, just a momentary widening of the eyes and I know I’m in. I’m still looking out the window, at least in his mind. I see the shield drop ever so slightly and him peek over to give this new passenger a good look. The paper goes up again and I see him look around the train from behind his defenses. He notices the car is empty as well, and I can see his body tense up in the confusion of what is going on. He drops the page once more, but just for a split second, possibly to make sure that I’m really there. He has noticed me looking out the window and I see him look over his left shoulder to see what I’m looking at. When he realizes that nothing is there he turns back towards his paper, but at the moment when he passes my glare in the window he stops. I’m not quite sure if I’ve finally been caught or if he just happens to be looking out the window through my image. Either way, I’m excited and I’m sure it shows in my face. I stick with the stare and wait for a cue to be sure that he knows what I know. He continues the look at my reflection and I can see his eyes studying my face now. His paper begins to drop; the shield has become a secondary concern now that I have circumvented what little defense it truly offered. I know now and I hit my mark.

“Hey man, do I make you nervous or something?”

The guy doesn’t know what hit him, but he doesn’t look afraid. He doesn’t miss his own cue either and doesn’t break the stare that we now both hold.

“No” he replies.

I know that the answer is mostly reaction, so I also know it’s a lie. Truthfully its what I expected. In a strange situation like this most conversation becomes reflex, and this situation has no lack of strangeness. It would have been very odd to watch, to say the least.

“Why you so anxious then? Slap af.”

I try to reassure him I’m no threat but now its becoming odd for me, talking to a double pane of glass, still, the whole occurrence is far too intriguing to let go. I sit back and relax to ease the tension. For some reason I draw my hood, maybe to continue the element of mystery that has been built. By now I’ve broken the marathon stare and have begun to pick at my fingers, scratching off some of the polish that didn’t make it onto my nails. I can tell he is still looking at me through the window. He is desperately trying to digest the situation and I’m just waiting for him to catch up. He finally looks over towards me now but still says nothing. I decided to get him up to speed.

“So?”

I can feel him staring at me. But I think he’s a bit lost for words.

“What? Excuse me?”

I laugh a little; seems like he’s still out to sea so I throw him a lifeline. I reiterate the question once again to put the confusion to rest.

“You really that uneasy? What is it that’s making you so nervous?”

I already know the real answer but I just want to see how far I can take a stranger’s honesty. I already know that it’s me. Shit, I would have been a bit uneasy to find me sitting across from me on an empty train car, staring at me through the window. It is just not normal for people to do, and, if you don’t really know me, I could seem a bit intimidating.

“Actually, yes, it was you.”

Complete honesty was not what I expected, but no answer could have made me happier. I keep looking down as to conceal the grin that is beginning to spread across my face.

“And why is that?”

Now I feel there is no sense in holding anything back. I know we’ve already broken the wall and I’m too excited to see where this will all lead. I just want to know what someone thinks of me.

“Well, you kind of caught me off guard. The car was completely empty except for me and yet you decided to sit right across from me. Also, you do look a little intimidating, plus I did not see you come in or sit down. Truthfully, I thought I was seeing things. It wouldn’t be the first time.”

The last line I could not have written any better myself. It truly was the perfect climax for such an odd occurrence and I’m not going to miss this opportunity with my timing.

I look up, stare him straight in the eyes, grinning like a mad man. I give it to him straight and from the hip, the only way I can.
“And whose to say you aren’t.”

A community feel, Enlisting authors. Introducing Lars Meadow

Posted in General on 21/02/2010 by markcalles

SO… ive decided that i want this to be more of a community of ideas and opinions and works other then just my own. ive now enlisted the help of a one lars meadow to add some banter to the page and hopefully some others will follow suit. my plan is to create a sort of dialogue where the authors can play off each others works or write letters or pieces directly to or reflecting other authors. hopefully it will become a dynamic web of ideas, reflection, praise and insult. nothing is sacred and all authors will have full control of the works they produce. i can only hope this will get ugly, but until then ill continue to write whatever i feel whenever i feel it. you are all officially on notice, so stay tuned and join in if you care to.

How I met Mark

Posted in Lars Meadow on 21/02/2010 by larsmeadow

I was sitting on the s tog at about half past 12 waiting to depart from the central station. I sat there, reading through the politiken, tired from a long night of work, unknowing that this would be the first time I would have the pleasure of meeting with Mark.
It was late on a Monday night and you could see it reflected in the small number of commuters and the state of their tired and beaten appearances. I heard the door of the train car slide open. The “beep beep beep”, the screech and whine of metal bearings and hydraulic motors. I looked up to see a panhandler stumbling down the aisles, the familure question and look of distress, “Har du nogel småpenge? Småpenge?” I shake my head and shake him off. He grumbles, rambles away and my focus again turns to the paper in my lap. I turn the page and, in the exaggerated motion of unruffling the pages, notice that someone has sat across from me in the completely empty train car.
It makes me slightly uneasy; it looks like a young guy, early 20s, dressed in all black, slicked black hair tied back into a ponytail, facial hair shaved to outline his jaw and slightly dark features, at least darker then any Dane. A big guy, a bit more then 2 meters, with a build like a rugby player, but still I hadn’t notice him come in.
I glance slightly over my paper at him. He is looking out the window to his right, with the thin crack of a smile across his lips that seems to fill his whole expression. It appears as if he is looking at something of which he knows some great and humors secret about. I peek over my left shoulder to see what might be so entertaining, but there seems to be nothing of interest.
Confused, I look back toward my paper and in the passing from the window to what I was reading I catch his stare. In fact, what he was looking at was not outside the window, but in its reflection. I look back into the transparent image on the window. I can just make out his eyes, the glint of white through the crack of his smile, and that they are both looking directly at me.
He spoke through the ghostly reflection. “Hey, man. Do I make you nervous or something?”
It took me slightly by surprise. He spoke in English and so plainly, but the whole situation was odd, too out of the ordinary to not be scripted in some cosmic sense.
“No.” I answered back to the window.
“So why so anxious? Slap af.”
It must have looked strange, two guys sitting across from each other, talking to the window; talking through a piece of glass. I was afraid then, that if I looked away, to where this guy was supposed to be, there would be no one there, and that I would then have to deal with something that I was ill prepared for.
He sat back, and broke the stare, I guess in anticipation of an answer; I finally looked over towards him. He began to pick at his fingernails. They were painted black, and he was cleaning around them, where some polish had gotten onto his fingers.
“So?” he said from under the hood he had pulled around his head, still picking at his fingers.
“Huh? Excuse me?”
He let out a small chuckle.
“Are you really that uneasy? What is it that could make you so nervous?”
It seemed that he wasn’t a person preoccupied with pleasantries. At this point, I knew there was no reason to lie. Honestly, it was oddly comfortable, and either way, he probably would have been able to tell.
“Actually, yes, it was you.”
He was still looking down at his hands and I could not see much of his face, but what I could see was the grin growing underneath his hood.
“And why is that?”
His tone is even and comforting, and the manner in which he spoke seemed so matter-of-factly.
“Well, you caught me off guard. This whole car is empty except for the two of us and yet you decided to sit right across from me. Also, you do look a little intimidating and I did not see you come in or sit down. Honestly, I thought I was seeing things, and it wouldn’t be the first time.”
At this moment he perks up and looks me straight in the eyes. Now grinning ear to ear.
“Whose to say you aren’t.”

happy valentine

Posted in Lars Meadow, poetry features on 16/02/2010 by larsmeadow

Its my actual birthday on v day. what a bad joke.

There is one single thing,
That you have said to me,
To make me believe.
Too bad, aint it sad.
I lost that part of me.
Too long, so long.
I gave the best,
What am I supposed to be.
Goodbye, we say, we cry.
Goodbye to naivety.

A present perspective on a self-saboteur

Posted in General on 09/02/2010 by markcalles

I’m very much used to creating my own problems. It’s much easier to solve something if you know where the trouble began. So, for most of my life, that’s what I’ve been doing. Since I could make no sense of things outside of my control, I sometimes purposefully, but more times then not, subconsciously, made things difficult. A true self-saboteur. Some of this stems from me trying to avoid responsibility, but I believe most of it came from the immense confusion I then, and still occasionally now, experienced.

I’ve always been one to seek some form of infallible answers, whether they be scientific or philosophical. It seems I’ve been cursed to always have Why as the first word on my tongue. I have also found that, if you are not prepared for many of those whys to go unanswered, it is best not to even start. But at some point, and I think it quite recent, I have become at least slightly comfortable with my whys, and it has allowed me to start taking action instead of constantly living in my head.

For a long time I have heard people talking about living in the now, about being present in the moment, but I never really understood what it meant. It took a very long time for me to form some semblance of what it means to me to be present, and now that I have begun to think a bit differently about how I relate to myself and others, and what impact the daily has on the culmination of my entirety, I can use this sense of perspective and constantly see it at work in my life.

Case in point. Albeit not extremely prolific it is still poignant.

I had a conversation the other night that basically went like this:

Mark “I feel like crap. I think I’m going to mess something up, on purpose.”

Other Mark “What? That’s exactly what you’re not going to do.”

Mark “But I need some turmoil. Now that everything’s going smoothly I feel so stuck.”

Other Mark “So you’re going to fuck something up just to build it again?”

Mark “Yeah. Its kind of what I always do.”

Other Mark “Man, you really are an idiot. Stop being such a pussy.”

Mark “But…”

Other Mark “Nope. Just stop being such a pussy.”

Mark “Its just…”

Other Mark “Seriously, dude, stop being such a pussy.”

Mark “… yeah…I…”

Other Mark “Stop being such a pussy!”

Mark “Okay!”

And that’s the advantage that being present has given me. Now, when I look to make new problems, if I stop and realize and come to the conclusion that it is not such a good idea to revert to self-sabotage, something is provided for me. Not that life had any shortcomings when it came to providing, but where as before they caught me unprepared, now that I am not dealing with extraneous issues the new opportunities get my full attention and I actually get somewhere. I actually listen to that little voice that has started to steer me away from my past ways of acting. Now the internal dialogue that I ignored for so long makes too much sense to just shut out anymore. And that in it self is as exciting as any extraneous problems I could create for myself, because the new and unexplored is scary as shit, but I can no longer keep walking up and down the same hill and justify calling myself an explorer.

Reasons escape me

Posted in Expression in poetry on 02/02/2010 by markcalles

I feel so empty

I feel so alone

I’m having the time of my life

This is the closest I’ve come

The reason escapes me

When I’m doing what I’m told

When I’m doing what I’m compelled to

Why I’m still stumbling

I just don’t know

It seems I’ll never escape this

As sad as I’ve been

As happy as I am

I look at all the life around me

But we still have got no meaning

And the reasons I make up

To lie down

to wake up

they don’t comfort me

they don’t make me feel at all