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J.D We Hardly Knew Ye

J.D Salinger passed away today at the ripe old age of 91. I was at work when my girlfriend told me. I was calling her about how our rents late, and she had much more interesting news. JD passing away gave me shivers. Not that he died, no, not that. It is the idea, that JD, a great influence of mine, was gone. No, not that either, it was that while the world went missing, JD kept on writing, and realized it was for his own satisfaction. He loved to write. Now, let’s be honest, I love to write too, its an obsession. The fact that he wrote one of the most beloved books of all time,one that can identify with you at any age, one that caused Mark David Chapman to take out John Lennon, one that I read in High School and College. before and after. I guess it’s the fact that he wrote this book as well as Franny and Zooey, and then simply disappeared out of the lime light into a world that he kept locked away in private. This is what makes J.D a hero of mine.

I wish I would make such a great dent in the lives of so many people, make enough money, and then write only for myself, while still able to afford groceries.

I was convinced that J.D was Thomas Pynchon. I guess I was wrong. All I can say is rest in peace J.D, hopefully we can read at least one of the books you have written, tucked away in a safe in a once warm home in New Hampshire.

I have two heroes Leonard Cohen, and J.D Salinger. I know I will never meet J.D, but hopefully one day I will meet Leonard and we can talk about Salinger and why Leonard wrote Suzanne.

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    Sense Saves A Life Chapter 6

    Chapter 6

    Her name was Clara, she was a new student, who had just moved from Connecticut. She didn’t know anyone. On what would normally be a drab Wednesday afternoon. Sense sat in his desk, watching the clock, as it slowly ticked on. Soon he would be free, and the library was calling him. As Sense sat there, he noticed Clara; Clara, the beautiful new girl; The mysterious, Clara. Sense looked over for a second, and caught her glancing over at him. It was a quick glance like a surveyer looking at all the new property, or a lumberjack looking at which tree that she would cut down next. Clara’s glance peaked Sense’s curiosity. The bell rang, all the slothenly students slowly got up from their desks, and walked out, murmoring to one another about their next classes and how hungry they were for lunch. Sense did eat lunch. Every day, he would take an apple, a chicken patty sandwich, and couple chocolate milks up to the library. There he would sit and eat, in the back next to the periodicals and the old newspapers. No one would ever bother him. He would eat his lunch, and then he would find a new book to read that day. Sense liked reading, but didn’t like school very much. Not for the two parts of education, reading and writing, but more for the politics, and drama that came with sitting through a class, and feeling the other student’s eyes burn through him. Today was different though.

    Sense sat at the old table in the back of the Library, reading a copy of Charles Dickens, Great Expectations. He would always start his lunch, by applying two ketchup packets, and one mayonnaise packet to his chicken patty. Then he would open one chocolate milk, and take a bite of his apple. He repeated this routine till both the chocolate milk, chicken patty and apple were gone. Then he would read. As he began reading the first line of Dicken’s Great Expectations, he had the uncanny feeling like he was being watched. He looked around yet nobody was there.

    He went back to his book, and then felt that cold feeling like being watched again. As he looked over he saw nothing, but as soon as he turned to start reading again, there she was. Clara.

    Sense was caught off guard, and feeling nervous, went back to reading his book.

    “Hey.” Clara spoke up.
    “Hey.” Uttered Sense
    “I saw you looking at me in class today.”
    Clara, began to blush.
    “I was not”, she said, “I was just looking around, and you caught my eye. You looked so sad.”
    “No. I wasn’t sad”, said Sense aggravated,” I was bored, there is a complete difference.”
    “Oh.” Clara sat there a moment quietly.
    “Well, I just wanted to say Hi, I guess I’ll be going…” Clara stood up, and was about to walk away.
    Sense spoke quickly, “I’m sorry, I don’t talk to many people regularly, please sit down. What’s your name?”
    “My name is Clara.. What’s yours?
    “I call myself Sense,” Sense said.
    “Well that’s a weird name,” Clara said, “ Why, do you call yourself that?”
    “Well I think Clara, is a weird name.
    “Oh.” Clara was annoyed, “Your kind of a jerk, huh?”
    ‘Why am I a jerk? You just insulted me.” Sense shot back.
    “Anyway, “Clara brushed off that last comment. “What are you reading?”
    “Great Expectations.”
    “Is it good?” She asked.
    I don’t know but I have great expectations that it will be.” Sense thought that that was a funny remark.”
    “Uh Huh.” Clara said.
    ‘So what’s your story Clara?”, “Why did you move here?”
    Sense thought it was a normal question. Clara did not. Her face turned bright red, and she began to tense up.
    “None of your damn business.” Clara answered. “I gotta go.” Clara got up abruptly from the table, and said “You know what, the other kids are right, you are a loser.”
    Sense was taken back,
    “Nothing, I gotta go…nice talking to you freak.” With that Clara got up.

    That was the first time Sense spoke to Clara.

    Sense was reminiscing about that first conversation with Clara, when the phone rang.
    It was that same unharmonious ring tone. Sense began to feel that cold feeling again.

    He answered it.

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    Sense Saves A Life Chapter 4 and 5

    Chapter 4

    Sense sat down on his couch, and on the table there were fresh new flowers, fresh new flowers that had never been there before. Sense had read about botany, read every word about irises and hibiscus flowers, but at the same time, he was reading about weeds and dandelions, and how dandelions were beautiful, but yet weeds that ate up gardens. The perspective was all wrong, he thought, how could it be a flower and a weed. And how could it be so beautiful but hated by mowers and gardeners alike.

    These were freshly picked dandelions in a crystal vase. Sense was poor, it definitely was not in his nature to buy anything crystal. So who was here? And why was it so cold. And where were his journals? Sense kept journals for the last fifteen years, of everything he had read, everything he learned. He wrote about his love, each like a lyric, his poems told the tale of his life. Why would someone want to take the only thing that proved that Sense ever existed? What was the smoke in the Kitchen? Sense realized quickly that the smoke was from the stove, he had left on accidentally before his morning coffee. And that was the reason for the smoke. But why would anyone want his journals?

    Chapter 5

    Sense began to think of all his enemies. He had really no enemies, but in his mind, everyone he met on the street was an enemy. Another person to get close to, and then to leave him. Why bother, he thought. Why bother with interpersonal contact, it was all a waste of time. Sense thought back to his high school days, there was the one kid who tormented him daily, throwing him down bleachers in front of the whole gym class. Then there was the football team, who liked to call him names, spit at him, or what they called gleeking. By the way, Sense thought, gleeking must have been the stupidest thing one could do besides, that finger trick, where you slap two fingers together. What was wrong with trends in the nineties? So those were his enemies from school, But they were all just kids. Sense really had no enemies. So who took his journals? And why? Sense looked closely around his apartment, which now had become a crime scene. The love letters, crumpled up, Sense realized those were from last night, as he drank to cool his jets after a long day of soul crushing work.

    The love letters, were to a beautiful girl he had met in the library many moons ago. He remembered her well, her eyes burned in his memory. Her lips, her beautiful visage, her long legs, and perfect chest, her voice, the way she whispered to him. The way she walked away from him, and never spoke to him again. The crushing blow of defeat, still lingered within him. Why did he care so much, to keep the letters, and what happened to make her leave him. It all was relative, and yet it all had escaped him, like the past few years. Sense had become numb. Sure Sense had many girlfriends, some serious, but his heart remained numb. That was the reason he wrote those letters. Letters to the one that left him, and changed his life, and just recently did he remember why.

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    I’m alot like you.

    When I woke up today, I wanted to stay in bed. My dreams seem to make more sense then my actual life. I dream, and in my dreams I win. When I wake up, I realize that this hangover never ends. Every day I take my pills to wake me up. By the end of the day, my mind has turned degrees, and then I need to take my pills to sleep, and wake up with a mental hangover. This is my life, as a schitzo-effective, basketcase, a child turning 30. I feel like I should look different at my age. I feel like I should be somewhere else. I feel like my hands should stop shaking. I don’t understand why.

    Either I am or I am not. Either I am on or I am off. Today, I am on, but feel like I’m off. Is it the one drink I had last night, and the two from the other night. Is it the live television, that makes me cringe, because each person I feel like is staring at me, hearing each jagged thought in my head. Maybe it’s a combination of second hand smoke, and the idea that I wish I was one of them. Maybe it is a combination of all these things.

    But the funny thing is I’m not sad, I’m not depressed or angry. Confused maybe, a little down trodden probably, but not upset. Yes, I guess what you call my gift, I call my curse. Because every word I write might come easy from my head. But it comes with alot of toil, a lot of bullshit.

    I guess it is just my own perception, it’s a little skewed. When I walk down the street, I feel like every person is judge and jury. I feel like I am gone. But that’s not what makes me sad.

    I guess it’s all the confusion that goes along with it. I am gone, but by the next time you see me, I’ll be back again. Probably.

    I guess I’m alot like you. You just hide it better.

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    four minute free prose.

    starts at 5:00

    The beginning is the middle,
    is the end.
    the time we sat wasted, we sat down at the table
    like life was all about laying and laid
    and getting to the next step
    the next step, respect, the step after that is no longer neglecting
    the one you love, the one you hold in sunshine and dreams
    the cool steam, of the winter glass, as her lips touch the screen
    weather is no longer, wether or not
    how quick is your temper, boiling or hot
    how long can you hold your head under water
    before your buried or burned
    and how long can my fingers keep writing, a ash for the urn
    so i see four minutes is enough to write a point down
    to sit with your fingers pressed on the keys now
    and layed underground, is the heart of the heavy
    we keep still in the grass, but our moves are steady
    still striding for the green grasss under the umbrella
    we live this super nova, but its not enough
    already 503, not enough time for me
    to write down, what i meant to say
    free me be free, so when i sit down and record a lengthy song
    we sit down and write poems
    cause us poets don’t belong


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    three minute free pros3

    starts at 4:54

    So you might be wondering, Sense Saves A LIfe
    what happened next??
    did he complain alot cause of all the bad sex
    did he wring his neck from all the bad checks
    or did he dime dog dazzle like das efx
    so we chill with the sound of animals in heat
    a heart attack beat, to move you please
    to soul release, 4’/55, still writing
    edit it for later, fast as lightning
    haven’t written in a while but im still a TItan
    Titanic falling down, to the mid atlantic
    so feel the course of blood sugar sex magic
    red hot sound, like chili peppers planted
    in the ground, released like a ground hog
    yet it still is 3winter
    letting the sound out, yet we still have blisters on our fingers
    from strumming the guitar, and twanging the bass
    456 almost out of time and space,
    and places to rhyme, it damn turned 457
    out of this rhyme, see you again friend.