ten minutes
Have we met?...
Is a line I've never heard or used before in all of my years of dating. A cliche as old as the stools at some of the bars I have been to. It's classy yet tasteless, used and useless, an ice breaker and a deal breaker. We use it as a verbal handshake, a way of becoming personal without intimacy. You hear it rarely now, but time was a man behind the marble bar in his penguin suit could utter the phrase to a milky white seductress in a black gown and get not only a demure smile, but a slight shake of the head of encouragement. Today, it's worn out and tired, much like the sophisticates of old, past their prime and watching the fading sunset of their glory years. Romance is dead, it's often heard, but it's not the heart that has slowed but the art of conversational banter that leads to romance. It's all underwritten by sex and the steps taken to get there.
The innocence of flirtation is practiced, performed, and perfected by those last great bastions of conversation...the world's bartenders.


six minutes
My secret talent...
Lies down below the stars, under the clouds, past the tree tops and down my throat. It's hard to pinpoint a secret talent because if it comes to light than it ceases to be secret, and if it doesn't come to light to practice, play, paint, draw, write or cook, then it can't really be considered a secret, now can it? Secrets are held inside, mostly in dark corners, occasionally in locked boxed, but they are not exposed to sunlight or shared with the bus driver. We keep secrets private and talents public, giving oxymorons another reason for being. I would like to say that my secret talent is writing a decent story, but I've never published and am hesitant to share stories with friends. I submit them to the scrutiny of strangers, getting no feedback, expecting none and feeling somewhat safer in that realm. Sometimes I write because I'm afraid to say what I think out loud....

seven minutes
I wish someone would ask me...
My opinion. I have never offered it up for sale or even just given it away. I feel it's my personal soul that hides deep in the bowels of the treasure of my body. They say opinions are like assholes, that everyone's got one, but having one and sharing one are quite different. I don't want to see your asshole unless I specifically ask to, so why are opinions so freely bandied about? I keep mine to myself, although on days like these it feels right that the world should hear what I'm thinking. Sometimes I stand in the shower practicing the art of sharing my opinion. I'll use the showerhead as my microphone, speaking into it as if a great audience were below me. And in the driving rain of the water, with my eyes closed and my thoughts as naked as my body, I tell the world my opinion.

IF TIME AND SPACE ARE CONTINUOUS
THEN WHY IS THE END NEAR?


eight minutes
This is the place where...
The British, in all of their infinite wisdom attempted to establish a coconut plantation right around the beginning of World War II. Gardner atoll lies as close to the middle of nowhere as you can get, 'out where God lost his shoes,' Captain George said as he peered through his binoculars trying to find a suitable break in teh reef to run the skiff through. George said the only thing living here were boobys, albatross, and coconut crabs as big as trash can lids, despite the rumors that Amelia Earhart's bones were part of the island history. The British abandoned their ill conceived plantation after discovering the lack of fresh water, except that which fell from the sky which would prove to be not nearly enough to survive on living along the equator. Yet, the beauty and richness of an uninhabited island lured us in allowing a stopping point for a boat full of ocean weary researchers.

SOMETIMES I WRITE BECAUSE I CANT SAY SOME THINGS OUT LOUD

If you've ever been confronted with your won mortality in an accidental situation you will know where I'm coming from today. Last night on my way home from a very nice birthday party out in the' burbs, I crossed the Willamette on the 405 bridge, taking the Kerby avenue exit. This exit is defined by a long straightaway followed by a tight turn into a stop sign, leaving not much room for error as the concrete meridian will attest with its black streaked and pocked white walls.
In my rearview I saw a fast approaching pair of square headlights in my lane. My first thought was 'goddamn cops', as police are notorious for their quick entrances into unsuspecting mirrors, but this was no cop as the car in question got RIGHT UP IN MY TRUNK, only to back off a bit at the rapidly approaching right bank turn.
Thinking she (yes, that was my first thought,that it was a woman) was now aware of the approaching turn, I eased off the brakes and coasted to the stop sign While keeping an alert eye behind me, I again realized that she wasn't a very good driver so I braced myself, took my foot slightly off the brake pedal to ready for impact, and the inevitable push into the intersection. Of course, she hit me, I slid ahead and stomped on the brake avoiding the cars already crossing in front of me. Road clear, I pulled across and got out. She slowly followed, like a dog who has shit on the carpet and knows its in trouble.
Three blondes in Daddy's 2008 sedan series BMW out doing everything but paying attention. No damage, no injuries, no police report, just a few scared (and I think high) girls maybe in their 20's cruising a Sunday night.
Chance encounters can change a life in a blink of an eye, for better or worse, yet always leaving an impression, a lasting scar that is always remembered if it was significant enough. So many things could have gone wrong last night but didn't. I have been in a handful of accidents in my day, all harmless, all less than tragic and, up until last night, all more than 15 years ago. You knock on wood, rub the rabbit's foot, utter om mani padme om a few times, and thank the stars for good fortune. Myabe it's sort of bad things happening to good people, obstacles thrown up in my way as a backhanded hint to stay vigilant, watch your back, keep the edge, and keep the good karma flowing. I'm OK with these less than monumental hurdles, it'll give me strength later on if something worse were to happen.
And until it does, I've got the eyes in the back of my head peeled and my karmic bank fully deposited. hope you do too...

March. In like a lion, out like a lamb. I think all marching should be done like a lion, paws forward, chest out, tail high...none of this lamb bullshit. Strut like you mean it, march like you have something to say, announce to the world that "I AM LION AND YOU WILL HEAR ME ROAR"...ya, like that. One more time and I'll feel good about moving on with my opinion....ready?...I AM LION AND YOU WILL HEAR ME ROAR.
Good.
Now, moving on, we can safely assume that things are not going to be the same around here, that change is blowing down the road and I have my thumb out hitchhiking. I have decided that my life up to this point has been too reactive, and from this point on, my motto is going to be PROACTIVE! I've decided to start taking this so called life by the horns and start dictating how I want to live it, not how IT wants me to live.
That being said, I will be taking the easy way out here shortly and making my exit stage left and heading back to alaska to work again on the Discovery. I know, I know, it's a step backwards you're saying , and I agree with you, but I also know that we are broke and this is the best/easiest way for me to cultivate a new and better relationship with a potential employer and to make some serious change. I need to get out of the hole, and this provides a quick and easy out,although I do miss softball season and the chance to compete for the starting shortstop job at 42. DAMN.
But, with all the ease and fortuitous fast cash you see coming my way, the Sam/Matt show may still be stuck in the same place in the fall as they are now. But, you forget that the new PROACTIVE Matt is not going to let that happen because he has many new ideas, promotions, and thoughts that will allow him to continue living with this wonderful woman and push through the dreary monotony of regular nine to five jobs and find himself something that will satisfy his thirsty curiosity for the new and the strange and the highly addictive.
You will see, because I will be a better boy, more creative friend, a better listener, a more conservative shopper, a less radical air guitar player and a definitely sounder sleeper.
To which I sound off and bid everyone a good night and a good night to everyone.

Ten minutes
Is this seat taken?...
Asked the stunningly beautiful redhead with her hands full. It was already the bottom of the third so I figured on having the empty seat next to me to hold the random detritus you bring and then somehow collect during a ballgame. Hat, jacket, beet,binoculars,half eaten bag of peanuts, program would all eventually spend some time in that seat. But not now, as beauty incarnate eyed me and my seat lasciviously. She had dark glasses covering what I imagine to be green eyes, but I could feel their intensity through the polarized lens. In one hand was a souvenir mug with expensive cheap beer while the other hand held a foot long with the works and a bun not big enough. The end of the dog pointed skyward lewdly and I couldn't help the smile starting to cross my face. She sidled by me, her breasts inches from my chest drawing my attention, however briefly, away from the game for the first time but not the last today. She sat down, said her name was Lindsey and that it was nice to meet me. I stammered a hello and quickly cracked a few peanuts to shove in my mouth while I looked for my composure. The ballgame quickly became secondary as we got the pleasantries out of the way and began to move into the realm of potential. It was 5-0 in the seventh when I asked her if she wanted to leave, beat the crowds and find a real drink.

another ten minutes
If today had a color...
It would be broken, a palette of stains neither bright nor dull. The sky morphed from blue to grey to white to black to pink, purple and red without so much as a sound. The forest reflected the light onto mossy trunks of brown, layers of green, the occasional burst of pink and the mottled tans of leafless branches. The streets were a washed out gray, the color of old dishwater too long standing, begging to be drained. Each day's color is a reflection of attitude from one person's perspective. I like to think that the brighter colors are reserved for those days when the sex was outstanding before heading off to work, or the bagel was exceptional, or the coffee barista flashed a smile that could have melted a glacier. Those are highlighter yellow, orange, neon green or pink days while at the other end of the spectrum lie those days when the alarm fails to go off, the bus is late, or you forgot to brush your teeth before heading out the door. Those days it's best to have a dark blue, purple, forest green or even brown to color the day with. I have found no days colored black or white, because we live in technicolor and nothing is that easy.

Ten minutes
You want me to do what?
I stared at him in disbelief, not because of what he was asking me to do, but because I was the newest member of this clique and I barely knew these guys. And they didn't know me except for what little I had told them in the mock interview I did, which barely concealed my laughter and lies as I sat at one end of a long table in a seedy downtown bar while the four of them sat across from me throwing shots back and questions forward. I have always been an avid liar, able to pour my imagination onto my tongue, liberating the most vivid aspects of my tortured mind. My face remained blank as I took my time studying them, not questioning their seriousness but their audacity in believing I would do what they wanted me to do. It wasn't out of the ordinary, nor violent, grotesque or dangerous. It was a game to them, I a mere pawn, and this bar would turn into the game board if I nodded my head. Cigarette smoke rose into my streaked eyes and I turned away to feast my eyes on the sexy unknowing bartender who was just about to participate in a bizarre ritual de lo habitual that I realized later this band of elfin hooligans had propagated over and over again through out the city.


Another Ten minutes
I laughed so hard...
Spit flew out of my mouth, boogers dropped from my nose in runny bombs and I think my ears even popped. Everyday life is absurd and funny enough but when you throw an unsuspecting cat lazily preening itself on a sunny patch of driveway and an inquisitive old dog into the mix, the entire day, even the week, becomes lighter and more entertaining. We were returning from a morning stroll, nothing early but it was before noon and there was still a touch of chill in the air. Cherry blossom trees were blooming red and white all over the city and spreading the wonderful bouquet of spring down the street. I don't usually pay too much attention to Abby when she walks because she is old, smart and not likely to bother anyone or anything. But today, she ambled up this driveway in all honest dogness looking to sniff a little kitty, not scare the piss out of it. The striped tabby with the gently swishing tail had her back turned to the approaching Abby and therefore had no idea what was happening, so when she shot into the air vertically with a screech and all five appendages splayed, fear and laughter rushed over us respectively. A five foot standing vertical leap is almost impossible, but with the grace and ease of a practiced feline, this cat accomplished it and hit the ground in stride, disappearing as quickly as she could, leaving both Abby and in disbelief, and me in hysterics.

I just recently had this idea of writing a novel based on all of these little short tidbits of stories I've been writing over the past month. It makes perfect sense for the short attention span theatre of today's society...write little snippets of stories like these ten minute vignettes I'm doing, and let people's imagination run away with them, instead of having me be their guide. That being said...here are three more blasts of fiction, written in ten minute blocks...see where it takes you.

She opened her eyes...
To the glaring blue sky framed by the tall branches of a coastal redwood. She could feel the breeze, smell the salt on the air and taste dried blood on the edges of her mouth. Blinking once, then again, she sank into the stillness that was now and without moving her head, cast her eyes about. Sound seemed to be long way away, as if she were underwater but with the crystal clarity of squeegeed glass. Her body was scratchy lying clothesless on the droppings of this forest and she wasn't sure how to achieve movement. From an unfathomable distance, strength came walking into her transfixed vision and offered a helping hand. With only her mind moving, she took the familiar crutch and in a snow-glass blur felt the whole world fall out from under her. The leaves gave way to space, the treetops receded into the blue heavens and darkness began to close the area around her vision. A "what was happening" fear quickly turned to careless relaxation as falling through time and space was effortless and peaceful.

The room was empty...
When they burst through the door of the second story apartment. Looking for the greasespots that ripped them off, Tony and Angie had followed the two hippies in the their caustic meanderings for the past two days. They had continually returned to this non-descript building on East 23rd to re-stock, re-fuel, have sex, and douse more patchouli on themselves two or three times a day. Hippies are a weird sot, and as Tony had found out, they are as opportunistic as hungry rats when it comes to dope. Not always the peace, love and "let's just get along' vibe that they make themselves out to be, but more along the lines of the 'let's get something for nothing, work the system and take advantage of every free lunch out there. It's one thing to be a drug user, quite another to be a drug thief. If you can't afford it, don't use it, a simple mantra to Tony and Angie and the principal reason they were dealers and not washed up into the corners of society like high tide detritus. They trusted their clients and their clients trusted them creating a rare network of circular good will when it came to drugs. But this was different as they surveyed the despair in the broken room of people living like animals in the third world. The only thing moving scurried from under the bed to behind the sink. A plate of filth sat on a littered table decorated by childish drawings of a junkie higher than a peach pie on Sunday.

Did you drop this?...
I found it walking down the street just north of the park I usually see you in. I happened to be out watching the trees slowly come out of their winter hibernation, seeing the new moms with their spring packages all tucked into warmth, and the dogs loping idiotically behind. It looked lonely and cold, not exactly dressed for the weather and seemingly out of place here in the city. You have one of those kind faces with smiling eyes that I think fondly of when I see something in my imagination that belongs to you. I wonder if you know it's missing, if you think you just misplaced it or you have a hole in your day because you know, just know deep down in your soul, that it up and walked out on you. In that case, should I try and return it, or tuck it in with me, feed it, love it, nurture it and watch it grow into a beauty only the stars can imagine?
What do you do with a found broken heart?