Archive for November, 2007
The Ghost of Alison Kinsey
Last night I was enjoying a round of drinks at the dirtiest dive bar in downtown Austin with good friends. We sat in our usual spot…next to the corner where I accidentally broke a glass and the pool table where I accidentally broke a cue (seriously, both accidents…). One of my friends began telling a story about his day at work. He is a fantastic storyteller, and I love listening to him tell me about his life, his ideas, and anything else he could possibly conjure.
He packed his cigarettes slowly and looked into my eyes–honestly afraid, or was he simply baffled? I do not know. As he slapped the fresh pack of menthol cigarettes on the fat of his hand he regaled us with a tale I now wish to share. Ripping the thin plastic wrapper from his cigarettes he began…
The day before he had received a call at work. How ordinary…as that is all we do…take calls. Yet, this call would begin the most interesting of discussions. After the call was routed through thousands of miles of electrical cable and circuity it came steaming into his cubicle, hot and ready. As sometimes happens, a profile automatically pulled up on his computer screen. The name read Alison Kinsey.
He lit his cigarette, feet from the smoking prohibited sign that graced our general space. He went on…after he picked up and said his standard Dell greeting he waited for a response, only to receive dead air. A ghostcall. The bane of a telephone salesmen’s existence. These happen from time to time–a personless call, a phantom on the telephonic network. They count against all of your key metrics…close rate, margin per call, average handle time, and on and on…they are truly the most annoying part of this job.
While he waited in silence, counting the seconds until he could compliantly hang up, he noticed that this profile had well over 600 notes within it. Most customer profiles do not have any notes, so this was by all means special. He began to read them. Taking another slow drag from his minty cigarette, he told me that the notes were riddled with complaints about this number–a ghostcall phenomenon, or worse yet…
A voice comes across the line.
“Hello..?!”
“Thank you choosing Dell, what may I build for you today?”
A woman is there and after some basic questioning it is revealed that her name is not Alison Kinsey. He follows through to conclusion and it becomes obvious that the call is fraud. The call ends and he logs out for a brief moment to read deeper into these notes left by other reps. Soon it becomes apparent that this number, Alison Kinsey, is a legend within Dell. Other reps wrote of how they had received three calls from her within a matter of hours; other complained of the attempted fraud. All cried out for Dell to do something, anything about this number.
One note read, “My first day in Gold Queue (our top queue) and I finally got Alison…today is a good day.” Lighting another cigarette, my friend told me that it appeared a rite of passage…a to-do at Dell…to speak to Alison Kinsey, or the pretender on the other end. Blowing minty smoke in my direction, he continued…
It is the next day, the very day he is telling me his tale, and he is sitting at his cube. A call comes flying in, hot and ready. It pulls up a profile–Alison Kinsey. He curses. Not twice? He picks up, and as usual, it is silent. He takes the opportunity to add to the collective sentience, to the history of this damned profile, and he writes, “Twice in two days. I guess I’m in.” He then glances up to investigate the number associated with the profile…the number that brings Alison Kinsey into your life.
1-800-283-3355.
The phone call is coming from within Dell.
The ghost of Christmas past. Alison Kinsey. He crushes the lit cherry of his second minty cigarette into the table–the place is in need of some color, even if it is a chalky burnt black. Leaning back in his chair, eyes huge, he nods. Yes, we heard him correctly. The number was our own. Alison Kinsey was our own.
So, I began to wonder. Was Alison Kinsey the first person these fraud artists attempted to rip off? Was her name the unfortunate one to grace the customer profile associated with our own number? Or was Alison Kinsey the figment of some creative reps imagination, who one day decided to give this amazingly haunting profile a more human name?
Who is Alison Kinsey? And why does she call the same number she’s calling from?
I’m sure it is quite simple…a scam artist’s attempt to cover their own tracks by somehow having our number appear when they call, which in turn always brings up the profile of Alison Kinsey, but the dreamer in me likes to think bigger…greater…more fantastic…
The ghost of Dell. The ghost of Alison Kinsey.
Maybe one day…I’ll meet her, and write my own note. I think it will read, “Finally.”
Of Boys and Girls…
I’ve been working quite a bit lately. In an extremely real sense, it feels like I have been living up at the office…eleven to thirteen hour shifts, sleep, rinse, repeat. The life of a salesman during the fourth quarter of the fiscal year. Where are my stock options? Where is my complementary turkey or Christmas basket?
So, in lieu of my common nightly activities, which have involved crashing as soon as possible, I have fought against my better judgment and stayed up tonight to simply enjoy time away from work. I haven’t accomplished anything, but I did experience the most profound of epiphanies while talking to a friend…
The whole thing began when she commented on the poem I posted on here a few days back. She told me that she liked it and, being the high school english teacher that she is, went into a brief description of her thoughts. For whatever reason, the exchange made me want to share with her, so I cracked open the digital archives of my life and did just that. I kept giving her more and more of my writings to read…spanning across a number of years in my youth.
She was subjected to the first recorded poem I ever wrote. A terrible piece of garbage latent with emotions and terms I still do not comprehend…so assuredly the little boy who wrote them did not either. And she began to crack into the archive of her own life and share with me the thoughts and words of other times.
And it dawned on us…we haven’t changed one bit. Sure, the writing grew more crisp and profound as the years went on and we grew into adults, but the thoughts at the core of it all were identical to the feelings and emotions we experience today–now, in the present of our present.
If you were to disconnect from the linearity of time and find that small child I once was, his left hand tirelessly scribbling in spiral notebooks and loose paper, you will find the same fears, hopes, and dreams that I still possess manifest within him. He is me, and I have not changed. None of us have. We grow, and we learn, and we cope…but when you distill us down to the raw materials that form our persona, you discover that they are everlasting.Some of the same themes I have discussed thoroughly on this site were tucked neatly into the blurbs of a ten-year-old’s journal: love, rejection, death, redemption, regret…was I too young for these thoughts or was I destined to always feel them?
You see, I was on a date recently and the beautiful girl who sat across from me told me to never change for anyone…to find someone who likes me for exactly who I am. I thought it was a wonderful statement…as it reminded me of all the times I tried to bend who I was for a relationship and ultimately failed. I had decided a long time ago that I would never change for someone again. I was simply fooling myself…I couldn’t have changed even if I wanted to do so. I am Elliott James Griffin. I always have been and I always will be. I am reminded of the book on the legendary King Arthur entitled “The Once and Future King.” The name of the book is derived from the belief that Arthur was born to rule, a preordained right had been entrusted upon him by the Gods and he was destined to be King. And me, the small child writing of love and loss before he knew them, and the man now left in their tragic wake–the once and future king, Elliott James Griffin. Time is irrelevant. This was decided well before I was born. God made me this way.
And he made you in your own way. You cannot escape it and you cannot change it.
The Point of No Return
Tomorrow I must own an obligation that I cannot escape. The line was drawn in the sands many moons ago…the line separating Gods from mere mortals, and a decision must be made. The Piper must be paid. And I must commit to a life I have longed to live for so very long…
Tomorrow I will mark my body. Tomorrow I will brand my soul. Tomorrow I will finally become a Testament.
I will take the first step into a larger world…one without fear, addiction, or doubt. I cannot stop what is happening and if I could I would not want to…this was preordained at my birth when I took my first breath and became dependent upon everything around me.
Tomorrow I will become a Testament. Unless I should die tonight.
Sic Transit Gloria Mundi
The last poem I ever wrote, and will ever write.
the lady on the shore, by: elliott james griffin
does this moon have you in store,
you,
my lady on the shore…
laying down to dream, outside time and space
like before, i am greeted by the same sad face.
sitting by my ocean,
you look so pale
do you require my strength?
you seem so frail…
your skin always so kind;
resting gently on the beaches of my mind.
your eyes always so empty;
carrying burdens that weigh so heavy
a beauty that is deeper than my eye sees
will you always be in my dreams,
will you always reside in me?
why is your heart so broken…
is it my fault,
for saving words i have never spoken?
i am sorry:
if only the morning did not steal you
and each night our love begin anew
my lady, if only…
why must the days
be so
lonely..?
trapped in my sleep, we cannot get out
and each time fear grasps my throat,
silencing words id die to shout!
i love you…!
words i have not spoke
and everytime i attempt to speak them
i am silenced by a choke
are you
the unattainable,
the unimaginable,
the girl i wish to hold..?
or are you
the allusion of whats to unfold:
something so beautiful, something so perfect-
all alone.
in day i sift through the dreams
and realize im still not awake
this world is not real;
this world is a fake
you are real
you are reality
you are really
in me
enough! it will end!
to hell my soul i will send!
on this night i am coming for you
even at cost of heaven’s blue!
i will not leave you by your own
for such sin i could never atone
i will take my life to sleep
never caring where my soul shall creep
meet me by the sunset, our brightest door
Now I will always have time for you,
you,
my lady on the shore…
On This Most Auspicious of Moments…
….permit me to give thanks to a man who changed my life.
Picture it. Senior year of high school. You stand upon an asphalt track, the circle of your earthly purpose, and you survey the field. Standing amongst the best athletes from around the state, you slowly create fists with your hands. You are calm, still…and nothing can tear you away from what is about to happen. There are three brothers who join you in this endeavor. Together you form a team and you all are the best. First leg, freshmen. Second leg, junior. Third leg, sophomore. Anchor leg, senior.
The announcer steadies the crowd and instructs the runners to take their positions. Your veins are still burning with adrenaline from the preliminary round in which you, and your team, missed setting a record by .01 seconds. You make a fist with your left hand…slowly…staring at it, for within seconds it will be full of cold steel. And you will finish the race. And you will be a champion.
The gun fires. Twice. Panic. What has gone wrong? Judges run up to your teammate, the young freshmen who has grown so much. He looks guilty. The crowd begins to murmur and it becomes clear…he fell out of his blocks. It is over. You are disqualified.
No!
They allow him to reset. Whew. The gun fires again. Once. And they’re off. You watch each stride with a sick anticipation, making sure that the cold steel within your friends’ and enemies’ hands do not touch the ground. And it doesn’t. From freshmen to junior, junior to sophomore, and now…it is your turn. You take one last look at your friend, your very good friend, running towards you…alone. You all are so amazing.
And you run. You run…alone. Turning back you see him still so far behind–you left him as if he were standing still. Your lead is evaporating…victory is still a possibility, but the record will be left for another day. You stop. You just stop and turn to save the day. “Just hand it to me!” Yet the cold steel that you imagined within your hand never finds you. All you remember is seeing it in the air and grabbing at it…not once, twice…but three times. And seeing it hit the asphalt track and roll into oblivion.
And you are me.
It is over. We are disqualified. The race that was never meant to be. The team that was never supposed to win. A state championship…destroyed. A chance to have our names etched into the state record books…gone. I just cried, and cried, and cried.
After the track meet, we went to eat…the team, parents, and our coach. Sitting amongst friends I felt so treacherous. As the oldest, I shouldered responsibility for the entire affair, begging parents to forgive me for robbing their sons. They tried to soothe me, blaming life…blaming chance…blaming everyone but me. But I knew…I left him, and then I couldn’t catch his throw…
When the meal was over my coach and I were left sitting at the table alone. He asked me what was wrong, as if he didn’t know. My eyes swelled with tears again. I told him how I was never good at anything…how I trained and worked so hard to become worthy. Burying my head in my hands, I hid from him, ashamed. In a soft, but stern voice he demanded that I looked him in the eyes. After staring at me for a moment, he grabbed my left hand and, taking out his pen, wrote the most wonderful message on my arm.
I looked at it harshly, deeply. It contradicted everything I had lived for. It told me that the hours I spent working, and running, and sweating, and dying were not important. It stole from me the very purpose for which I had existed for so long. It simply read, “It doesn’t matter.” He told me to look down at his message every time I felt sick or guilty about what happened. He told me to remember, remember that I am going to do amazing things in my life and achieve greatness…and that this moment, right here, right now…is completely insignificant.
The man who drove my passion. The man who created a monster out of me…a 190 pound mass of muscles and arrogance…the man who taught me how to always win, and lose with dignity. The man who loved me for my unwavering loyalty to my teams and my sports…was now telling me how little it all mattered.
I stared at that scribble on my arm the entire ride home. I thought of state records, and medals, and glory, and vindication….of validation and respect, of the girl I wished to impress most…of my Mom and Dad, of my Coach, of former coaches, of friends…enemies…of everyone who doubted me, of that cold steel rolling….
And I always remembered…that it doesn’t even matter.
Thank you Coach Boles. Thank you for creating a monster and taming him. Thank you for always believing in me, for knowing that the puny 140 pound child that stood before you would one day rise to the challenge of Gods and destroy men. Thank you for teaching me more than sports…of life, death, and the world beyond. Thank you for making me understand what it truly means to be a man. But most of all…thank you for letting me go.
Although I will always carry the curse of that day…the what-ifs and the possibilities…I will never forget what you did for me…
Thank you for relinquishing my pain.
On Second Thought…
On the way home tonight from a friend’s house I remembered something very interesting. As I drove I went back in time to the beginning of August of this year. I’m in a bar in downtown Austin…was it the Aquarium…or the Library? I cannot recall. Either way, I’m on the second story talking to a girl I was interested in. We were connecting on a somewhat real level, which is fantastically impossible in that setting. Above the loud music and the drones of the mindless cattle about, we discussed a long list of truly provocative things. And at some point she made the off comment that the aforementioned cattle–college kids and young urban professionals perusing around us–were somewhat substandard…a breed of idiots not worth the resources they consume and energy they burn. She wished they would all just go away–in the most permanent of ways.
And I just stared down at them for a minute. A long and somehow silent moment. And I disagreed.
I told her that each one of these people–covered in sweat and hard liquors, arguing with significant others and friends–were special. I remember telling her that I do not view people like most…that I see each person as a universe, a world of perspectives, thoughts, feelings, and interpretations. I found one sloppy young man who was having a terrible fight with what I can only guess was his girlfriend and I took him into me. My eyes absorbed him fully and I made a million assumptions about him, his life, and his future…and I decided that I hated him.
I pointed him out to this girl and I told her how much I did not like him. His demeanor, the dumb look on his face, the obvious lack of worthwhile thoughts…all disgusted me. But I loved him. He is a universe…a body of talents and vices, a collection of beautiful tragedies…And I loved him for it. Turning from the stage of our discussion, I looked her deep in the eyes and I touched her arm. I do not remember the speech, the most assuredly pedantic monologue, but I do remember the meaning…
If he died…if anyone dies…an entire universe dies. In that instant a history and a future flame out into oblivion. You see…so much of this world is our perception of it, and no two people see “this” the same. And in that way we are so much more than human…we are infinite and omnipotent, we are everything and everyone we perceive. When we pass, a stream of conscious thought is taken and never returned. Everyone…everyone is so unbelievably special.
She stared back at me with a blankness I cannot accurately explain. Her eyes grew extremely moist and she simply stared. I don’t know if she was disseminating the words I had spoken or if she was just confused…but she stared. And it was I who broke the silence…telling her goodbye, that universes of my own were waiting. I told her to have a good life and remember how truly tragic the death of even the most worthless person is.
I didn’t get a number. I didn’t want a number.
When I die, which I will God willing, I want people to know my universe…the world as I see it. I want there to be books written with my name…either gracing the cover or within their folds, explaining the life and times of yours truly. I think about my own death more than most–of this I am sure. But I do not fear it…if it were to face me, I know I would embrace it. But I do fear one thing, and that is leaving this world, the one outside of us, without a mark, without a mission.
Everyone is a galaxy on wheels…and I am no different or special. Yet the reason this exists, this page, this website, this entry, is because I want to be heard. I want to infect you. I want you to think…about me, about yourself, and about everything between us–from the trifling flora and fauna to the stars so far away.
I do not want my universe to end…I want it to live forever, in you and the people you touch.
When I remember that girl, whose world I crushed with the tenderness of thought, I do not see anything but that stare. A constant and wonderful reminder that I had succeeded…I had infected her world.
As I have with your own. Maybe I do always win…
A Thought for the Thoughtful
“I always win.” The personal motto of Elliott James Griffin. I’ve said it to myself so often that over time I’ve come to truly believe it. At first I would say it silently within the safety of my own mind, a wry smile the only clue to the outside world that the greatest of self indulgences was currently gracing me. Then one day I allowed it to slip out…”I always win.” Bold. Daring. Challenging the world beyond my thoughts to prove me wrong. And then it no longer slipped, but spilled willfully from my mouth…
I am Elliott James Griffin and I always win.
Where you would see probability, I would see providence…the willful hand of God awarding his most magnificent creation with the spoils of the material world. Divine preference…an ordained and undeniable truth: I cannot fail. I believed this for the longest of times. I believed that God delivered situations and people into my life because I was special…select…choice…
But today that all changed. I had a brief talk with a friend, and she made a comment of great significance. She told me, with little prudence, that when I see something that I want I do not relent until it is mine. I set my sights on something, someone, and I make it happen. She told me that I essentially will things into being…that my passion and desire forces events to materialize that would normally never.
See, all this time I thought it was God, but it was me. I always win? No. I will to win. And what does win even mean? I met a girl by tagging along to my best friend’s Business Club cookout in college and decided instantly that I would date her one day. A year later it happened. I always win.
But do you see a wedding ring? No. So obviously, I don’t always win. But I wanted her, and for a brief time I had her. So did I win or did I lose? I’m not sure, but my conversation with my friend today really made me think…She made me wonder if I’m wonderfully good at prediction, or woefully bad at following through to conclusion. If I will things into being, do I essentially will them out as well? So many examples come to mind…
My will shines with wondrous light, but for what? For the eventual failure? For that brief moment where I betray my deepest narcissistic thought to the world, proclaiming without hesitation, “I always win!”? For the most fleeting moments of happiness..? I remember laying with that girl I met a year after I had made my bold claim, finally together, and thinking to myself…”I always win.” And now my bed is empty.
I will sleep alone tonight.
I guess I really don’t win at all. I will. My life is the ultimate story of bad timing. So many women, so many times its been the wrong time in our lives. So many opportunities for change, so much bad timing and the same routine prevails. I don’t believe I’ve ever won in my life. There have been great victories…captain of my football team, Speaker of the Senate, and so many other pointless titles that I wanted so badly at the time. So what were those victories? What do they mean?
I feel like I will one day finally understand what it means to win…and I’m not even sure what to expect. Maybe it means saying, “I do,” and meaning it. Maybe its helping a complete stranger at the cost of my life. Maybe its finally being a good brother…
I always win. No, I always will. And I will always will…until the curtain calls.
A Midwinter Night’s Reality
Download LinkYuki Kajiura - I Am Free
In the almost words of Mark Twain…”It is better to stand silent and appear complete than to speak and remove all doubt.”
The stage is set, and the pieces have begun to move…
Now, only God knows.
To My Brother
Download LinkYuki Kajiura - The Harsh Truth
I feel like we don’t know each other. I feel empty. I miss you, but I fear that I’ve already missed you, all of you.
I know we didn’t have the most traditional sibling relationship. I know you had demons and fears and you chose to run. But it kills me, because I feel like you ran from me, from Mom and Dad, from the people who would love you no matter what. You left so early…I was an only-child by thirteen, orphaned by the brother I wished so much to know. I know why you did it. God, I know why you did it. But you didn’t just leave me…you abandoned me.
I needed you. I needed an older brother. I wanted to be a kid brother so badly. Watching my friends and their siblings used to tear my heart to shreds…it was jealousy in its worst form. I thought of you every time David and Brian shared a moment, and when they’d fight. Lord knows I wanted to fight with you…I wanted anything from you.
My greatest fear is that when Mom and Dad die, we will too. I feel like without them, we have nothing in common, nothing to bind us together. I think of you often, and call you less. I don’t know what to say…”Hey, how are you?” seems trite. I know how you are…you are human: happy, sad, elated, dejected, and everything else all at once. I know, believe me, I know.
I feel like I’ve failed you in some capacity, even though you were the one who left me at such a young age. I feel like I didn’t do something…that I was the reason you left. Inadequacy. I could not heal your pain. None of us could. We failed you so much, Ian. I cry when I think about it. I’m crying now. I am so sorry that I could not help you…I was so young, a child, an infant to a life and a struggle I could never understand–even now. Can you forgive me..? Will you forgive me..?
I love you. I don’t know you, but I love you dearly. I do not call because I am afraid to know you. I am afraid to sit down and reveal the depth of my failure as a brother. I want you to live a long life and find happiness. I remember the day Mom called me crying so terribly I was sure someone had died. And someone had. You. Almost anyways. You tried to take yourself from us in the most complete way, and if you remember, in that moment I found the strength to call you. And I was mean…I yelled and told you to stop hurting our family and to stop hurting yourself. “Just do it!” “I don’t care anymore!” “Stop making MY mother cry!”
It was terrible. I am terrible.
If I die before I have the courage to look you in the eyes and tell you all of this with words spoken, know that you are important to me. You are the darkness in the corner of my mind, reminding me of my own humanity, my own struggles and demons. You are also the light, that keeps me hoping…
Hoping that one day I can tell you how sorry I am…that one day I can know you…
I love you. Stay well, brother.
Save the Girl, Save the World
Download Link Ronnie Day - Angel in Disguise
In my last post I retold the events of a dream that I had no control over. Never before in my life had I imagined that I would hold the solution to the atomic equation within my mind. Never before in my life had I imagined that I could spare the world from the nuclear age. It was a wonderful dream that my mind created for me through a vortex of personalities, wishes, hopes, fears, and more.
However, I do have one dream that I have never dared to share. This particular dream is my own creation, borne from conscious imagination and a romantic heart. When I tell you about this dream you may think there is something tragically wrong with me, and you would be absolutely correct. There is something wrong with me. There is something inside of me that wishes only to give, so blatantly and so purely that there is nothing left.
Nothing but a memory. Let me explain.
Since I was a young boy I have always wished for one chance, an opportunity to prove my worth, or more correctly my love. While the details of the dream are ambiguous and ill-defined, the end result is always the same. It begins with me and someone I love doing the most innocent of things. This particular person is no one in particular. Over the years, her name has changed, but she represents the same thing each time: the woman I love more than my own life.
We could be out eating or laying in a field talking, or simply in the same place at the same time, completely disconnected from one another. And then it begins to happen…knives, bullets, cars uncontrollable, or angry men with violence in their eyes…trouble is everywhere. She is in danger; her life is at risk. I am forced into action. I choose to act. I willfully submit to my fate.
And I die. I die. I die.
I die over and over again for her. I would die now for her. Taking bullets or knocking her from the path of a derelict car…the final act of love—death. I want to show her how much she means to me and at times I beg for the chance, the opportunity to give everything I have just so she can remember…remember how much one man loved her. And how little everything else mattered to him…
I think about this happening often, only because I fear the love I have to give, even over a lifetime, could never really tell her how much she means to me.
Again, whomever she may be…