Ezekiel Tyrus's Blog: A Story a Week with Zeke, page 8
December 2, 2013
Dear Universe, ...
Dear Universe,
May I be so successful and well-known at the time of my death that complete strangers make insensitive jokes about my demise on Social Media. That's truly a sign that you've made it.
Best,
Ezekiel Tyrus
May I be so successful and well-known at the time of my death that complete strangers make insensitive jokes about my demise on Social Media. That's truly a sign that you've made it.
Best,
Ezekiel Tyrus
November 25, 2013
An Ex-Con Who Can't Get A Better Job Than Security At Walgreens
On Fri night, I went out drinking in North Beach.
At Tupelo, I see this pretty blond woman I know as a regular customer at my Tenderloin Walgreens. She comes in daily M - F wearing business power suits. I said 'Hi,' she was pretty drunk, hanging with a few equally pretty girlfriends and boring Ben Affleck-looking yuppie dudes.
She asked if I was working as a bouncer at the bar. "No," I said, "I'm just having a drink."
Later, I see the same woman with her friends at Maggie's, while there she said, "I always had you pegged as an ex-con who couldn't get a better job than Security at Walgreens."
Not pleased with what she said but always pondering an insult's motivation, I asked if that turned her on and she said, "Oh, my God, NO!"
Me being me, I proceeded to heavily promote my novel, 'Eli,Ely' to much skepticism and disbelief to her and her YUPPIE crowd.
On Sun, the woman came into Walgreens wearing sweats with a copy of my novel asking for an autograph. I thanked her and while I was signing it mentioned that I didn't appreciate the "ex-con-who- can't-get-a-better-job-than-Security-at-Walgreens comment."
She told me she's an attorney and likes ex-cons, "that's my bread and butter," she says.
She never apologizes.
Who cares? I got a sale.
The old me would've told her to fuck-off at the bar and tried to pick a fight with one of her male companions, the new me bites his tongue and gets her to buy his novel.
The End.
11/25/2013.
At Tupelo, I see this pretty blond woman I know as a regular customer at my Tenderloin Walgreens. She comes in daily M - F wearing business power suits. I said 'Hi,' she was pretty drunk, hanging with a few equally pretty girlfriends and boring Ben Affleck-looking yuppie dudes.
She asked if I was working as a bouncer at the bar. "No," I said, "I'm just having a drink."
Later, I see the same woman with her friends at Maggie's, while there she said, "I always had you pegged as an ex-con who couldn't get a better job than Security at Walgreens."
Not pleased with what she said but always pondering an insult's motivation, I asked if that turned her on and she said, "Oh, my God, NO!"
Me being me, I proceeded to heavily promote my novel, 'Eli,Ely' to much skepticism and disbelief to her and her YUPPIE crowd.
On Sun, the woman came into Walgreens wearing sweats with a copy of my novel asking for an autograph. I thanked her and while I was signing it mentioned that I didn't appreciate the "ex-con-who- can't-get-a-better-job-than-Security-at-Walgreens comment."
She told me she's an attorney and likes ex-cons, "that's my bread and butter," she says.
She never apologizes.
Who cares? I got a sale.
The old me would've told her to fuck-off at the bar and tried to pick a fight with one of her male companions, the new me bites his tongue and gets her to buy his novel.
The End.
11/25/2013.
November 3, 2013
Stop Playing the Bad Songs
Stop Playing the Bad Songs: How Ezekiel Tyrus Discovered True Happiness
By Ezekiel Tyrus
My name is Ezekiel Tyrus. People call me Zeke.
There is no perfect life. You're always going to have responsibilities, there will always be disappointments, and assholes are everywhere.
However, responsibilities build character, some events will exceed your expectations, and nice people are everywhere.
Depression, anger, self-destructive urges and suicidal thoughts have consumed me since adolescence. Many people thought I'd be gone by 30, including myself.
Whenever somebody was rude to me or somehow mistreated me, I harbored resentment, thought about what they did all the time, replaying it in my mind in one continuous loop, and in many situations, I pursued revenge, of which I will not elaborate.
Mellowing into my mid-30s, I began treating other people and myself better. My relationships got deeper and it was time to take take my writing seriously. Eventually selling a few short stories, writing and producing a few plays and selling a novel, Eli,Ely by Ezekiel Tyrus.
Despite good things happening in my life, I still couldn't be 100% happy. My demons, my destructive thoughts were always there. Everything form somebody being a dick to me and me wanting revenge, to me being dissatisfied with some aspect of my life past or present, and brooding about it, getting all worked-up and angry, upsetting the people closest to me.
If you are wondering why my 4-year relationship recently came to an end, that’s part of it. You can’t be 100% present for somebody when you’re too busy fuming about your past.
I knew I wanted to change and that it was now a quality of life issue. Who wants to spend their entire adult life like this? Thoughts like revenge and looking back in anger ate up so much of my precious time.
I wanted to be happy, at peace and I wanted to be the kind of cool guy who doesn’t react to other people’s bullshit.
In the last few years, I buried a considerable amount of baggage but it wasn't enough and I wanted a mind uncluttered by yesterday's outrage, and I wanted to lose my desire to beat-up every asshole I saw.
For decades, I tried various therapies that did nothing and though I've been meditating for years, it wasn't providing the overall personal change I needed.
I read a book called The Tangier Diaries by John Hopkins. It was a detailed diary by an American expatriate living in Morocco and I decided I wanted to keep a detailed diary of my own thinking it'd increase my skill as a writer and be something to secure my memories as I got older.
As I started doing this, I remembered advice regarding a Gratitude Journal where you write '5 Things to be Grateful For' every night before bedtime. I tried it years ago and it was stupid as I was just kept writing the same things every night and still woke up angry.
Instead, I decided to up the ante and try to write about gratitude every time I saw something to be grateful for. So, I'd literally wake up and immediately write, "Grateful that I got a good night's sleep last night." Then I’d write, "Grateful for the company I had last night." Then, "Grateful I had time to write fiction yesterday." "Grateful I’m having a good morning. I'm listening to music. I’m in a good mood. I have time to exercise and shower before work." Then I step outside and write "Grateful for today's weather. It's a gorgeous Northern California day with plenty of sun and not too hot. Grateful I live in San Francisco. It feels like home after all these years. Grateful I live in North Beach, the coolest neighborhood in SF.” Deciding to hail a cab halfway to work, “Grateful that I just hailed a cab and grateful the cab driver is a young dude who seems like the kind of guy I'd hang out with and his cab is a clean, brand new hybrid and the cabdriver is listening to a radio station that I like and the cab driver is telling me about his band, saying they’re deeply influenced by Steely Dan."
And so on, I'm literally in the cab writing in my journal writing about how grateful I am to be inside the cab writing in my journal.
"Grateful on my way to work today, I see a beautiful Asian-American woman in yoga pants and a red 49ers jersey, we make eye contact and she smiles and has dimples," and so forth.
Writers need to write as often as possible and they need to be observant. Within a few days, I realized I was always writing and observing. So, it did make me a better, more disciplined writer but also, I recognized that I was always smiling.
Recently,I told my ex-girlfriend Michelle that I'm not getting any new asshole memories because the moment a rude encounter is over, it's out of my head because immediately I'm seeing things around me that give me gratitude.
In a few weeks, I filled several journals with nothing but moments of gratitude. I can always go back and read them and be happy again.
Disappointments that in the past would've sent me in a suffering rage either directed within or towards somebody else, -now fly right through me because even inside a disappointment, you can find things to be grateful. Sometimes, it's merely the opportunity.
When I found myself embraced by so much happiness and appreciation for the world around me, I began wishing I had been doing this habit/hobby/art-form my entire life. I'd sit around thinking of all these magic moments in my early adulthood that I wish I captured in my Gratitude Journal as it was happening, like the time I won 500 dollars playing a lottery scratch off or the time the most beautiful girl at the club in Tampa, the one I had been admiring for from afar for months took me home. Within weeks we were living together. We were briefly engaged and lived in London, England. Does it matter that we never got married, that it didn’t work out? No. Not really. I’m just grateful for the experience of having been young, in love and in London.
Then I went further into my childhood, my adolescence and I kept remembering all these events and moments in my life that I was so thoroughly grateful, it changed my entire perspective.
In a relatively short time, my generation bought records, then cassette tapes and eventually CDs. If you bought an album with 12 songs and you liked 10 of those songs, you had a damn good album. You had a great album. Nobody bought an album and expected to like every song. If you liked 10 out of 12 songs, that album was considered a classic.
However, if all you did was focus on the two songs that sucked, the two songs you hated, if those were the only songs you played over and over again, than you had a shitty record, a terrible record, one that makes you unhappy and angry as you keep replaying these two songs over and over again.
Keeping a detailed Gratitude Journal has made me realize that all I've been doing my entire life is replaying the two songs that suck on an otherwise brilliant album.
My life has been great, absolutely amazing. I've caused total disasters and walked away unscathed. I have survived more than one serious suicide attempt. I've been in numerous street fights and yet, have no criminal record and no real damage other than a crooked nose and a cool scar on my face. I've been blessed and extraordinary lucky my entire life but only now am I aware of it, at age 42.
Am I a slow learner or a late-bloomer?
Who knows? Either way, I’m grateful.
My childhood was awesome. My adolescence was great. My early adulthood was charmed. I would gladly relive my entire life, even if it meant having to experience the same bad decisions I made and others made because ultimately, they were merely the two crappy songs on an otherwise perfect album.
People who've known me a long time will be shocked by this because part of my identity was that I hated my childhood, I hated my family, hated my adolescence, hated my early adulthood, hated my past and whatever happiness I've experienced in life, it was always too fleeting and the two chips I carried on my shoulders were visible wherever I went.
Today, I can't think of my past without conjuring hours and hours of gratitude. Seriously, I can only think of the stuff I’m grateful for and that’s not a manipulation. I’m not deluded. I love my entire family, they gave me a great childhood, they gave me a million stories, and a great foundation and they gave me my entire life and now I want to know how the rest of it is going to be as a very happy person because this is new to me.
Who knew underneath all the darkness and anger was a very happy person? I certainly did not.
Now, while a part of me lately has been regretting that I didn't start this Gratitude Journal decades ago, another part of me recognizes that had I discovered happiness back then, I never would've written Eli,Ely.
I am so proud of my novel and think everybody should read it but a happy person doesn't write a novel like Eli, Ely.
I wrote it a time period when I was either going to commit suicide or write abook and look what I did.
My next book, inspired by happiness and gratitude will be even better.
Not everybody will be inspired to keep a detailed Gratitude Journal but for those of you out there suffering from depression, anger issues, thoughts of suicide, it could simply be a question of focus.
What are you thinking about?
Are you constantly replaying the worst songs on an otherwise great album?
It’s easy to let the assholes, the jerks, the bullies, the green-eyed monsters occupy all your mental headlines but look around, you’ve got friends and there are even more people who want you to do well, wishing you nothing but good cheer. Let them have all the publicity in your mental media.
And to all my friends and family, especially those who’ve been there for years and have put up with me, know I love you and I'm sorry.
if you ever want to know what to give me as a gift, buy me a journal, I've gone through about 5 or 6 of these babies in a few weeks. I'm going to give away all my books on my bookshelves and fill them up with my own Gratitude Journals. That’s a personal challenge.
And speaking of gratitude, thanks for your time. I appreciate you reading (or listening) to this entire piece.
10/29/2013
By Ezekiel Tyrus
My name is Ezekiel Tyrus. People call me Zeke.
There is no perfect life. You're always going to have responsibilities, there will always be disappointments, and assholes are everywhere.
However, responsibilities build character, some events will exceed your expectations, and nice people are everywhere.
Depression, anger, self-destructive urges and suicidal thoughts have consumed me since adolescence. Many people thought I'd be gone by 30, including myself.
Whenever somebody was rude to me or somehow mistreated me, I harbored resentment, thought about what they did all the time, replaying it in my mind in one continuous loop, and in many situations, I pursued revenge, of which I will not elaborate.
Mellowing into my mid-30s, I began treating other people and myself better. My relationships got deeper and it was time to take take my writing seriously. Eventually selling a few short stories, writing and producing a few plays and selling a novel, Eli,Ely by Ezekiel Tyrus.
Despite good things happening in my life, I still couldn't be 100% happy. My demons, my destructive thoughts were always there. Everything form somebody being a dick to me and me wanting revenge, to me being dissatisfied with some aspect of my life past or present, and brooding about it, getting all worked-up and angry, upsetting the people closest to me.
If you are wondering why my 4-year relationship recently came to an end, that’s part of it. You can’t be 100% present for somebody when you’re too busy fuming about your past.
I knew I wanted to change and that it was now a quality of life issue. Who wants to spend their entire adult life like this? Thoughts like revenge and looking back in anger ate up so much of my precious time.
I wanted to be happy, at peace and I wanted to be the kind of cool guy who doesn’t react to other people’s bullshit.
In the last few years, I buried a considerable amount of baggage but it wasn't enough and I wanted a mind uncluttered by yesterday's outrage, and I wanted to lose my desire to beat-up every asshole I saw.
For decades, I tried various therapies that did nothing and though I've been meditating for years, it wasn't providing the overall personal change I needed.
I read a book called The Tangier Diaries by John Hopkins. It was a detailed diary by an American expatriate living in Morocco and I decided I wanted to keep a detailed diary of my own thinking it'd increase my skill as a writer and be something to secure my memories as I got older.
As I started doing this, I remembered advice regarding a Gratitude Journal where you write '5 Things to be Grateful For' every night before bedtime. I tried it years ago and it was stupid as I was just kept writing the same things every night and still woke up angry.
Instead, I decided to up the ante and try to write about gratitude every time I saw something to be grateful for. So, I'd literally wake up and immediately write, "Grateful that I got a good night's sleep last night." Then I’d write, "Grateful for the company I had last night." Then, "Grateful I had time to write fiction yesterday." "Grateful I’m having a good morning. I'm listening to music. I’m in a good mood. I have time to exercise and shower before work." Then I step outside and write "Grateful for today's weather. It's a gorgeous Northern California day with plenty of sun and not too hot. Grateful I live in San Francisco. It feels like home after all these years. Grateful I live in North Beach, the coolest neighborhood in SF.” Deciding to hail a cab halfway to work, “Grateful that I just hailed a cab and grateful the cab driver is a young dude who seems like the kind of guy I'd hang out with and his cab is a clean, brand new hybrid and the cabdriver is listening to a radio station that I like and the cab driver is telling me about his band, saying they’re deeply influenced by Steely Dan."
And so on, I'm literally in the cab writing in my journal writing about how grateful I am to be inside the cab writing in my journal.
"Grateful on my way to work today, I see a beautiful Asian-American woman in yoga pants and a red 49ers jersey, we make eye contact and she smiles and has dimples," and so forth.
Writers need to write as often as possible and they need to be observant. Within a few days, I realized I was always writing and observing. So, it did make me a better, more disciplined writer but also, I recognized that I was always smiling.
Recently,I told my ex-girlfriend Michelle that I'm not getting any new asshole memories because the moment a rude encounter is over, it's out of my head because immediately I'm seeing things around me that give me gratitude.
In a few weeks, I filled several journals with nothing but moments of gratitude. I can always go back and read them and be happy again.
Disappointments that in the past would've sent me in a suffering rage either directed within or towards somebody else, -now fly right through me because even inside a disappointment, you can find things to be grateful. Sometimes, it's merely the opportunity.
When I found myself embraced by so much happiness and appreciation for the world around me, I began wishing I had been doing this habit/hobby/art-form my entire life. I'd sit around thinking of all these magic moments in my early adulthood that I wish I captured in my Gratitude Journal as it was happening, like the time I won 500 dollars playing a lottery scratch off or the time the most beautiful girl at the club in Tampa, the one I had been admiring for from afar for months took me home. Within weeks we were living together. We were briefly engaged and lived in London, England. Does it matter that we never got married, that it didn’t work out? No. Not really. I’m just grateful for the experience of having been young, in love and in London.
Then I went further into my childhood, my adolescence and I kept remembering all these events and moments in my life that I was so thoroughly grateful, it changed my entire perspective.
In a relatively short time, my generation bought records, then cassette tapes and eventually CDs. If you bought an album with 12 songs and you liked 10 of those songs, you had a damn good album. You had a great album. Nobody bought an album and expected to like every song. If you liked 10 out of 12 songs, that album was considered a classic.
However, if all you did was focus on the two songs that sucked, the two songs you hated, if those were the only songs you played over and over again, than you had a shitty record, a terrible record, one that makes you unhappy and angry as you keep replaying these two songs over and over again.
Keeping a detailed Gratitude Journal has made me realize that all I've been doing my entire life is replaying the two songs that suck on an otherwise brilliant album.
My life has been great, absolutely amazing. I've caused total disasters and walked away unscathed. I have survived more than one serious suicide attempt. I've been in numerous street fights and yet, have no criminal record and no real damage other than a crooked nose and a cool scar on my face. I've been blessed and extraordinary lucky my entire life but only now am I aware of it, at age 42.
Am I a slow learner or a late-bloomer?
Who knows? Either way, I’m grateful.
My childhood was awesome. My adolescence was great. My early adulthood was charmed. I would gladly relive my entire life, even if it meant having to experience the same bad decisions I made and others made because ultimately, they were merely the two crappy songs on an otherwise perfect album.
People who've known me a long time will be shocked by this because part of my identity was that I hated my childhood, I hated my family, hated my adolescence, hated my early adulthood, hated my past and whatever happiness I've experienced in life, it was always too fleeting and the two chips I carried on my shoulders were visible wherever I went.
Today, I can't think of my past without conjuring hours and hours of gratitude. Seriously, I can only think of the stuff I’m grateful for and that’s not a manipulation. I’m not deluded. I love my entire family, they gave me a great childhood, they gave me a million stories, and a great foundation and they gave me my entire life and now I want to know how the rest of it is going to be as a very happy person because this is new to me.
Who knew underneath all the darkness and anger was a very happy person? I certainly did not.
Now, while a part of me lately has been regretting that I didn't start this Gratitude Journal decades ago, another part of me recognizes that had I discovered happiness back then, I never would've written Eli,Ely.
I am so proud of my novel and think everybody should read it but a happy person doesn't write a novel like Eli, Ely.
I wrote it a time period when I was either going to commit suicide or write abook and look what I did.
My next book, inspired by happiness and gratitude will be even better.
Not everybody will be inspired to keep a detailed Gratitude Journal but for those of you out there suffering from depression, anger issues, thoughts of suicide, it could simply be a question of focus.
What are you thinking about?
Are you constantly replaying the worst songs on an otherwise great album?
It’s easy to let the assholes, the jerks, the bullies, the green-eyed monsters occupy all your mental headlines but look around, you’ve got friends and there are even more people who want you to do well, wishing you nothing but good cheer. Let them have all the publicity in your mental media.
And to all my friends and family, especially those who’ve been there for years and have put up with me, know I love you and I'm sorry.
if you ever want to know what to give me as a gift, buy me a journal, I've gone through about 5 or 6 of these babies in a few weeks. I'm going to give away all my books on my bookshelves and fill them up with my own Gratitude Journals. That’s a personal challenge.
And speaking of gratitude, thanks for your time. I appreciate you reading (or listening) to this entire piece.
10/29/2013
October 27, 2013
Where I Get Dialogue
She said, "I like older men."
I said, "How old do you think I am?"
She, a 25, 5'9" lithe beauty said, "32."
Smiling, "I'm 42, baby."
Smiling back, "Maybe you should lie to me."
(Of course I use words from my personal life to be dialogue in my future stories.)
I said, "How old do you think I am?"
She, a 25, 5'9" lithe beauty said, "32."
Smiling, "I'm 42, baby."
Smiling back, "Maybe you should lie to me."
(Of course I use words from my personal life to be dialogue in my future stories.)
October 23, 2013
Springer's Progress by David Markson
When writing, I often think of David Markson who wrote, "Play a little. With luck a phrase or three worth some lonely pretty girl's midnight underlining."
Springer's Progress.
Springer's Progress.
October 18, 2013
October 18, 2013
Last night I went on a date with a hot strawberry-blonde woman only in town for 3 days. Great conversation, great chemistry and as the night progressed and the drinks were consumed our hands were everywhere. I walked her back to her hotel, she lives in NY and in the lobby she tells me I'm not going upstairs because the attraction is a little too overwhelming for a one-nighter or a vacation-lay. I told her that we had a great date and one shouldn't judge a date by whether or not you get laid and it'd be nice to have a friend in New York. We agreed if we ever lived in the same town, this would probably turn into a relationship, but inwardly I was little disappointed. I thought I had a sure thing. After a long kiss goodnight, I walked back to North Beach and around 12:45 AM I discovered a text from a dear friend who is going through a rough patch in their life right now. This friend has been talking about suicide. I called him and we talked for about an hour and I told him I loved him and pleaded with him to stay alive for me, telling him I needed him in my life and giving him examples of how many people love and care about him. I even offered to hail a cab to his apartment to provide company and spend the night. He said it wasn't necessary but he told me he did feel better after we spoke. This morning I checked in with him and he said he was going to be okay. If I was invited to the Strawberry-blonde's hotel room, I would've been too distracted to hear my friend's cries.
Everything does happen for a reason.
Miss New York and I may see each other again on Saturday before she leave Sunday morning.
Everything does happen for a reason.
Miss New York and I may see each other again on Saturday before she leave Sunday morning.
October 10, 2013
A Tribute to the Rebound Fling
A Tribute to 'The Rebound Fling'
by Ezekiel Tyrus
Dear Angel,
I remember the day I first laid eyes on you.
It was at The Penny University Coffee Shop and you were standing in a light rain smoking and openly bitching about your boyfriend who was standing there among friends. You were wearing a hipster thrift shop white dress with ruffles and cowboy boots and people were laughing at the things you were saying till your boyfriend shouted at me, complimenting the t-shirt I was wearing shirt which advertised Ned’s Atomic Dustbin.
You remember that band?
When I saw you alone a few weeks later at The Parthenon Nightclub, I laid the charm on thick enough you took me home, or the house (or duplex) you were house-sitting for that hippie chick that later became your roommate, -what was her name?
In the morning, really late afternoon, I decided to call my two gay roommates who I had came to the club with and let them know where I was and that I was alright.
When I called those 2 queens weren't even aware I was gone.
We dated casually but I really did like you a great deal. My head and my heart were not in a good place at the time. I had decided before I met you that I was definitely moving to San Francisco, and also, I had just gotten out of a relationship with a woman who treated me badly.
The irony is I was looking for her, my ex-girlfriend when I stumbled across your page, and please don’t anticipate a thorough trashing of her, especially after all these years but she carried around a lot of baggage from a previous abusive relationship and two very traumatic events during her teenage years.
She’d treat me (and everyone else) shabbily and if you tried to make her apologize or take responsibility for her actions, she’d bring up her traumatic past, somehow make you feel guilty for it.
I wanted to break up with her for a solid 6 months before we finally did & my first two weeks away from her felt like a vacation & for a little while, I was unable to get close to anyone I dated or let myself like anybody too much.
I stopped hating, resenting her over a decade ago and genuinely hope she's happy and got the help she needed but if I discovered her image on Myspace, the feeling would be bittersweet, a whole myriad of emotions would go right through me but when I discovered your image instead, all I did was smile, laugh out loud and smile again.
I was actually surprised at how happy and delighted I was to see your face after all these years. If I’m 35 now, I was 24 then and if you’re 32 now, you were only 21.
Fuck, we were kids then.
Like I said, we dated casually, never serious, never exclusive and we bickered sometimes because I’d put down your hippie friends but that’s only because I came from hippies, totally and to me, in those days and the proceeding years, making fun of hippies was my way of rebelling but today, I recognize that I am a bit of a hippie, just don’t look like one but personality-wise, I think I may be more hippie than some hippies I know, except for that whole peace and love thing, which seems to have escaped me.
Interestingly enough, my hippie father, who you met once, outside a coffee shop in Hyde Park, lives in Gainesville. He and my step-ma have a nice house there but right now they are in Europe. I don’t know when they’ll be back. They’re subletting the house right now, I think.
Funny, I was visiting them back in March, first time I had seen them in a decade, this being shortly after arriving back to Florida. Had I known you now live in Gainesville and manage a nightclub there, I totally would have stopped by and said Hi.
I remember coming to your duplex shortly after a few so-called friends sold me some potent acid and then abandoning me in Ybor City. I showed up unannounced to you and your friend’s duplex high, tripping off my ass. You two brought me in, thank God, took care of me till I calmed down.
Since I never properly said ‘Thank You,’ I do now, ‘Thank you.’
I remember one time you and I were watching a rented movie in the living room at my apartment, the one I shared with those 2 gay guys. You had this short pixie hair-cut and we were snuggling till we fell asleep. When they came home, they thought you were a boy and were disappointed in the morning to discover you were you.
Of course, as they got to know you, they thought you were adorable.
I regret not appreciating you as much as I should have.
Now this is where my email gets most bizarre and pathetic.
During my first week in San Francisco, I was standing in a cold thick rain without a place to stay. I reached into my pocket and pulled out a sheet of paper that had your full name and address written on it. I opened up my backpack, grabbed a tiny soft-leather phone and address book, and took both items, threw them in a gutter and watched as they surfed down a hill and into a sewer.
While living in Tampa, I tried to move to London and was back within a few months. Then I relocated to Atlanta and was back so quickly that some people were unaware I was even gone. When I announced plans to move to San Francisco, everybody said, “Yeah, you’ll be back.”
If I got lonely and homesick for Tampa, I’d call my friends, I’d write them letters and in the days before email and cell phones, the easiest way to burn your bridges was to destroy your personal phone and address book.
I grew to regret that decision after a few years as I was genuinely curious to know how some people were doing and thought it’d be nice to send or receive the occasional Xmas card.
However, when I did research some old cohorts during the late 1990s, I discovered one old friend was killed by a drunk driver along Bearss and 30th and another old friend, still angry over a bogus misunderstanding from too many years ago, wanted nothing to do with me.
I never memorized or even knew your last name, as simply Angel seemed to fit you so well, and had no idea how to find you, so I never bothered to look for you.
You may find the next 2 facts very interesting.
Shortly after arriving in SF, I enrolled into a liberal arts college that had a great writer’s program and one of the first things I did was write a short story based on my own experience working as a bouncer at DNA on Nebraska Avenue back when that was a rough industrial waste land ghetto.
The story is about a bouncer who is a dark, moody guy named Dred who had a bartender girlfriend. a girlfriend named Angel who was based on you and yes, you were there and we were together when the events described in this short story actually took place.
Angel, the bartender in my story, is flippant, funny, tough, sexual and opinionated and the only character able to criticize and make fun of the macho bouncer, who resembles myself during this period in my life, as well as other bouncers I've known.
The Angel in my story physically resembles you and I even incorporate one of your own sexual escapades into my story. (Everybody knows they've got to be careful what they tell me or do around me because there's always a chance I'll use it for my fiction.)
(Remember telling me about the time you went to a video store around closing on a lonely Valentine’s Day and took the cute nerd behind the counter home with your copy of Repo Man.)
Most of what I wrote when I was 24 isn't worth keeping but this story is cool and there are plans for using it as a skeletal/outline for a future project, of which, I had always plan on using Angel as the girlfriend’s name and the girl I remembered you to be as the model for that character.
As a matter of fact, the duplex that Dred and Angel share was modeled after the one you and your hippie friend stayed. Bet you had no idea you were a bit of a muse for me, did you?
Several years into my time in San Francisco, there was a billboard in downtown off Market Street that featured a model with a buzz-cut that looked like you. I use to stroll by daily, look up and think about you. The first time I was walking downtown and realized the billboard had been replaced, I was sad. Wished I took a picture.
Enough about the past.
I expected you to be married with several kids as that was your chief ambition when I knew you but I guess you do refer to a previous marriage. It also appears you've
worked in the fashion industry. -Designing clothes? That’s great because I do recall you being an exceptionally stylish girl.
I saw the website for the club that you manage and a number of cool bands have passed-through. Tell me about that. Maybe I’ll come up there to see a show.
I’m proud of you, Angel.
However, don’t be concerned, I’m not looking to recapture some lost youth nor do I harbor any fantasies of rekindling an old flame, but I’d really like to see you again.
I lived in Palatka for 2 and a half years when I attended the art school there and my pals and I use to party in Gainesville weekly. I got some great G-ville stories and memories. It’d be worth a day-trip just to see you, check out your club and see if you’re as good a bartender as I remember you from 11 years ago, then reminisce about some long-gone clubs and bars and coffee shops from almost (yikes) 15 to 20 years ago; Hardbacks, University Club (my first gay bar,) TJ Morrissey’s, The Florida Theater, Cafe’ Depresso, Skeeter’s, the old drive-in, and I’ve got a great priceless, too-good-to-be-true story about River Phoenix picking me up when I was hitchhiking.
I use to spend a lot of time in St. Augustine and even considered relocating to St. Augustine when I first arrived back to Florida. Do you ever go there?
I’d also like to mention that I’ve gotten back in contact with various Tampa friends I abandoned on a cold wet afternoon in San Francisco and plan on spending some time visiting Tampa in the near-future.
Oh, how I miss The Tampa Theater.
Currently, I live in Melbourne, FL which is where I grew up.
I’m happy.
Thanks for saying I look the same but people change so much in 11 years. How could they not? And I’m sure your last 11 years have been an awesome and I’d love to hear about it. You were always so much fun to be around. Let me buy you lunch, or coffee or a drink somewhere, sometime.
Best, Elijah Beau Trocchi
p.s. I legally changed my name in 2000. I go by Eli but will answer to Beau.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Angel told me the email ‘tickled’ her and while she conceded she did not have the steel-trap memory that I do, she said she remembered me as being 'funny,' ‘good company ,' 'a pleasure to be around ,’ and that if I had stuck around longer, 'a real relationship may have blossomed .’
The things that stuck out most in her mind, as she told me, was the fact that 'we went out dancing a lot , more so than any other guy she ever dated.’ She remembered my gay roommates, Frank and Paul, 'who were hilarious' and making my year, putting a smile on my face, she remembered the sex as ‘being especially good ,’ but interestingly enough, Angel never expressed an interest in reading the autobiographical short story I wrote featuring a character based on her.
If any writer, friend or foe, wrote a story that featured a character based on me, I'd devour that piece within seconds.
Though I moved back to California before we had a chance to meet again in person, we're still friends on other social networks and chat once in blue moon. She's doing well and seems happy. If I had never moved to San Francisco the first time, who knows? But memories of Angel as the perfect rebound fling? Heavenly. Blissful. She was exactly what I needed to feel attractive and sane again. I'll always be so incredibly grateful I met her when I did.
by Ezekiel Tyrus
Dear Angel,
I remember the day I first laid eyes on you.
It was at The Penny University Coffee Shop and you were standing in a light rain smoking and openly bitching about your boyfriend who was standing there among friends. You were wearing a hipster thrift shop white dress with ruffles and cowboy boots and people were laughing at the things you were saying till your boyfriend shouted at me, complimenting the t-shirt I was wearing shirt which advertised Ned’s Atomic Dustbin.
You remember that band?
When I saw you alone a few weeks later at The Parthenon Nightclub, I laid the charm on thick enough you took me home, or the house (or duplex) you were house-sitting for that hippie chick that later became your roommate, -what was her name?
In the morning, really late afternoon, I decided to call my two gay roommates who I had came to the club with and let them know where I was and that I was alright.
When I called those 2 queens weren't even aware I was gone.
We dated casually but I really did like you a great deal. My head and my heart were not in a good place at the time. I had decided before I met you that I was definitely moving to San Francisco, and also, I had just gotten out of a relationship with a woman who treated me badly.
The irony is I was looking for her, my ex-girlfriend when I stumbled across your page, and please don’t anticipate a thorough trashing of her, especially after all these years but she carried around a lot of baggage from a previous abusive relationship and two very traumatic events during her teenage years.
She’d treat me (and everyone else) shabbily and if you tried to make her apologize or take responsibility for her actions, she’d bring up her traumatic past, somehow make you feel guilty for it.
I wanted to break up with her for a solid 6 months before we finally did & my first two weeks away from her felt like a vacation & for a little while, I was unable to get close to anyone I dated or let myself like anybody too much.
I stopped hating, resenting her over a decade ago and genuinely hope she's happy and got the help she needed but if I discovered her image on Myspace, the feeling would be bittersweet, a whole myriad of emotions would go right through me but when I discovered your image instead, all I did was smile, laugh out loud and smile again.
I was actually surprised at how happy and delighted I was to see your face after all these years. If I’m 35 now, I was 24 then and if you’re 32 now, you were only 21.
Fuck, we were kids then.
Like I said, we dated casually, never serious, never exclusive and we bickered sometimes because I’d put down your hippie friends but that’s only because I came from hippies, totally and to me, in those days and the proceeding years, making fun of hippies was my way of rebelling but today, I recognize that I am a bit of a hippie, just don’t look like one but personality-wise, I think I may be more hippie than some hippies I know, except for that whole peace and love thing, which seems to have escaped me.
Interestingly enough, my hippie father, who you met once, outside a coffee shop in Hyde Park, lives in Gainesville. He and my step-ma have a nice house there but right now they are in Europe. I don’t know when they’ll be back. They’re subletting the house right now, I think.
Funny, I was visiting them back in March, first time I had seen them in a decade, this being shortly after arriving back to Florida. Had I known you now live in Gainesville and manage a nightclub there, I totally would have stopped by and said Hi.
I remember coming to your duplex shortly after a few so-called friends sold me some potent acid and then abandoning me in Ybor City. I showed up unannounced to you and your friend’s duplex high, tripping off my ass. You two brought me in, thank God, took care of me till I calmed down.
Since I never properly said ‘Thank You,’ I do now, ‘Thank you.’
I remember one time you and I were watching a rented movie in the living room at my apartment, the one I shared with those 2 gay guys. You had this short pixie hair-cut and we were snuggling till we fell asleep. When they came home, they thought you were a boy and were disappointed in the morning to discover you were you.
Of course, as they got to know you, they thought you were adorable.
I regret not appreciating you as much as I should have.
Now this is where my email gets most bizarre and pathetic.
During my first week in San Francisco, I was standing in a cold thick rain without a place to stay. I reached into my pocket and pulled out a sheet of paper that had your full name and address written on it. I opened up my backpack, grabbed a tiny soft-leather phone and address book, and took both items, threw them in a gutter and watched as they surfed down a hill and into a sewer.
While living in Tampa, I tried to move to London and was back within a few months. Then I relocated to Atlanta and was back so quickly that some people were unaware I was even gone. When I announced plans to move to San Francisco, everybody said, “Yeah, you’ll be back.”
If I got lonely and homesick for Tampa, I’d call my friends, I’d write them letters and in the days before email and cell phones, the easiest way to burn your bridges was to destroy your personal phone and address book.
I grew to regret that decision after a few years as I was genuinely curious to know how some people were doing and thought it’d be nice to send or receive the occasional Xmas card.
However, when I did research some old cohorts during the late 1990s, I discovered one old friend was killed by a drunk driver along Bearss and 30th and another old friend, still angry over a bogus misunderstanding from too many years ago, wanted nothing to do with me.
I never memorized or even knew your last name, as simply Angel seemed to fit you so well, and had no idea how to find you, so I never bothered to look for you.
You may find the next 2 facts very interesting.
Shortly after arriving in SF, I enrolled into a liberal arts college that had a great writer’s program and one of the first things I did was write a short story based on my own experience working as a bouncer at DNA on Nebraska Avenue back when that was a rough industrial waste land ghetto.
The story is about a bouncer who is a dark, moody guy named Dred who had a bartender girlfriend. a girlfriend named Angel who was based on you and yes, you were there and we were together when the events described in this short story actually took place.
Angel, the bartender in my story, is flippant, funny, tough, sexual and opinionated and the only character able to criticize and make fun of the macho bouncer, who resembles myself during this period in my life, as well as other bouncers I've known.
The Angel in my story physically resembles you and I even incorporate one of your own sexual escapades into my story. (Everybody knows they've got to be careful what they tell me or do around me because there's always a chance I'll use it for my fiction.)
(Remember telling me about the time you went to a video store around closing on a lonely Valentine’s Day and took the cute nerd behind the counter home with your copy of Repo Man.)
Most of what I wrote when I was 24 isn't worth keeping but this story is cool and there are plans for using it as a skeletal/outline for a future project, of which, I had always plan on using Angel as the girlfriend’s name and the girl I remembered you to be as the model for that character.
As a matter of fact, the duplex that Dred and Angel share was modeled after the one you and your hippie friend stayed. Bet you had no idea you were a bit of a muse for me, did you?
Several years into my time in San Francisco, there was a billboard in downtown off Market Street that featured a model with a buzz-cut that looked like you. I use to stroll by daily, look up and think about you. The first time I was walking downtown and realized the billboard had been replaced, I was sad. Wished I took a picture.
Enough about the past.
I expected you to be married with several kids as that was your chief ambition when I knew you but I guess you do refer to a previous marriage. It also appears you've
worked in the fashion industry. -Designing clothes? That’s great because I do recall you being an exceptionally stylish girl.
I saw the website for the club that you manage and a number of cool bands have passed-through. Tell me about that. Maybe I’ll come up there to see a show.
I’m proud of you, Angel.
However, don’t be concerned, I’m not looking to recapture some lost youth nor do I harbor any fantasies of rekindling an old flame, but I’d really like to see you again.
I lived in Palatka for 2 and a half years when I attended the art school there and my pals and I use to party in Gainesville weekly. I got some great G-ville stories and memories. It’d be worth a day-trip just to see you, check out your club and see if you’re as good a bartender as I remember you from 11 years ago, then reminisce about some long-gone clubs and bars and coffee shops from almost (yikes) 15 to 20 years ago; Hardbacks, University Club (my first gay bar,) TJ Morrissey’s, The Florida Theater, Cafe’ Depresso, Skeeter’s, the old drive-in, and I’ve got a great priceless, too-good-to-be-true story about River Phoenix picking me up when I was hitchhiking.
I use to spend a lot of time in St. Augustine and even considered relocating to St. Augustine when I first arrived back to Florida. Do you ever go there?
I’d also like to mention that I’ve gotten back in contact with various Tampa friends I abandoned on a cold wet afternoon in San Francisco and plan on spending some time visiting Tampa in the near-future.
Oh, how I miss The Tampa Theater.
Currently, I live in Melbourne, FL which is where I grew up.
I’m happy.
Thanks for saying I look the same but people change so much in 11 years. How could they not? And I’m sure your last 11 years have been an awesome and I’d love to hear about it. You were always so much fun to be around. Let me buy you lunch, or coffee or a drink somewhere, sometime.
Best, Elijah Beau Trocchi
p.s. I legally changed my name in 2000. I go by Eli but will answer to Beau.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Angel told me the email ‘tickled’ her and while she conceded she did not have the steel-trap memory that I do, she said she remembered me as being 'funny,' ‘good company ,' 'a pleasure to be around ,’ and that if I had stuck around longer, 'a real relationship may have blossomed .’
The things that stuck out most in her mind, as she told me, was the fact that 'we went out dancing a lot , more so than any other guy she ever dated.’ She remembered my gay roommates, Frank and Paul, 'who were hilarious' and making my year, putting a smile on my face, she remembered the sex as ‘being especially good ,’ but interestingly enough, Angel never expressed an interest in reading the autobiographical short story I wrote featuring a character based on her.
If any writer, friend or foe, wrote a story that featured a character based on me, I'd devour that piece within seconds.
Though I moved back to California before we had a chance to meet again in person, we're still friends on other social networks and chat once in blue moon. She's doing well and seems happy. If I had never moved to San Francisco the first time, who knows? But memories of Angel as the perfect rebound fling? Heavenly. Blissful. She was exactly what I needed to feel attractive and sane again. I'll always be so incredibly grateful I met her when I did.
October 1, 2013
Joe Clifford on 'Eli,Ely.'
A new review appeared on Amazon today.
As much as this dazzling debut novel is about a doomed (?) love affair, it is also very much a love letter to San Francisco. Women come and go, but anyone who's lived in SF knows that this city is unlike any other, which is why it's attracted the wide-eyed dreamers from all over America for years. Jennifer Ely may've broken our hero Eli's heart, but The City is what keeps breaking it. And making him fall in love all over again. A lot of novels could take place anywhere. Not this one. It is quintessential San Francisco. Its quirks, its pretension, even its one-of-a-kind cuisine (and I'm not just talking the California Pizza Kitchen). The prose bristles with urgency, as Eli, our everyman, navigates through posers and potholes for his place to belong. The plot jumps around, and the telling is unconventional, part epistolary, part anecdotal, but all cool. Much like San Francisco itself. Think: High Fidelity meets On the Road. Highly, highly recommend.
-Thanks, Joe Clifford. You obviously got what I was going for. Now everybody who lives in San Francisco, has lived, or is simply curious about this whacky town, needs to read the damn book.
As much as this dazzling debut novel is about a doomed (?) love affair, it is also very much a love letter to San Francisco. Women come and go, but anyone who's lived in SF knows that this city is unlike any other, which is why it's attracted the wide-eyed dreamers from all over America for years. Jennifer Ely may've broken our hero Eli's heart, but The City is what keeps breaking it. And making him fall in love all over again. A lot of novels could take place anywhere. Not this one. It is quintessential San Francisco. Its quirks, its pretension, even its one-of-a-kind cuisine (and I'm not just talking the California Pizza Kitchen). The prose bristles with urgency, as Eli, our everyman, navigates through posers and potholes for his place to belong. The plot jumps around, and the telling is unconventional, part epistolary, part anecdotal, but all cool. Much like San Francisco itself. Think: High Fidelity meets On the Road. Highly, highly recommend.
-Thanks, Joe Clifford. You obviously got what I was going for. Now everybody who lives in San Francisco, has lived, or is simply curious about this whacky town, needs to read the damn book.
September 30, 2013
Can I use Goodreads as a dating website?
I wish I could use Goodreads as a dating website. A beautiful woman who reads and reviews books? Hello!!
September 22, 2013
Witold Gombrowicz Diary
This evening at Books, Inc. I just bought Witold Gombrowicz Diary, about 800 pages. This will keep me busy. I love reading diaries and consider 'The Tangier Diaries' one of the most interesting books I've read this past year. Keep a diary, everybody.
A Story a Week with Zeke
Writer and Performance Storyteller, Ezekiel Tyrus is here for you, to tell tales and create characters.
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