The Ballad of Steve Bangalan (Part 1)

It reads “Dear Steve, My Brother,”

Written long ago, unopened, and never read, the words were completely inadequate. 

They still are.

A 152 Love Story: Drive & Driving Crazy

I thought the 152s were stories about a girl – they are, but they're also about something more. It took losing you for me to realize it.

12/30/2012 - It was equally as beautiful on the day of the 152 story (albeit it was late Summer and not Winter)

“Why am I so damn crazy?”/ “She could be the one!”/ “It’s perfect!”/ “Her smile and dimples can melt ice caps!”/ “I have school tomorrow!”/ “What, are you going to do, throw it all away?”/ “What if it doesn’t work out?”/ “What if it does?!!”/ “You got to take a chance!”/ “What about your plans?”/ “Why are you talking to yourself?”/“Why am I so damn crazy?!!”

On the 152 I found myself driving crazy. Before me was a plan, a goal, something for the future. Behind me was home, familiarity, Family & Friends. In my mind there was this self-created drama; a frenzy; a panic attack!! “WTH am I doing?”/ “Why can’t I find it?”/ “Did I pass it?”/ “WTH is the 5?”

I drove back and forth arguing with myself…filled with doubt. I circled back towards Gilroy. Almost arriving into Gilroy I turn the car around. "No, no, no. The 5 is behind me! It has to be!"/ "WTF?"/ "Did I miss it again?"/ "WTH is wrong with me?" I drove that stretch of road turning the car around at least half a dozen times that day. I kept thinking I had missed the 5. My mind was obviously elsewhere...

“WTF is going on with me?”/ “Why can’t I think straight?” I pulled off the road at this exact spot. I called him in near tears. Here was a moment in time, a chance to go forward or go back… and at that moment time stopped.

It’s the simple things that made Steve such a great man.  His heart simply loved and he simply cared for everyone, especially his family.  I say simply but there was nothing simple about it.  Steve only made it look easy.  It was automatic with him.  Like his three pointers – he practiced it until it was perfect.  He must have practiced since from childhood – his smile, his tenderness endeared him to everyone.  Although he was of modest beginnings, he had the greatest treasure imaginable – a loving heart. 

In him, I saw a measure of a man I respect and honor.  Through him, I found definition of what it means to have an adopted family, to have brothers in arms.  Our adventures were great – and for a time we were invincible. 

Here, I’m reminded of your beauty.  Here your life touched mine in a way that profoundly altered my existence.  That moment in time – was when we became brothers.  Lost in the wilderness, adventure ahead of me and home some distance behind, I reached out for your guidance.  Selfless like always, you calmed the storm of my maddening thoughts.  Like a beacon of light (bright like a diamond) shining through the night - you calmly spoke words that I will hold to my dying breath. 

“Go take care of business man.  Better yourself.  We’ll always be here for you.  Your homies and your family – we’re not going anywhere.” 

...

He always said, "Your homies will be here when you get back." But Steve will no longer offer that advice.  He will no longer greet me with a smile, or treat me with a round of spirits. He will no longer be able to calm me with his voice, tell me to relax, don't be an idiot and go to school.  “Don’t drive yourself crazy.  Just drive.”

I didn't come home soon enough; I was away at school.  Two nights before my drive home, five nights before Christmas, Steve was stabbed in the abdomen by a punk filled with violence and stupidity.  The knife punctured his liver and he bled out. My brother Steve died alone amongst strangers in an ambulance.

The grief and loss would have been unbearable save not for our mutual Friends & Family.  Together we grieved and mourned.  Together we remembered your simple deeds of Great Kindness, and we remembered your life and your spirit.  Though your death left a chasm of despair and inconsolable rage, though it unjust, sudden, and cruel, we but cannot help but think of you and see you smiling back.  And yet it doesn't end... we still remember, we still cry, we still mourn...

I now yearn and jump at every news; any details about seeking justice, there will be no closure until there is justice.  In truth, I don't give a Frack about closure - all I want is for Steve to be here.  To hear his voice telling me that’ll he'll be home waiting with our Friends & Family.

You see the 152s wasn't just about a girl. There’s more…

The Ballad of Steve Bangalan and the 152s: Part 2 | Part 3

Recycled Transcendence

This thought dawns on him how cyclical his life has been. As if he never learns or perhaps is too stubborn to change, he looks for answers in all the same places like before.

The Time Wars are ending, but somehow even faced with his mortality he yearns for A Touch Eternal. The ancient ones mentioned that such a fate is bestowed on the chosen few. In works of art by brilliant scholars and etched into bathroom stalls is a vein of that spoken truth, The Utterance. As if, every child born of this galaxy knows that there is something out there around the next stellar system, but they lack the words.

We can only make primitive sounds in a cosmic symphony. We utter and babble as infants to the stars; their music closer to Giants that came before. Recycled. Evolved. Transcended. But not home... Far far from home.

Lost, adrift in the Sea of Galilee, he feels a storm coming. It has been too long since he made music. That his death will come like an aforementioned afterthought puts a smile on his face. Fuck em'.

He'll ride out the storm and find safe harbor as he has always done. And his starship will continue to fold space lapping experience upon experience a music compilation.

His home long since gone. He once again hits the reset button. This time he'll play the game as a wandering villein, a smuggler, a scoundrel.

He'll get home this life or the next. It's all in the touch. The right touch.

There's No Doubt and there's No Doubt

She Walks In Beauty...

Lord Byron captured her beauty by comparing her to the night. As I look out unto the stars, I'm awed by the vastness of the universe. Eternal night littered with speckled golden jewels.

Black, our favorite colors. I don't think spacey was the right word I was trying to convey... It's funny so it stuck. I thought of endless and eternal but I couldn't say it... Eternal night, eternal black... It is scary.

Then she gives me knew meaning... Black is not so alone. Black is not emptiness... It's proof that despite the void, despite it's vastness all we have to do is reach out... We connect with music, with light, with Love.

She walks in beauty like the night,
And I being Apollo's son find myself glimmering in her prescence.
And all I want to do is hold her hand,
Together, we traverse the endless night.
A Love Eternal.



-- Post From My iPhone

By Her Side

"I don't care."
"You don't care?!"
"No, I care. Just that..."
"No. No, you don't get to qualify that. You do or you don't!"

It was the fury of her intensity that caught Jacob off gaurd. The way Alice's tone shifts and her brow wrinkles makes him uneasy. Always had... probably always will. No, not probably.

"The Wedding's date has change three times already. I know you want it to be perfect, I do too. But we can't keep pushing it back. He's going to be there or not." As he spoke he feels that familiar turmoil. It's my thing he tells himself. Don't tell Alice she doesn't need to know. She's got a wedding to think of.

"Well he better or I'm never going to speak to him again." He knows it's not true as much as she did. "He says he's got the tux you sent. He needs it sized."

"I got it sized like you asked hun." He had to turn down box seats to do this for Alice, for them. The Lakers were playing the Celtics. The game was won with a buzzer beater by Kobe. 99-100. He missed it.

"He says he's put on some pounds. It's good right? He's always been too scrawny." He wonders if she realizes how her voice picks up when she speaks of him. He realizes how trancending that particular tone is whenever she uses it. It's her Re-living the Past voice and it's her What If voice combined in this controlled present.

"He'll be there. You'll see. I wouldn't want to miss your wedding for the world." He smirks, she catches his meaning, and they have a moment.
"You better not!" she warns.

He refocuses on the road. Thinking.
She looks at him. "What's wrong?" Careful. Open ended questions can be deadly traps.

"It's just... It's undue burden is all. He's got enough sense not to worry you. I mean he's got any sense at all he'd be there. You don't worry about a few pounds and sizing your tux if you're a no show."

Alice let's it go. There's always depths to Jake but he never reveals more than he has to. He's only ever whispered his soul to her and her alone. "Yeah, he'll be there. Or not. It doesn't matter we're still getting married."

"That's what I meant earlier." They kiss.

He makes a note to call Her best friend. Screw getting it sized. Get here for the reception. He, Jacob, will fly a tailor out if needs be. You owe it to me. You owe it to her. He'll come, Jacob thought about sending his brothers for retrieval. Maybe... maybe not.

One thing's for sure. Not probabaly. Not probably at all. He'll always be by her side.




-- Post From My iPhone

My life would suck without you.

I’m at work, doing data entry, and this song throws me on a tangent.

That proverbial ‘you’, who could you be?

“So many faces in so many places,” I have said before.

There is an untouchable incorruptible better than yourself kind of ‘you’.
Is it fiction, imagination, a leap of faith, or perhaps ‘you’ do exist?

I’m at work, doing data entry, and this song throws me on a tangent.

Human beings project. Before us are our dreams and that which does not exist yet.
Before us is a future undetermined and possible of change. Human beings evolve.

That proverbial ‘you’, who could you be?

You are me, or at least me as how I would like to be. You are me, that part that makes it less lonely. The missing link, the homecoming, the pieces of my heart, and through you I, we, evolve.

“So many faces in so many places,” I have said before. And we are all that proverbial ‘you’. And my life would suck without you.

I haven’t done this in some time.

I had quite a bit to drink this evening. It being St. Patrick’s Day, I had to celebrate because it had always been one of my favorite holidays growing up. In middle school, that’s pre-secondary school, it was the day we looked forward to pinching or being pinched by certain classmates. Usually, for my part, I remembered the green, but there were a few years I had to endure the “pinch” because I had forgotten to wear green that day. Tonight, I remembered how I loved this holiday, and how in my adolescence I crossed the threshold of personal space and expressed how I truly felt about a certain some one. There were different types of pinch, and yes they all hurt, but some more than others. One that particularly hurt was from H.S. Tonight, I looked at every face in the bar, and was hoping to see her. There was no particular reason or plan, and it was really a fool’s hope. I just felt that tinge of reverie, and when you dream of a moment for so long, you start seeing it everywhere. I should have pinched her harder when I had the chance. I still remember her pinch, but could she remember mine? Every St. Patty’s Day it’s all the same. I think of H.S and wonder, is tonight the night I run into her again? Because this time, she would be in for a hurt of a lifetime, and she won’t surely forget me. It’s only fair, she completely owns this holiday for me.