Official Blog Of Patrick Hartley

Wednesday, February 28, 2007

Bang.

It starts to snow outside, and I unconsciously hitch my trenchcoat snugly against my shoulders, the regal scent of leather no longer even in my senses as I remove my hat and draw a slow, measured sigh. My breath struggles against the cold as it rises hauntingly from my lips and settles into nothingness.

The creak of a door. I greet the intrusion into my little world with nothing more than an inquiring eyebrow. Footsteps. A broad, expensive by the sound of her shoes. She's walking quickly and already I can tell she's a dame in trouble.

I finally get bored with staring at the snow and cast my gaze at my visitor. I know the face, but the name comes a few seconds later. Slowly bending down to wipe a spot of mud from her perfect ankle, her green eyes meet with mine and I see the mixture of intrigue and desperation in her face. It's a face I've seen too often in my work. Love. She stands upright, and the name comes rising into my mind like a bubble from the bottom of a drain. Emmalee, she's called.

She's a fine dame by all regards. What she'd be doing with a rent-a-cop like me, I haven't a clue. She opens her mouth to speak, and the icy wind plays with her perfect golden hair. She tells me she's in trouble, that she needs to get away.

We go through the motions. Who's after ya? Where did they find you? All that jazz. I see it coming before she says it. It's always the boyfriend. He's been messin' around, she says. Wants to pump some lead to him.

I tell her it ain't worth it, she'll only get herself in deeper. Her eyes tell me a different story, she's not out for revenge, it's escape that's on her delicate mind.

"Why'd you come to me, baby?"

I watch a slender hand softly pull aside the lapel of my coat. A slight depression of weight against the holster of my nine millimeter.

"You know what I need, Jack."

I have plenty of time to grab her arm, to stop her from doing something stupid. But I don't. I nod to her and hold her hand. Tell her it's going to be okay. She pulls the cannon from my coat, her cold fingers somehow don't fumble with the safety.

I tell her I love her.

They say snow makes the world silent. The sound of the gunshot pierces my world, and her perfect body falls to the ground. Rivers of red trickle across the white until the ground is a myriad of blood and snow.

I slowly crouch down, and stroke her perfect hair. Her eyes are dark, and the love on her face is replaced by peace. I hold her close until she's gone.

It ain't easy, these days in the F Court.

--------Fly High-------

Tattoo

Life is really just the blink of an eye.

Toni said I sounded weird on the phone. It's cause I spoke differently, with a newfound sense of, i don't know, intention I guess. I like it, you could say I enjoy this new state of being. Solitude has always been a friend of mine, and now I'm learning to draw on the emptiness within a crowded space and bring it around myself. Find peace, and tranquility in the chaotic.

And I've found the tattoo I want. Hands down. It's a sleeve-type graffiti scrawl.

--------Fly High-------

Tuesday, February 27, 2007

Introspective

Y'know, I've always admired people who are introverted. That personality, so radically different from my own greatly appeals to me. Maybe it's because it's different. I don't know.

I've tried, too. I've tried not talking as much, thinking more on the inside of my mind rather than the edges. I've tried, but my horribly outgoing personality always manages to hack through the delicate threads of introversion. Maybe one day I'll be able to fully transform who I am. My ultimate goal is to be older, wiser, maybe a little more respected by way of morals, and quieter. It's always the quiet kids that I've admired, and wanted to be like. It's because of my childhood, being totally ADHD. Incessant cooings of "calm down, be quiet, don't be so noisy, don't draw attention to yourself," pouring over me from teachers, parents, even fucking peers. And as completely as their urgings failed, their messages sank into my subconscious somewhere. I've always sought that quiet calm within me.

Someday I'll find it. Someday I'll like who I've become. Because who I am is nothing to be proud of.

--------Fly High-------

Shit.

Look.

I've been a bad boy recently. I am totally determined to change that. And if that means not seeing you for a while, then so be it. This changes nothing, my offer still stands. If you want, there's a place for you here with us.

In the meantime, I'm going to be more faithful in certain areas. Knowing me, and knowing my rather exploitable weaknesses, I'm going to distance myself from temptation, as it were. This isn't your fault, it's mine. And besides, it's not like it really even matters. This isn't a huge deal.

So I'll see you 'round, when it's time to reconnect.

Until then, the best of luck to you.

--------Fly High-------

A kiss.

A thimble means a kiss.

It's Peter Pan. I mean, of course it's Peter Pan. Wow, I really must be retarded. I'm seriously frustrated that I didn't get that link right from the beginning.

A kiss. That's what it means.

--------Fly High-------

Shitfuckjesus

This craptop could shut off on me at any time, so this will be brief. Brevity is the soul of wit, after all.

So, if I disappear off the face of the internet, this is why.

--------Fly High-------

Insomnia

Oh lordy.

Noir is essentially finished. This is a good thing.

I need to figure out how to print it. This morning I woke up an hour early, just sat in my apartment. Figures, the one time I'm able to sleep a whole night and I get up extra early. I read over the manuscript, thinking about the final cut. It looks good, I'm happy with it. Is that a bad sign? I'm never happy with my work. I try not to think about the Odyssey, but it inevitably comes strutting across the field of my mind. Strutting, pshh. I don't strut. Emmalee says I strut. I walk with confidence, there's a difference.

Time After Time is playing on the radio. I turn it down. That song has too many memories and feelings attached to it. I change my mind and turn it up, letting the oldschool synthesizer fill the room. I think about Toni, about semi-truks, about Scream, Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, late night excursions, slurpees, hell even the snow reminds me of the stuff we did together. Nostalgia is all well and good.

She might move in with me, Trev, and Henry. Maybe. Henry seems to think his girlfriend would be weirded out if he was living with a lesbian.

Personally, I find the whole situation hilarious. If she wants, she can totally live with us. I mean, it's up to her. It's not like she'd get in the way of our homoerotic lifestyle. We just sit around playing video games all day, or talking about socially inappropriate things. It's a pretty sweet deal all 'round.

--------Fly High-------

Monday, February 26, 2007

The Internet

The world wide interweb has become like my home. It's always there for me. Sort of like a stalker, except it doesn't call me when it says it will. My first ever blog post, on "theycallmethedonkeyman" (which I've kept running for old times' sake) was about my sandwhich. This is undeniable proof that there was not a thought in my head back in those days of oh, say, 2003.

Emmalee got me thinking about the past. About how much we've all changed in the last few years. Six years ago, I was speaking a different language, in a different culture, on a different side of the planet, with different friends and a different goal in life; to be a Jedi Knight. Now I've settled for a humble cartoonist with a history degree.

I speak 7 languages fluently. I have a published graphic novel out in the world, and a second one in the making. Things are beginning to take shape - my future, is beginning to reveal itself.

Here goes nothing.

--------Fly High-------

Frustration and Confession.

I'm very frustrated right now. And the Backstreet Boys are NOT helping. *promptly shuts off my iTunes.*

You're my best friend. You and me, BFF. But right now? Not so much. I'm trying to show you that you aren't the only one having bad times about this, and you return my efforts to me covered in sarcasm and derision.

Well fuck you, thanks a heap for showing me the thanks I deserve for trying to do something decent. Wanna know why I've been a total asshole for the past six years? And this goes beyond how I was taken out of my homeland, forced into a foreign system full of cold and unfriendly people, and hated for that fact. It goes beyond the deaths of my friends. It's really quite fucking simple. I've been a bastard and a jerk to all of you because that's all I've known. SHOW ME SOME GODDAMN KINDNESS and maybe, just MAYBE. I'll return the favor.

--------Fly High-------

Sunday, February 25, 2007

Broken glass and papercuts.

The title sums up my day.

Today I fell, or rather was pushed, clean through a sheet of glass. The crash was tremendous, I fell backward in a most dramatic way. The entire event was not even closely as painful, however, as the papercut my pinky finger sustained.

I've been waking up again. I can't sleep. Insomnia seems to haunt me in recent weeks. It's no mystery why, when I have such a guilty conscience. I'll find a way to make things right. I know deep down that one of us will be hurt. I need to stop being selfish and realize which one of us it needs to be. We both know.

I saw him walking today. Swaggering along, as he does, with some friend or other completely enthralled in the rhetoric he was spouting. Mark my words, he is a dangerous man.

A dangerous, dangerous man.

--------Fly High-------

Saturday, February 24, 2007

*sigh*

Time goes by.

We're forced to play along.
But not anymore. I'm going against the tide.
You all know who you are, and I'm sorry about the past.

That's all we ever are, sorry. All we ever could be.
But not any more. The floodgates are going to come crashing down.

Watch and see if I get washed away.

--------Fly High-------