Wednesday, September 30, 2015

The Love Experience

               In my last post I alluded to having a Divine encounter. This encounter has provided me with a new way of perceiving everything. I’m becoming less of an individual, and more of a splash of paint on a Universal canvas. In laymen’s terms, I’m becoming a better person with each passing day, but laymen’s terms don’t accurately describe what I have been feeling and seeing. In this post, I am going to share a moment I had. This moment resulted from the Divine encounter. I won’t share the encounter specifically because I still don’t understand it. Anyway, this post is about Love, so if you want to hear about Love, then this is your place. Before going on, I want to share one of my personal truths: One cannot see God and not see Love, because Love is truly the gateway to any spiritual higher learning. God is Love and Love is God.
            Lately, I have been feeling “called” to be outside. Nothing too crazy. Just imagine the feeling of wanting a cigarette or a glass of water. I’ve had a thirst for being outdoors. Whenever I want a break at work, I step out the backdoor to admire what little greenery is still standing among the garbage and split grey-black asphalt. In the mornings, I walk across the street to the community park to experience the energy of life minutes before sunrise. Often times I meditate, stretch, and write. But, there have been plenty of times when I would simply sit and feel everything around me. While at home, I step outside periodically to soak up whatever is going on in that moment. I bet you’re wondering why I’m driving this “thirst” point so hard. Well, it’s crucial that you understand how I’m thirsting before I tell you what I am thirsting for. Those moments I spend outside are all driven by my desire to recreate an experience. That’s the rational Truth, and it is heavy. One experience was moving enough to create a new hobby. I never particularly liked being outside prior to the experience. I didn’t hate it. I just rarely thought about it, but as you have read; now it feels like a necessity. 
On Monday, I was cruising down a quiet road heading back to work. The weather was decent, so I had my windows down. I like to allow my left arm to hang casually out the window because the wind makes it feel free. Both the passenger window and the driver window are down so the wind can whipped in-and-out as it pleased. Inside, I had a song going, and I may as well have been auditioning for Broadway because I was into it. I can recall driving over some train tracks and turning left onto a semi-windy road. One vehicle was ahead of me on the road, and I remember admiring that the trip was peaceful because I had the roads to myself. Because of this, I looked up and noticed swirling clouds in the sky. They were fluffy to the point of grandeur, and they seemed to reflect every color option between grey and blue. One set of clouds was swirling one direction and another cloud swirled in an opposing direction. This motion allowed me to see the depth of the clouds, but I remember forcing myself to look down. All of this happened in a matter of seconds, but it was one of those moments in your mind that operate outside the laws of time. With my eyes back on the road, I approached a “T-intersection,” in which I was driving along the top of the “T.” As I drove past the perpendicular cars I realized that there were about 5 cars at the stop sign, and that I would not have the roads to myself for long. Once safely beyond the turning cars I glanced up towards the sky again. An air plane drifted across my sight as if it were saying, “hello.” I realized I was never alone. I became aware of the potential that the plane above me could be carrying over a hundred people. I became aware of the people on the road, and the fact that each of these people had lives, stories, and perspectives. I became aware of the swirling clouds once more, and I was hit with a wave of selfless pure Love. It was humbling. I realized how small I am, but also how big I am. I realized we were all here together, and always have been, together. I felt the love of life and the love of human. I felt grateful to be a part of it all, and I was able to appreciate all of Creation at once.
Why wouldn’t I want to re-create that? I want it at all times. I want to tell everyone I know because I want everyone to feel what I felt. But, I didn’t find it in the Bible or church. That part scared me at first. I realized that I didn’t have this experience from any conventional means. There are people everywhere searching for experiences just like this in religions across the globe, so I feel compelled to tell people The Truth. If any God were real, he, she, or them, would not create a system in which they could be so easily undermined by opposition. Basically, the fact that we have the choice to create religions shows the nature of God. What God would create something that has to create dogmas and rules just to get to him/her/them? If you believe that your God is not bigger than your religion than your view may be skewed. The concept of God concludes that God created us. Humans are born with will, so by nature God must be greater than human will, or possess equal amounts of will. In that experience I had, I realized that God truly is all of it and more of it.


I think this is a good place to stop. Next time I will go into detail about what I learned about the nature Love. 

Sunday, September 27, 2015

The Bible Glitch

            The Bible is without a doubt the most important book in the world. Be that as it may, it is also the severely flawed. Now before anyone gets upset, hear me out. I was raised a Southern Baptist. My family went to church twice on Sundays, once on Wednesdays, and sometimes on Fridays. I still read the Bible regularly. In fact, I write this essay out of Love for this sacred document. However, for the sake of Human salvation, it must be critiqued.
            What is the Bible? Simply put, it is the written testimony of Human interaction with God. This testimony is all from the Human perspective, but if we are still living why does The Bible end? Did God stop talking? Did we stop listening?  Or, perhaps we stopped writing. To a bible thumper this is trivial, but to an intellectual this flaw is freedom.
            If you do not believe The Bible has power in America then you are delusional. We want a Christian president. We want to defund Planned Parenthood. We get up in arms every day about something to do with The Bible. Think about the ongoing reaction to gay marriage. How many of our social issues are in fact biblical issues? The bible also permeates our law. Consider marriage laws and drug laws, or how about scientific practices and research? If you are American, The Bible has an effect on your life. Now think about our country. Think about our soldiers dying to defend this book. Think about the extremist that hate this book and kill because of that hate.  As you think about our country ask yourself if things are working. If the Bible is failing us, then God is failing us. But this isn’t the truth. God didn’t stop talking, and we didn’t stop listening either. Plenty of artists experience God and display it in their work every day. The Bible is living because we are living. It’s our testimony, and it always has been. We didn’t stop listening, we just stopped paying attention.
            There was a time when I wished I could have stopped trying to pay attention. I’ve spent my entire life looking for God. I stumbled from Christianity to Eastern Philosophy, and then to Mysticism. I studied Numerology, Astrology, Astral Projection, Alchemy, and healing. No matter where I looked, I could not find God. I knew I was missing something, but I had no idea what it was. I started out in a phase I think more people go through than care to admit: The Illuminati YouTube phase. If I can be frank, I witnessed my world crumble while looking for God. I joined the Air Force to be an Airman by day, and by night I was a hermit mystic walking down the dark road to enlightenment. The physical world rarely got anything genuine from me. I was an extreme introvert, and any emotion I did display burst out in passionate waves. I chased the secrets of God with so much zeal that I ignored my family and my wife at the time. Since I rarely called anyone from my family, they never called me. I hardly remained in touch with my high school friends and I didn’t bother to make genuine bonds in the military if I could help it. I have always been on the hunt. This year, I finally found what I was looking for.
            Between September 24th and 25th something amazing happened. On that Thursday, I felt strangely empowered. My mind was sharper and I began to understand principles that I had studied but never understood. By the next day, I felt like I had come through a gateway, 100% myself, and 100% spirit. I had finally understood a morsel of what I was desperately searching for and it feels amazing. That morning I wrote a poem about the experience, that I believe are the most powerful words I have ever written. I have seen a sliver of The Truth, and now my life has direction and purpose.
            Since my spiritual birthday, my life has been improving at a rapid rate. I called my ex-wife and apologized that I never gave her the opportunity to know me. I knew that I had wounded her heart with all the nights I spent in my journals or in my mind, while she hung out by herself away from her family. As we talked, we both became emotional and I felt something unlock in my chest. I knew her heart had been healed. Consequently, our relationship is healthier so we can be better co-parents. For me, this is a miracle. A lot of hatred has been extinguished, and all parties can move on. I had another miracle as well. I have a lot of siblings, but because I was adopted, I was raised with only one of my biological siblings. One would think we would be inseparable, but we have been fighting my entire adult life. Things got so bad that we stopped talking to each other. On Saturday morning, this changed. It was around 4:30AM when I sent her a text asking her if she was awake. She responded by saying she was just thinking about me, and that she misses me. I called her immediately. Two and half hours later, after tears and laughter, we were not only cordial, we were closer than we had ever been. I have had more experiences with others, but for the sake of their privacy I won’t say what happened.

            Realizing this flaw ended up being the key for my freedom, which is my salvation. Think hard about what you do and why do it. Think hard about the direction the human race is going, and try to think about what got us here. The Word is living and can be read if you want to see it. 

Monday, September 7, 2015

Truth and Delusion

            I choose to be alone most of the time. I’m struggling with this inner-calling telling me that I’m destined for great things. My ambition feels like an inbred religion, and I’m drunk off its faith. I hardly see anything outside of my personal goals. My son is living with his mother for now, and no matter how I sell it, fatherhood is far easier when done on an Ipad. In short, I have more time to focus completely on myself. That is exactly what I am doing, but it’s driven me to solitude.
            When I came back to Virginia from California, one of the first things I did was turn my son’s room into my personal writing space. It sounds selfish, but I wanted to be near him in my most intimate moments, which happen when I write. This is where I am now, completely retreated into this black back room, where I can be close to my son and fulfill my ambitions.
            These aspirations feel so genuine, that at times they feel like reality. In my heart and mind I am already a successful author. I’m living in my dream home, and my son attends a private school where he plays an instrument and speaks Latin. I donate to charities and movements. I write plays for the local high school, and I’m the face of the new black progressive movement. Did I mention that I’m a dreamer? Well yesterday, while journaling, I realized that I was suffering from delusion. Fantasies have occupied more time in my mind than I’d like to admit, and to combat this, I have moments of complete truth. I am completely objective with myself and tell it like it is. Yesterday, I did this and this is what I came up with. 
            
Fantasizing aside, I’m doing all right for myself. I earn enough money to sustain a small family and we all eat when we want to. I work hard enough to stand out at work, and I am a student. I have to give myself credit, and I need to be more grateful. All of this could be much worse, so I need to be grateful for what I do have. The most chilling conclusion I came to was mind-altering. I accepted that I certainly am delusional, and this delusion is an offspring of my confidence. All of this is truth, but I also accepted that confidence is conducive to success--this too is truth. I began to see a pattern. 

The truth is ubiquitous.
The truth is I’m crazy.
The truth is I’m lazy.
“Underachiever,”
If not a believer,
In the “end.”
            
The truth is, a confident person must carry a level of delusion. That doesn’t make the delusion any less dangerous, but self-made success does require confidence. The truth is, I am afraid I'm doing it all wrong. I should be racing to finish my BA and deciding on where to go to graduate school. I should be looking to settle into my profession and focusing on leading my family. I should just be a man. I should fall in-line, and fully conform. But, I am afraid of that too. I'm afraid of settling into mortgage debt, and "vacations when we can." I'm afraid of living out my days in the reality I see. My fear of remaining who and where I am now, created a desire for change, which subsequently created the confidence that I have thus far labeled delusion. Here is the kicker, fear of the confidence caused me to label it delusion, so fear worked as both a positive and negative force; both creative and destructive. 

Fear led me to awareness of the delusion
And in my search for truth
I found confusion.

So which am I? The confident dreamer walking his relative road to success, or the delusional hipster that needs to grow up? Both have the potential to be, and are some levels of, truth. The Truth is Ubiquitous.
Like a pilot in the cosmos,
I navigate you.
Grateful to be a part of your existence
I drift through you,
With a spirit of persistence,
I have the potential to “do,”
By navigating you,
I can find the moment in truth
Where all of my dreams have come true.  

Tuesday, April 14, 2015

Scardy Cat

It is no secret that I am a dreamer. Even people who know little about me can claim they have witnessed some of my eccentric desires. I long for things like a world without nuclear bombs, or the end of racism. I desire to be an amazing father and a successful writer. I want to be a number of things, and like I said earlier; it’s no secret. Recently, I have become devoted to my ambition to become a renowned author. I write, read, and dream daily. I lose confidence, doubt, and fear daily. I go to bed exhausted and drained, but I cannot quit.


I am not very old, but I can look back on my life and see that I have quit everything I really wanted to do. I can accept that I ran away from my aspirations when they appeared difficult beyond acceptance. I never wanted to join the military; I wanted to go to college. I remember getting accepted to a few universities, and feeling disdain because I had no idea how I would pay for them. The idea of soliciting for grants and loans seemed too tiresome to me, so I gave up. I remember wanting to rap, write, play and instrument, learn, a language, and even leave a relationship; all of these seemed too difficult for me to overcome the obstacles. Now that I think about it, I quit on my hometown, San Diego. I joined the military because it would be easier than struggling with the early stages of adulthood like most of my classmates. I created a situation that I hoped would leave me fearless, and appear brave. The irony of it all is insane, but I have digressed.


The fact of the matter is that I am no longer afraid, and for the first time I am doing more than dreaming. The devotion to my craft has only produced positive results; the most obvious is my increased writing skill. In addition to that I have become more sociable, reduced idle habits, assimilated good habits, and I have amassed a small group of fans, friends, and supporters. This miniscule group of people get me going, and for them, and myself, I work hard on my novella. Some of them have no idea what it is about, but they are anxious to read it; I have never had support like that. I tell you the truth when I say that little things can go a long way. I have been in some very dark places, but not in a long time. I want to tell this group of people about the novella.


The story is about a single father and his teenage son. The father lives in a quiet world of secrets, and is harder on his son than he would like to be. The son is a lonely boy who resents his father, and wonders about his mother. Both the father and son live in a reality void of affection, love, and women. The story is still being written so I don’t know much more than that, but I promise you it is beautiful. It has turned into something that I would never imagine: An ode to both women and love.



Anyway, if any of you are afraid to do something; don’t be. I believe what sets successful people apart from dreamers is their fearlessness and their utter lack of compromise. Don’t quit and don’t compromise; run into walls until you find a door. 

Tuesday, March 31, 2015

A Letter For The Future

Dear Arnold and whoever else decides to read this,

Remember when you read what Steven King wrote about writing? He said it’s telepathy, and in a sense it’s time travel. I am you on March 31st, 2015 at 1:55 PM. You’re questioning yourself over and over again. You’re feeling all kinds of emotions and feelings that you force yourself to accept. You want so much, but you feel guilty about it as if you don’t deserve it. I don’t know why you feel this way, but I’m hoping that the next time you read this you don’t feel this way. You’re not going to get where you want to be by feeling guilty about it, so give the false humility a rest.

Now, on to other things. Right now I think it’s best to list all the things that you absolutely need to remember. No matter where you end up you can’t forget these things. Remember your childhood. Remember the pain and the loneliness. Remember that you accepted it and got over it; don’t dwell. Remember your zombie-esque early adult life. Remember going through the motions with everything. Remember desperately trying to feel something. Most of all, remember forcing yourself to stomach things that didn’t make you happy. Remember cheating and being cheated on. Remember your false definitions of love, and what you discovered about the real nature of love. Remember losing every single thing you used to hide behind. Remember losing your wife, your status, your career, and every bit of yourself that you manufactured. Remember finding yourself for the first time way later than you should have. Remember coming back to writing like a child you grudgingly gave up for adoption, and ran into again later in life. Remember the early attempts of writing. Remember turning raw emotion into words. Remember the suicidal poem of third grade. Remember the premature “I Am Africa.” Remember the first reading at Busboys. Remember being in the stockroom at MHS and discovering the magic of words and writing. Remember what writing really is. Remember the fantasies and the desires of being successful. Remember the humanitarian and political goals. Remember every person who believed/s in you. Remember Sam, Moi, Anissa, Ben, Brenda, Jona, Skot, John, and Baby Arnold. Remember Roses, Arnold. Remember that first time of feeling absolutely sure that you will be successful, and then remember the subsequent feelings of fear and doubt. Remember mushrooms, alcohol, and weed. Remember overdraft fees. Remember being hired, fired, and then hired again. Remember acknowledging that the workforce isn’t you!
Get the point yet? Write, Arnold; it’s what you enjoy. Be successful and do everything you want to do. If you are reading this, and you have conformed then you’re not yourself; you don’t conform. You believe in yourself no matter what, and then you charge ahead. Charge ahead, and do what you love.

Sincerely,


You. 

Friday, March 27, 2015

Untitled (Non-Fiction)

“You want to hear about me? You sick bastard.” That was my initial reaction when I heard what he needed. I called him sick, but I understand the interest. His memories of me are fond, but he knows a lot has changed. I’m still the same frivolous guy he knew me to be, but life has a way of edifying those who need it most. Don’t get me wrong; I still enjoy an obscene amount of lewd humor: Cock jokes, weed stories, and jokes about homosexuality are my go-to jokes to laugh off most situations. I remain the motherfucker that will take the joke entirely too far, just to get a rise out of most, and a laugh out of those who are like me.  This story is for them. The coterie of folks who have wallowed in a self-created hell, and found their way out of it.

Middle school was a good time for me. The ephemeral era of happiness and innocence. Well, as innocent as a thirteen year old boy balls deep in puberty can be. Life at home was a circus. My dad, “Harpo,” as my siblings and closest friends called him, was a wreck. He was abusive, and he seemed to be above such normalcies as keeping a job. I didn’t give a shit back then. As long as I had my two best friends, I was content.

We used to do all sorts of ludicrous shit. We would meet at five in the morning just to loiter and wreak havoc on unsuspecting people’s property. We shoplifted, ruined our respective kitchens, picked on kids junior in age, and held contests to see who could stay awake the latest. In retrospect, I would say we were explorers; exploring the ostensible feeling of being invincible and misunderstood. At any rate I was happy, and that’s all that mattered, but after two short years everything changed.
Harpo lost another job and decided to move the family to another state. I have five siblings, and each of us felt like we were in the prime of our lives. We didn’t recognize it back then, but the move was the first of many fissures in our family’s livelihood. I coped as best I could. I met some new little shits, but none quite like the ones I left. Social media was a mere reverie back then, most people were exploiting aol trial discs just to check their emails. Keeping in touch wasn’t a click away, so my best friends and I lost touch. I wish we had been better at communicating; I could have used them when my mother died.

About five years after I moved my mother died of asphyxiation. She had an epileptic seizure and died in her sleep. If the move was a fissure, then this was a goddamn catastrophic, apocalyptic, devastation. My mom’s death engulfed my family like a plague out of the bible. The void left in my sisters compelled them to become amative, and they all went off to form families of their own. One of my brothers turned to meth, and he still isn’t the same. My other brother assimilated the qualities of a rogue, and went down his own lonely path. I was 15 at the time, and in the subsequent years the borderlines of morality became mere suggestion.

I developed an alcohol addiction at the healthy age of 17. By 19, I was snorting blow, chewing ‘shrooms, and kissing Maryjane in the mouth as often as I could. When I was “sober” I was munching prescription pain killers like they were skittles, and I would wash them down with any liquor I could get my hands on. I lived that life, and it was awful.

One time I gave this asshole 90 bucks to score 16 grams of mushrooms, and he decided to use the money to go on a nice coke binge. He prevented the incoming ass kicking by giving me the rattiest looking ‘shrooms I have ever laid eyes on. I shouldn’t have taken them, but when you’re dying of thirst, toilet water begins to look like it came from a glacier. I took the ‘shrooms with one of my favorite drug buddies. We took eight grams a piece and experienced six hours of pure torture. The trip was a nightmare. Our most sinister nightmares manifested right before our eyes, and tormented us for the entire time. Up until that point mushrooms were my favorite drug. I loved the euphoria, but this trip still haunts me like a specter with a vendetta. I never took mushrooms again.

Drugs and crime go together like love and marriage. Between the ages of 17 and 23 I racked up warrants like it was my job. I was bouncing around from place to place, because nothing is steady in the lifestyle I was living. I bounced so often that eventually there was nowhere to land. I had no home, no friends, and seemingly no future. Being homeless was about as scary as the dark trip I had on the shitty ‘shrooms. I wandered around aimlessly reflecting on my life, and one night I drifted into a school. Someone must have seen me trespassing because it didn’t take long for the police to flag me down. They asked me for my name, and I gave it to them. When they ran it in their database they found my pile of warrants. At least I would have somewhere to sleep.

I spent 45 days in jail. I kept to myself, mostly, but I witnessed other hapless bozos get the shit kicked out of them on a regular basis. Jail is where I met Vlad. He was this large Russian body builder who was a lot wiser than I. When you’re in jail and going through withdrawals you talk just to feel sane. I ended up telling Vlad my life story, and do you want to know what this Russian wizard told me?
“Your definition of family is fucked. The pricks you dope with aren’t family, and if your relatives dope with you, then they ain’t family either. You choose your family, you scrawny American fuck.” Thanks Vlad.

For some reason those words stuck. When I was released I reached out to one of my sisters. She said she would take me in as long as I found a job and enrolled into college. I took her up on the offer immediately. I found work, and I started going to school for accounting. Not too long after that I met the girl of my dreams in a sandwich shop. She took to me right away, and I have a feeling she saw everything there is to know about me in one look; she saw it all and still accepted me.
I began to spend every day with her until nothing else mattered. I didn’t think about drugs or my past; all of my focus went into being happy with her. I like to say I have an addictive nature, and I don’t think it’s a bad thing; it’s human nature. I channeled my addiction through her, and eventually I married her.  

So that’s where I’m at today, happy, married, and sober. The sick bastard who needs a non-fiction story for his Creative Writing final is going to have one helluva time sorting this out, but I’m happy to be in touch with an old friend.  



Monday, March 23, 2015

Skeletons In The Backseat

My first play. It's a "one act play."




PATRICK, 27, a painter, and a man reborn
AVA, 24, Patrick’s new girlfriend. She hates to be compared to his ex-wife
AARON, 3, Patrick’s stubborn son
The entire play takes place during a single car ride.




At Rise: There is a drop-top prop car onstage. Every member is buckled in and ready to go. The sounds of a moving vehicle are playing out over a speaker. Patrick is moving the steering back and forth to simulate driving.
(Ava is smiling brightly at Patrick. Patrick is staring thoughtfully ahead, and Aaron is in the backseat being a three year old)

AVA
Where are we going to lunch, Babe?
(AARON gets ecstatic at the mere mention of lunch and tries to get out of his car seat)
AARON
Daddy I want French-fries!
                                                PATRICK
Sit down, AARON!
(AARON’S face falls as he crumples into his car seat defeated)
Not sure yet, AVA. How about pizza?
                                                AARON
PIIIIZZZZZA! I like pizza! You like pizza too daddy, right daddy?
                                                PATRICK
Mmmhmmm.
                                                AARON
I don’t like mushrooms. Only “peppini”
(AVA watches the world blow past her from the passenger seat. She clearly has something on her mind)

                                                AVA
Pizza sounds good. Did you start the papers?
(PATRICK smiles sheepishly. He nervously turns to face AVA)
                                                PATRICK
I haven’t yet, but I downloaded them. I just can’t wait till this divorce is over.
                                                AVA
Me neither. You two have been sitting on this for almost two years.
                                                PATRICK
You’ve been sitting on me for about a year.
(PATRICK’S face widens into a devilish grin. AVA can’t help but to grin right along with him.)
            AARON
Daddy I want to sit on you lap
(PATRICK and AVA laugh together)
                                                PATRICK
Ewwww! No AARON.
(AARON’S face lights up into an innocent look of confusion)
                                                AARON
That’s not nasty, Daddy. Right, Daddy?
                                                PATRICK
Right, Aaron. Anyway, it’s not like I still love her or anything. I love you, AVA
                                                AVA
I know—
                                                PATRICK
No, wait.
                                                AARON
I love you too, Daddy.
                                                PATRICK
I love you too, AARON! Jeez, can I talk?
(AARON’s head hangs low and PATRICK’S face reveals the slightest sliver of guilt, but he continues all the same)
                                                PATRICK
I love you and I’m happy now.
                                                AARON
I’m happy too, daddy
(AARON says this quietly in the background)
PATRICK
I know it isn’t over until I get the divorce decree, but I am ready to move on. I try not to compare, but this is so much different; so much better.
                                                AVA
I’m happy too, babe, but it’s hard to be secure. We love each other, and that’s cool, but you’re still married. I’ve been seeing a married man for over a year. Sometimes I feel stupid.
(PATRICK meets AVA’s statement with awkward silence. The statement hangs in the air, and isn't broken until AARON poses a question)
AARON
Are me married daddy?
(Patrick laughs at the welcomed icebreaker)
                                                PATRICK
No, not yet. You shouldn’t feel stupid for following you heart. I did and I feel more alive than ever. I have AARON back, I have you, and I have my sanity.
(It’s AVA’S turn to be silent. She continues to lose herself in the passing scenery)
                                                      AVA
And you have your art. That last on you did, the one of the roses; what inspired it?
(PATRICK’s contemplation comes alive in his facial features as he thinks to himself)
                                                PATRICK
I’m not quite sure. It could be everything. It could be nothing. That is thee way of thee art-eest!
                                                AVA
Are you sure they weren’t roses for her?
                                                PATRICK
Of cour… of course not!
                                                AVA
You love me, but you lie to my face! Seven years you were with this woman, and you expect me to believe she means nothing? I’M NOT STUPID, PATRICK!
(PATRICK is completely taken aback by the sudden argument. AVA is teary eyed and AARON’S face is blissfully blank in the backseat)
                                                PATRICK
I DON’T THINK YOU’RE STUPID!!                     (PATRICK pauses for a moment)
This fight is stupid.
                                                AVA
Of course, it’s stupid when I express my feelings.
                                                PATRICK
GODDAMMIT AVA!                             
(PATRICK slams his fist down into the steering wheel)
AARON
Did you say God, Daddy? I like God.
                                                PATRICK
This is what she did to me! You’re doing the exact same thing. You’re blaming me for your insecurities; you want me to be as miserable as you. Well I won’t be!
                                                AVA
Oh, that’s what you think? And I thought I was stupid--
                                                PATRICK
See? You think you’re stupid not me.
                                                AVA
Shut up, you know what I meant. Do you honestly think I’m conspiring to make you sad? Is that it PATRICK? I look after you and your son to trap you in my web of depression? God you are sooooo full of yourself.
(PATRICK decides to take the high road and remain silent. He looks determinedly out of his window)
AVA
Exactly. You’re quite content to eat my cooking and have your way with me, but the minute I bring up the divorce, you demonize me. I’m nothing more than a mistress to you.
                                                PATRICK
I LOVE YOU AVA…fuck! This is just fucking hard for me
(AARON is terrified by PATRICK’S loud voice. His eyes shift nervously left to right and right to left. His palms are pressed tightly against his head.)
                                                AARON
I thought you just love mommy, Daddy. Right, Daddy?
                                                PATRICK
Wrong, AARON. I want to forget mommy.
(AVA looks mortified)
                                                AARON
Nooooo. You don’t forget mommy. Remember when you was screamin’ at mommy, and mommy was cryin’? And you was hittin’ you head, Daddy. I was scared. Remember that, Daddy?
(PATRICK tries his best to mask his emotions, but the shock and sadness is splattered across face like blood spatter)
                                                PATRICK
No, I don’t remember that.
                                                AARON
I remember that, daddy.
(AVA is silently crying out the window. PATRICK’s face is a mask of gloom and despair. Having finally reached the pizza restaurant, he parks the car)
                                                PATRICK
Well, we’re here.                                                     (PATRICK says this quietly)
                                                AARON
Daddy, are you sad Daddy?
                                                PATRICK
No.
                                                AARON
I love you, Daddy.
(PATRICK begins to cry as he gets out of the vehicle. AVA sits quietly in her seat and stares out her window lost in her thoughts. PATRICK walks around the car to the backseat to free AARON from his car seat.)
                                                PATRICK
I love you too, AARON.