Tracking Sound

Seek A Little Hill

noreply@blogger.com (blehnen) — Mon, 13 Apr 2009 01:05:00 +0000

The night fell into a calm winter silence as the last train left the station. Snow had begun to collect upon the wooden rails and large illuminated clock, which hung in between two dilapidated billboards. His breath hanging heavy in the air, puffing like a locomotive, as he looked up and saw the fleeting taillights turn the corner and vanish south.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Without glancing at the clock he knew it was just past twelve. The final train had run leaving him all but two options to get home, cab or apologize. Had he not pissed his last five bucks away on pints he could have avoided the latter by hailing the former. Loose change clinked against a metal lighter in his pocket as he began to retrace his steps on the platform.

His frozen fingertips fumbled in his coat pocket, eventually retrieving a crushed soft pack of cigarettes. Tapping the open end, Hill pulled the filtered smoke from the package with his dry cracked lips.

“Christ it’s cold.” He muttered under his breath as he held the thin cotton jacket in place with one hand while fishing for the lighter with the other. Hill rounded the corner towards the exit sign, flicking the flint wheel of the lighter with his thumb. The small flame illuminated the damp stairwell with spectrums of light from broken bottles, followed shortly by the orange ember of a long drag.

The turnstile gate put him standing in a small paved lot beneath the elevated tracks next to the Davis Station newsstand. The stand had closed a couple hours ago, the locks already frozen and covered with a thin layer of ice. Blowing into his hand, he placed the cigarette into an abandoned coffee cup and began following the tracks north towards Truman Avenue. Enclosed on either side by buildings, the tracks meandered above forming a latticed roof to a wide alley. Snow and light fell between the wooden sleepers every few feet, the shadows on the ground mimicking the patterns of the rails above.

Although Davis was not a bad part of town, Hill quickened his pace and kept his head on a swivel. “An alley is still an alley, even on the north side,” he told himself as he rounded a concrete planter littered with fast food trash and other unsalvageable items striped in snow. A stuffed teddy bear lay half buried in the planters hard soil, its fur matted and face partially burned and melted near its nose.

He stopped for a moment to stare at the toy.

“Not even a blind kid would play with you, huh?” He said softly as he touched the bear’s charred fur, leaving a bit of black ash on his fingertips.

Rubbing the ash on his jeans, Hill turned and walked out from under the tracks into a flickering yellow spotlight on Truman Avenue. Without the protection of a building, the cold cut right through the thin jacket. Instinctively, Hill put his back to the wind and walked himself into the recessed storefront of an old video rental shop. Its dirty window displays cluttered with foreign and adult faded movie posters, most of which he had never seen. Looking out into the street he contemplated the long walk home; it was at least two miles back towards the lake. Her apartment was only a couple of blocks away.

The circling yellow bulbs from a nearby diner sign lit up the whites of his eyes like road hazards, off and on, interrupting his daze and forcing a long blink. The sign read Evelyn’s 24/7 in large black cursive letters beneath a silhouette of a woman with a pin-up face and an alluring smirk. Crossing his arms, Hill emerged from the shadowed cache back into the wind towards the softly lit diner across the street.

Obscure golden glass lined the wood paneled doors at Evelyn’s, staining the sidewalk in a tinge of disco yellow closely matching that of the sign above. A tacky looking joint from the outside, but it was warm and still open. Hill walked in, quietly stomped the wetness from his shoes, and slid into a nearby booth towards the back window...

Abandoned

noreply@blogger.com (blehnen) — Sat, 22 Nov 2008 07:31:00 +0000

sharp tooth shipwrecked birds
living alone, carrying words on their backs
repenting for attention on the winds of the sea
carry on, carry me

all that was said, burning in lakes
woeful mistakes washing ashore
ashes to land - they fill up your hands

The Guest Bedroom

noreply@blogger.com (blehnen) — Thu, 11 Sep 2008 01:46:00 +0000

She sat upsettingly in a slim chair with a finger wrapped around a cool mug handle. Surrounded by sparse furniture basked in yellow light from an old chain lamp, the room felt vast and lonely. The room had been used during his brief stay, an unmade bed and several open drawers; the only lasting evidence that anybody had been present. All else remained untouched in its antiquated state.

Mechanically raising the mug to her lips and then placing it back on the side table, each time stamping a wet ring only slightly off center from its original. The ceramic tapping in rhythm against the rich wood, its trivial echo fleeted into the narrow guest hallway.

She uncrossed her legs, revealing a small grass stain at the hem of her skirt. A quick, yet effortless rub of the fabric between her forefinger and thumb yielded only a slightly larger marking. Her pale legs exposed as she began to smooth the garment instinctively, as if to hide the stain again, its brief distraction unwelcome. Only wanting to relive the episode again in silence, she pulled the chain of the pewter lamp and painted the room with a blue-grey hue from the night sky.

The decision had been made instinctively for this life was all she knew. She would stay and he would not return for her, its finality still fresh and stinging like a deep paper cut. A summer affair without recourse had been the intention, you see, nobody gets hurt that way. His words meant nothing, his touch even less, until they no longer found her waist or ears in the safety of the guest bedroom. The rooms scant furnishings removing any cache for his presence to remain behind for her comfort. She was now alone in her contention, pulling the blanket from his bed to cover her knees.

A Saturday With Sam

noreply@blogger.com (blehnen) — Sun, 07 Sep 2008 06:10:00 +0000

Once again I am working the weekend alone, left only with the nagging thoughts of moving on and the silence of a large commercial space. Not exactly sure what it is in me that creates the desire to continually demolish my surroundings and rebuild them as if I were a seasonal bird. One tired of searching and reaching for a purposeful fulfillment in life that may never arrive. Plainly, I am neither lazy nor unmotivated, in fact, I believe myself to be quite passionate about things. Unfortunately, these passions never really translate into an actual occupation in which I find enjoyment.

Am I bored because I have woken up alone for so long, do I loathe technology? It certainly does not interest me outside the realm of personal use or gadgetry. Do I put too much stock in women or the never-ending pursuit for ideal love? Am I frustrated because I have found love and it is (or has been) unwanted? No clue; so I am back here again with questions. Namely, why does one perpetuate a stagnating passionless life without making the necessary changes, which may result in potential abounding happiness?

Routine, security, fear, obligations, boredom? All legitimate reasons for some, not I.

I want more, there has to be more! Or at least a residual muddy puddle from which I can drink more than you. Being content is a valueless option, one for everybody else, not the restless and venerable Samuel Welch. Of course, this is my inner-dialogue and I am sure you are thinking to yourself “Well, I am happy, this guy is just a miserable shit bag. Who is he to tell me I am not content?” You are mistaken; I am not unhappy or miserable, just curious, curious to find the thin edge of the crust.

“Take me teetering on the balls of my feet to where your beginning ends and my resolution is born, for it is there you shall find me grinning.” I say with false bravado.

So I leap and you stare at my footprints. I no longer want to help you and take your requests, the back of my jacket flailing against the hard cool wind as I fall forward. “Give me the beauty and marrow of life and keep the monotony for yourself!” I exclaim as my cheeks stretch to form the meridian between my ears. I question if you have leapt after me, but I cannot move my head to check, the parallel horizon expansive in my view. I like to think you have and can close our gap with the tilt of your body. Perhaps you even shouted, “Fare thee well, great heart!” before I left and it did not sound cheap coming from your lips. These thoughts fill my gut and lead me to believe that you and I are equals; my question does not apply to you.

The phone is ringing, but I am alone and flying. Nobody is around to see me quickly lift the receiver and place it back down; Sam is currently indisposed. I do not want your message; can’t you see my arms are spread? I squint hard in attempts to stay in my free fall but the moment has passed and I come tumbling back to work. I look up with a feeling that somebody is watching me, but nobody is there. The office has grown dark and the light from my monitor reflects off the large glass panel windows surrounding me. I refocus and stare blankly at my reflection, muttering inaudibly “God, this sucks.”

Love?

noreply@blogger.com (blehnen) — Thu, 04 Sep 2008 04:06:00 +0000

“You’re a real fuck up, you know that?” trailed from her waxy lips as she walked towards the door. I did know, but it wasn’t my fault; it was never my fault.

So I sat there, staring at nothing, dejected and annoyed with myself. Sitting so long my legs fell asleep from the chair and I began to imagine life without them. Pity me for I have no legs! Pile my excuses and failures on my crippled frame, say, how about a dollar? It is acceptable to drink when you are down and out, when you have no legs. Just a dollar, I mean three, I can get the cheap shit for three dollars, promise.

My eyes dry and fixated, finally blinking at the clink of melting ice jostling in a glass on my desk. I want to call and apologize, I want to tell her I love her, but I am too tired to care. Her unfinished cigarette by the cracked window, tentacles of white being pulled out into the humid air, living momentarily. She is already home and hating me, my touch was a mistake. Her face burning in fury, she looked absolutely beautiful.

A-Hole

noreply@blogger.com (blehnen) — Wed, 03 Sep 2008 02:28:00 +0000

I dug a hole because I wanted to see
If all that I owned was all that made me
So I turned out my pockets and loosened my watch
My grin was expanding along with my thoughts

I threw in my wallet and fancy new shoes
My keys were a burden, so I tossed those in too
I kicked off my socks, my toes in the dirt
Just me, these jeans, and a ratty old shirt.

The sun high above, the heat on my neck
Sweat through my hair, the air in my breast
I need not these things that I left in the hole
Feel free as you laugh while watching them fall.

Dusty Notebooks

noreply@blogger.com (blehnen) — Wed, 19 Mar 2008 03:50:00 +0000

I stumbled upon some of my numerous sporadic dusty notebooks while organizing my closet. I thought I'd post some of my random writings/lyrics that I have done over the years for posterity. I do not think most of them have ever seen daylight as I was probably too embarrassed at the time to show them to anybody.

But as I've gotten older, I look back on my romantic naivety/sincerity with a large degree of fondness. So do not read too much into them, I know they're cheesy! But the majority of the stuff I have written has been for or about somebody, good or bad, so its nice to rediscover and relive the past for a minute.

Also, I am less likely to ever let a server go down than I am to lose an old notebook, so this functions as I nice backup plan... try not to cringe too much if you read them!

Baby's Breath

noreply@blogger.com (blehnen) — Wed, 19 Mar 2008 03:24:00 +0000

Unclean sheets and close call dreams
Keep my mind from sleeping

So to myself on a baby's breath
Bloom words of songs repeating

I lay still as not to wake you
Whisper softly into your ear

Honey my whole heart says thank you
What would I do
If you weren't near?

I think you'll be alright
Wasting your time
Curled up tight
Next to me

I think we'll be alright
Laughing all night
It just feels right
You and me

words by Brian Lehnen circa 2002

Soul of the City

noreply@blogger.com (blehnen) — Wed, 19 Mar 2008 02:35:00 +0000

Lyrics by Brian Lehnen / Mike Cabrera
Music by Cancun

Soul of the City
Rolls off the lake
Shaking windows in some other place

Dawning, brightened, woken up by the cold
Walking backwards in some borrowed clothes

Now its too early to change routines
Give me an excuse
I'm too scare to leave

I just got on my feet
Barely woke
Can hardly breathe

Silver spirals driving up towards to sky
Scattered wishes, blown out from my mind
Bustling corners lively, all full of light
Seasons changing more frequent than my life

Start it over wash me clean
The radio is on, static helps me sleep

Now its too early to change routines
I'm barely woke can hardly breathe...

This time, I've made up my mind
I'm going leave it all behind
It's just this dream has grown so strong
I have to see it through

Soul of the city
Blows off the lake
Breaking windows in some other place...

Soul of the City.mp3

Top 20 Albums of 2007

noreply@blogger.com (blehnen) — Thu, 14 Feb 2008 15:53:00 +0000

Just thought I'd compile a list of my favorite albums in 2007 because I'm bored, opinionated, and like ranking stuff. Thank you for making work bearable in 07'...

20) Elliott Smith - New Moon
19) The Arcade Fire - Neon Bible
18) Wilco - Sky Blue Sky
17) Dan Deacon - Spiderman of the Rings
16) Thurston Moore - Trees Outside the Academy
15) Feist - The Reminder
14) The National - Boxer
13) Radicalfashion - Odori
12) !!! - Myth Takes
11) Justice - †
10) Iron & Wine - The Shepard's Dog
9) Spoon - Ga Ga Ga Ga Ga
8) Radiohead - In Rainbows
7) Of Montreal - Hissing Fauna, Are You the Destroyer?
6) Animal Collective - Strawberry Jam
5) The Field - From Here We Go Sublime
4) LCD Soundsystem - Sound of Silver
3) Panda Bear - Person Pitch
2) Deerhunter - Cryptograms
1) Battles - Mirrored

Self-Diagnosis

noreply@blogger.com (blehnen) — Tue, 12 Jun 2007 04:26:00 +0000

Brain Says:

“You are not depressed, just thoroughly disappointed.”

Brian Says:

"Deluding myself is always easier in the morning, especially over a bagel with coffee.”

Bright & Yellow

noreply@blogger.com (blehnen) — Fri, 18 May 2007 19:46:00 +0000

I woke with an unforgiving headache. The back of my eyes throbbing as I rolled them behind my head and into last evening…

The deviant sun seems to temporarily lend me its comforting warmth, but at the same time, I’m finding its morning brilliance thoroughly annoying. Grunting, I swing my leg from under the blankets, testing the early air. It is cold, December, and miserable outside.

Sliding my feet inside my slippers I curl my toes and wait for the chills to subside. Delaying my morning work routine, I find myself sitting on the edge of my bed, staring at the closet. From this view, the perfectly justifiable and reasonable excuses for my inevitable and daily tardiness at the office begin to undulate, spin, and crash upon me hard enough to make me smile. My grin resolves and these thoughts reassure me that my job will be safe for yet another day . Reluctantly, I turn off the alarm and head for the bathroom to begin my day with a strong bright yellow piss.

Dehydrated from a long night of drinking, I am not surprised to find my urine more brilliant than my mood. Our plumbing is shit so I can never flush prior to taking a shower and I will leave the former for my roommate to discover. The childish pleasure this gives me is disturbing, yet a necessary and ageless act of virility in my eyes.

In my morning daze I’ll forget not to flush and as the swirling water begins to descend I think to myself “everything else is broken, but the toilet fucking works!” Karma will now reduce the water pressure to a mere trickle; presumably, I’ll unleash my frustration on the culprit by kicking at it with my soft tan slipper. Tossing the broken toilet handle into the sink I remove my clothes and stare at myself in the mirror. I have always done this for no reason. Perhaps I want to believe I am constantly evolving, changing, and growing more adult. In reality, I am one day older, my hair six hours longer, and my manhood just as I left it.

Stepping into the shower, the stagnant hot water envelops my ankles as I dance and turn in the soapy white pool. The hair filled drain, burping and gurgling at my suffocating presence, as the water trickles and jumps erratically towards me. I am forced to wet my body in quarters as my head continues to rap softly at its nape. Cracking the small shower window, the cool winter breathes over my shoulders bringing all my short hairs to attention.

Coffee

noreply@blogger.com (blehnen) — Thu, 30 Nov 2006 23:00:00 +0000

At 5:14pm I look at the white cup, it feels right to have it next to a lamp. A fixture in my office, its free and adult, therefore I consume. “A history of opulence and a tradition of excellence” emblazoned upon its side like a post-consumer thermal coat of arms.

Even coffee has a rep to protect.

It is always cold; I almost never finish the cup. The containers accumulate everywhere, never in pairs, but sporadic throughout the room. Evidence of past work locations ... “Brian was here… briefly.” Days later I will investigate them and pop the lids to find new cream formations, a caffeinated Rorschach test. Sadly, this amuses me, as does pouring the remains down the sink through the tiny drink hole…

Traveling

noreply@blogger.com (blehnen) — Sun, 22 Oct 2006 23:48:00 +0000

Stuck traveling today so no time for a real post.

I'll be back tomorrow.

BL

When in Rome

noreply@blogger.com (blehnen) — Sat, 21 Oct 2006 17:14:00 +0000

Have I ever mentioned to you that my life is an absolute living hell for 364 days out of the year? Fifty one weeks and six days of pure unadulterated torture accompanied by a cold side dish of ball twisting misery. This is the double life that I lead. Sure, I can function and coexist amongst you “normal” people, but inside boils a craving that which only the most arduous of men can tolerate. Not until today did I realize that this desire shall no longer be contained, that my passion yearns to breathe! But a mere breath would do this no justice and so I must shout at the top of my lungs ….

I love Sweetest Day!

What, never heard of it? Yeah, me either …

Until this morning when expert sources (a crappy local morning radio program) informed me of this not-really-nationally recognized holiday. A faux Valentines Day if you will; which just so happens to annually fall on the third Saturday of October. Primarily celebrated in our beloved Great Lakes region, Sweetest Day has captured the hearts and souls of many a romantically bankrupt Midwesterner. They apparently need two made up holidays each year to guilt themselves into buying affectionate gifts for their significant other(s).

Time to go buy myself some books... when in Rome.

Enjoy the odd holiday folks!

An Inconvenient Airport

noreply@blogger.com (blehnen) — Fri, 20 Oct 2006 05:56:00 +0000

Remember when flying was considered a fun and luxurious activity? Retired couples would sport ugly flowered shirts while carrying bullet-proof bright red suitcases with metal latches. Seemingly all flights landed safely at destination Good Times, or at least that is what all those old movies would have me believe … I was impressionable.

Fast forward fifteen years and the thought of the airport makes me borderline nauseous. Surprisingly, this has nothing to do with the actual flight. I have come to the conclusion that my hatred stems from the fact that the airport is conveniently inconvenient. From attempting to read color coded departure signs while driving in circles to the weird guy sitting next to me wearing a striped religious cape and praying at the window. He will undoubtedly be on my flight, but let’s pick this up from the beginning.

So after driving in circles to find long term parking (stay to the left), the inconvenience begins with a myriad of parking garages intended to throw off your sense of direction. First of all, do not even think of parking on levels 1-4, they are decoys and always full. Than like a cargo ship traveling through the Panama Canal, you will be forced to enter a series of locks, gates, and rising levels to eventually reach your port of destination. Suitably, this spot will be designated “compact-only” and conveniently wedged between two old and shitty dented civics. Of course, you will always have a nicer car than the two that now flank you. By the way, you are probably late so get moving.

Now strap your luggage to your body in odd bulky configurations as if you are headed hiking in the mountains. In many respects these two activities are quite similar. In both, you typically have no idea where you are going and will just follow the person in front of you. So follow your fellow travel comrade into the elevator and over bridge. With any luck you will end up on the ticketing level (not the rental car level) only to be confronted with crowded lines and endless moronic individuals still arguing about a flight they missed an hour ago.

But there is still hope, and like the green light of West Egg, a beacon good fortune shines in the distance. An express check-in counter! A glorious invention, which in my opinion, is worth every job that it has replaced. This will be your only exemption to inconvenience at the airport. A few finger taps and a bag check later and you will be on your way to the government sanctioned personal privacy raping! This process can be thoroughly annoying especially when traveling with electronics (or anything besides a wallet), but I understand and respect its necessity. In an act of childish rebellion I will leave my belt on… only to beep half the time.

Did you make it through beep free? If so, pull up your pants, grab your gear and head on down to the carnival! Hope you like McDonalds, Dunkin’ Donuts, and Pizza Hut because that is all you are going to get. Don’t love Dean Koontz or John Grisham? Hey loser, go grab a magazine you will leave on the plane! If you have more time and feel parched, saddle up next to the creepy guy at the bar (never mind that is 11am). Or just do what I do and grab a cup of coffee, plug in your laptop and wait two hours for your boarding call.

Did I forget to mention that I just stepped over a sleeping family in the aisle to plug in my laptop?

Magic Bubbles

noreply@blogger.com (blehnen) — Thu, 19 Oct 2006 00:43:00 +0000

story by Ozone

There is an ancient Norse proverb, “unde yunta gnuta voohdes,” which loosely translated means: Crazy things will always happen at the laundromat.

This is an almost universal truth; proven time and again each time I have been forced to launder my clothes in public. Most recently, I have taken to performing this act at an establishment called “Magic Bubbles” on 436 in Casselberry, Florida. It is slightly more expensive than the laundry room at my complex ($2 a load compared to $1.25) but the machines are industrial strength, hastening the process considerably. Also, the name sounds like a cross between a massage parlor and a hot tub. (Note to B-Lehn: we should probably get started on marketing that idea)

My first visit to Magic Bubbles was a great experience, flawless in fact. I was in and out quickly and the sheer size of some of the machines was staggering. Seventy-five pounds of dirty clothes in one machine?! More astoundingly, I saw people actually using this landmark of laundry ingenuity. I was also able to get a great deal of reading done in the process, so all in all I considered it a great success.

Today, however, this tide of good fortune abruptly reversed. First, I was about 5 minutes too late take advantage of the daily half-price special running from 6 to 3. (Before I forget, has there ever been a fucking futon that didn’t slide off of the frame in “couch mode?” Every time I sit on this S.O.B. the whole thing starts to slide off like the meat in the last bite of a hamburger.) I dealt with it though. I mean a buck is just a buck, after all.

Then an odd situation played out in front of me. Two guys and a girl that looked like they had come from South Carolina and looked like they had drank every Busch Light they could find on the way were walking about the place with a small posse of African American kids in their wake. I look up from the new Bob Woodward (review coming) and realize that the kids are getting autographs from this trio. Not only that, but the Busch connoisseurs are signing MOTORCYCLE RACING 8X10 glossy photos.

It was instantly apparent that these kids were not big-time MOTORCYCLE RACING fans that just happened to be carrying their 8X10 glossies to Magic Bubbles on the off chance that their favorite MOTORCYCLE RACER shows up. I didn’t know which was worse: these black kids feigning excitement over these hillbillies, or Jethro & Co. pawning off their bullshit glossy photos on the kids. Quickly, I decided they were both equally to blame. That is, until I saw what the main MOTORCYCLE RACER had signed on the photos: “Ride Hard. Ride Safe.”

I can’t decide if this is good advice or not. Without question this man is a douche bag, but does his message hold some merit, especially for these young, impressionable black kids? I leave you all to ponder…

This will be our year

noreply@blogger.com (blehnen) — Wed, 18 Oct 2006 04:22:00 +0000

I became 26 years old today.

Physically, I see no difference in the mirror from one day to the next. Still skinny and pale with disheveled brown hair. Mentally, I feel hardened and battle ready. I am the second tour solider who stops to pick the lone field flower. I am the calm before the storm.

This is a good feeling…

Finally I am ready for life. Unfortunately, it took me 26 years to get to this point, but alas I made it and no longer fear change. I welcome success and failure while embracing the growing pains that come along with each. I look to push myself further and never fall back into the self-made mediocre rut that I existed in. Granted, it took A to get to point B, but I should have told A to fuck off a long time ago. I feel like my old self again.

This week has the potential to be one of the best ever. My entire life could be turned upside down and headed in a completely different direction. I am excited that I made that choice, success or failure. There is no disappointment, only a commitment to change.

(my writing feels ridiculously rusty)

In any case, thanks to everyone who wished me a happy birthday. I really do appreciate all the gifts and well wishes, today was great.

Also, special thanks to my good friend Ryan, who took the time design this nice layout for me. I can think of no better way to repay him than to actually keep this site updated. I promise I will do my best to not give up on this one.

BL