Vernon Ross

I am Vernon Ross. [email protected]                                                                                    ©2011 VernonWritesLLC. All Rights Reserved.

[vernonwrites]

Why Does Everyone I Love Keep Dying

its been several weeks since my best friend passed away and its odd feeling so empty when im surrounded by so much life, my beautiful girlfriend; my family: my mother, father, brother, sister, and other brother but thats how i feel. i feel like ive cried all the tears that i have inside my body but then ill see a picture or remember a memory between the two of us and its like the stupid levy to the damn breaks and tears are streaming down my face. i mean, im crying as i write this.

ill be honest, i didnt think anyone could mean this much to me; i thought i was a hard person, never letting anyone close to my heart, never letting anyone near me because of this situation right here. this emptiness, its so heavy on my heart and its weird because i feel so selfish feeling this way, harboring these memories and thoughts to myself, trying not to utter a word. this emptiness will stay a while but for everday i bring Zach to the surface and live my life as if he was standing right next me, this emptiness will fade and i will be whole again… we all will. but it will take some time and we will cry and be angry and years from now ill cry some more and ill be angry some more and be sad some more but there will be a day where i wake up and i wont be sad, i wont be angry, and i wont need to cry. but it will take some time and ill miss him every step of the way. but we will be whole again; all of us.

Thank you for meaning so much to me my friend.

thinking of murph day in and day out. painfully enough, ive had several dreams that include him. beautifully, he looks the same; wearing clothes that I’ve seen hang in his closet just a few short months ago. nothing amazing happens in these dreams. they are very much the most ordinary dreams I’ve ever had in my life. we mostly just talk and walk around in whichever world my mind has created for that moment. these plain dreams give me comfort because in these dreams he’s not gone. he’s literally “right there” looking back at me. sometimes we’re skating, sometimes we’re just sitting down or walking or laying down. sometimes we’re in his place or mine.

but the harshest part of these dreams is that I don’t realize he’s gone: he looks so alive; we FEEL so alive. but as I wake up and leave the dream behind, the reality begins to set in and it’s the most painful trick ever. but I’ve realized i don’t care at all. id rather feel that than nothing so every night I fall asleep with a big fucking grin on my face, knowing ill see him soon enough.

love you, murph

[vernonwrites]

Yellow Checkered Cars

OVER THE SHOULDER—OK so you’re laying down across my lap in the back of this car on the way to my apartment. Monica and Daniel are singing along to the new Maroon 5 song on the radio. We are all drunk. Earlier, someone dared us to make out. You looked so beautiful as you were shaking your head no, laughing and blushing. Neither of us made eye contact. Under the guise of poorly made cosmopolitans from her husband—made hastily in the kitchen as to ensure his spot in bed tonight—the lady told us that we act like a couple. We laughed it off but you accidentally slipped up and said “Not yet”. I’m sure I smiled, positive. This girl driving us has no clue where she is going, weaving in and out of cul-de-sacs and dead ends; nothing but the headlights pushing away the black. 

CUT TO—Across my lap again. You ask me to stop telling you what to do all the time. I smile plainly. It’s not that I’m telling you what to do but rather wanting you to do something different for me. And usually, you do what I tell you. It’s not even that I get off on it; it’s just that I know now that this is true. Fair enough my feelings for you began quietly, something forming in the back of my mind. An itch you could say, and the only scratching relief was thinking of you. So I did. A lot. And now here we are. I look into your eyes—in the pale darkness of the moving car it is indeed a difficult thing to do but I find yours and you find mine. You bite your bottom lip. I rub your leg. You tell the driver to scratch going to my house; that now we are going to yours. 

INTERIOR HALLWAY—Hopeless like the last time, we’re standing out front your door. With your heels hung round your index finger, spinning happily, you unlock it and lead me into the darkness of the apartment. 

FADE OUT—Your open door is now open-ended. 

[vernonwrites]

and so we were never finding home,

i sat up wishing this was over but knowing i had one last thought to tell the others. laced with Stellar 63 it was hard focusing on nothing other than bright sparkles from the outer corners of my eyelids spiraling inward; this isn't what i had expected, but, truthfully nothing is if it isn't coming from your memories or experiences. jason was laying diagonally from me. hands resting behind his head gazing into the black starlight now. yes, it was beautiful. no doubting that, but not everybody was looking at it's beauty; not everyone was enthralled by it. cj is drawing something in the sand, i can't see it from where i'm sitting but lisa can read it i'm sure. i scoot closer, the sand scattering underneath my palms, the molly vibrating with every rumble; a shockwave unforgiving of what i'd rather feel. this is it. this is the truth. this is unmistakable. this was the crew. 

[vernonwrites]

Stop Burning Bridges (& Drive Off of Them)

It's late on a Saturday--these weekends all seem to blur together anyway when the first of the leaves begin to dangle and fall, listlessly swaying in the November breeze--and I have a test that I should really be studying for but in the back of my mind there  is someone whispering later, later and so I trust this prickly voice while thinking "Later tonight, later".

We are watching Heathers, which I've already seen about a thousand times but for some reason this doesn't get me to stop watching it or turn it off when it comes on TV for late night. Her head on my lap, hair spilling about in all directions. I imagine each lock of hair to be a winding interstate and they all lead back to the hub that is her delicate face. She is chewing bubble gum, loudly. Smacking her lips as the bubble pops, only to be reborn in her mouth for another helium intoxicated go-around.

And it's the scene where JD is getting picked on by the two ridiculously ridiculous jocks. You know which one I'm talking about, right? Where he pulls out his gun--loaded with blanks--and proceeds to fire a round in the cafeteria. Yeah, the scene that is completely preposterous because no one would just suspend you for that. Anyway, this is looping through my mind when she speaks up and says--

"I think I like you," with a little smile on her face.

Now I get it. I'm JD. And she is a Heather.

[vernonwrites]

In Which Yours Truly Interviews Yoga Artist, @ahannnaha (Hannah Rae Bechard), My Virtual Girlf

1.    Tell me about yoga. Why do you do it? What got you started on it?

  So I’ve been waiting to respond to this question because I haven’t “physically” practiced until today, October 3rd (see “Mean Girls”). I rolled out my mat on my hardwood floor today and realized I was in the right place. Discovering the, quite literally, new space around me, I practiced for an hour flowing through my own personal vinyasa.

  I do it because I praise Nike. I also practice yoga because it is a practice: not a sport, art, or hobby, but completely unique on its own.

  Coming from classical ballet training, it was beautiful to find a path that let my body move organically sin competition and strong self-criticism. It’s been just me, and my mat. And no, I did not roll my mat out the first day I practiced and say, “HEY. I HAVE NO EGO AND DO NOT GIVE A FUCC!!! WEE! DOWNWARD DOG!” My mentality was right around 100% the opposite of that remark. Yoga has helped me realize that I am okay: JUST right, here, and now.

2. Your outlook on life is pretty clear and sweet. What philosophy do you live your life by? Does yoga help with this?

  Well, you are sweet (ugh, you know this). I THINK DEEPLY. Clarity is something I strive for in my thoughts, but alas, I am human and wade in muddy thoughts…So, the philosophy I live by? I hone into what I have only begun to accept as a gift, which is my sensitivity. I love on a large scale, as well as believe on a large scale. At times this vulnerability gets me in a yucky place. But I guess I’d rather live with a colorful idea of life than go on living like Kristen Stewart.

  Yoga helps with the doubt. I can be witty all day. If you haven’t met me at a bar, or if you haven’t heard me say that I’ve won the “Witty Quips” award in 7th grade, than we don’t know each other that well. I can front well, but I also doubt myself just as well.

  To doubt your personality in comparison to others I’ve found is toxic. I practice self-worth, and acceptance connecting me to the divine spirit that, many of times, just needs a strike of a match to get the pilot light to kick in.

3. How were able to do the Wanderlust event?

  Simple! I volunteered online on the Wanderlust website. Such an amazing group of people. I mean, I can’t imagine a yoga festival being compiled of a buncha jerks. But! I seriously thought volunteer spots would be all taken care of. But, low and behold! It’s been amazing to have positive feedback regarding my writing. Self-expression is so personal: it means that much more when someone else is moved by what you have to say.

4. Are you looking to find a occupation wherein yoga is your primary field?

  Funny you should ask. My major is accounting…**laughs**. I’m good at it though. I can’t wait to be financially stable. SO. I would love to teach the practice when the time is right. Teacher trainings are always available. I know I want to share my thoughts, and my choreographic vision coinciding with the yoga practice in the future. It is just a matter of time. I am eager as a young person to spread the idea of alignment throughout our spine and into our hearts.

5. Tell me about the best day of your life.

  GEEZE. Best day? The day I spent at Fenway park with my father. I was 18, It was poignant. I had the whole day, just with my father in a hotter than hell day in July.  Boston killed the Twins, like 18-3, and Manny was in the green monster eating skittles or something. I don’t know how to explain it. There is just something about $8 beers being sneaked to you and the energy of Yawkey Way with my Dad that I loved so much. It was amazing to look at my Dad, witness his eyes on the field, and feel the joy in my heart. I hope I have a lot of “best days” in my life though.

6. You're a writer, what's the best advice you can give to aspiring writers and overcoming writer's block?

  The advice I can give to aspiring writers is to believe you are one. Who the hell is telling you/making you believe you are not? I remember one of the best tools in high school was to free write. That just happens to be the style of writing I use formally. Obviously, I go through and edit to the best of my ability, but I feel that whatever comes through our minds organically is worth being unfiltered. But hey, if Bart Simpson is reading this, he may like to write about farts and nerds, but that’s fine, I know Bart well.

  So, just like Bart, go with your heart. Fart if you want to! Have a brain fart. Don’t get too frustrated, or judgmental with yourself. Know that some will troll on your work. Trolls are ugly so don’t worry about trolls. Just imagine me, giving you a high five and a lollipop, and THAT, should be inspiration enough.

[vernonwrites]

baseheads and hot women

nd the first thing you’ll notice is that the pills have this sort of bitter black licorice taste to them. it’s so bad that you grab your drink off the dash quickly and take a long gulp and run your tongue into the grooves of your molars as to swallow all of it. the lights

the lights

the lights

that's what comes first when you start to come up. the blur of the lights, surrounding the source of energy with an endearing hug, then the prisming

the shattered fracturing of the street lights themselves; the car headlights, anything and both nothing because you're not really seeing, not really watching but more of a staring through. because when you're on nothing seems to mean anything here.

first the wave. the whole body shiver. the temperature is a cool 65 degrees but to you it's as cold as the first snow. your hands are like shovels burrowing into your entire being and it's then that you are truly rolling.

the night has just started and andrea is calling out your name but you can't really hear her, can you? because all you can hear is your heartbeat.

she says your name louder this time and you

[vernonwrites]

Please--and I mean this with all sincerity: take care.

[vernonwrites]

breaking bad's penis off

[vernonwrites]

How Do U Go Hungry In The Winter They Litraly Put Salt All Over The Streets Idiot (Interview with Twitnam Royal, @Conor Tripler)

Yo whaddup? I interviewed the machine behind the man, Conor Tripler. And if you don't know who that is, you're doing this whole "life" thing wrong. 

What is the origin story of the beautiful man called Conor Tripler? I was raised by a pair of loving websites. Forged from the info-wires and broadband-DNA they shared. I took the form of a Twitter account and shortly thereafter began pretending to be a human boy so as to help my readers identify more readily. Emotional landscapes are difficult for me but I map and explore them tirelessly. 

What caused you to rise against the haters? Any certain instance? I don't respect the haters. I never have. I show a lot of disrespect to the haters. Haters are confused admirers. There will be no haters at my wedding. I let my haters be my motivators. Screw the haters.  

Tell me about the weed bongs. I do not smoke weed bongs because they are illegal. My fried Clyde smoked a weed bong and died. I tweet about the weed bongs to raise awareness. I care about America and I love cops. 

What do you consider to be your best tweet? Which was your first? My early days of tweeting were difficult. I mashed at the keyboard to try to figure it out. I wrote things on paper and tried to load them into the disk drive. I poured Red Bull into the USB ports to make it tweet faster. In early 2011 I really "hit my stride". My personal favorite tweet is the one on my favstar about my raccoon roommate searching for pictures of overturned garbage cans on google. It actually happened. It's real. 

My Google History is 200 pictures of overturned garbage cans • explain thyself • Youre my only roommate who knows my password & is a raccoon

What perks have you found in becoming a twitter celebrity? Real talk, actually a lot. It's a beautiful community. I've made some incredible friends on twitter, many of whom I've ended up meeting in real life. It's a great place to connect with like-minded artists, writers, designers, you name it. A number of collaborations and opportunities have come out of twitter for me. Most notably: having some of my poetry and short fiction published, and getting the opportunity to befriend or work with some of my idols including BJ Novak of the office, the members of Das Racist, or the DJ Porter Robinson. It's an honor, really, that so many people enjoy the thought-fragments I spin out on twitter.

Has Conor Tripler ever been convicted of being a hater? Convicted, no. Accused, yes. The hater syndrome lives somewhere deep in all of us, the way the devil creeps in the nooks & crannies of a church. It takes self-appraisal and meditation to keep the hater within at bay. I'm always aware of my natural hater tendencies. I will not be consumed by the hater. I love to love.

In the big picture, what does Conor Tripler hope to gain from tweeting? Well, most recently I got a great opportunity to write a script for a TV show pilot so that is what I am working on currently. It would be a dream come true to write for a comedy series, and if tweeting is the way I get there, then that's pretty cool if you ask me. Which you are. Cheers!  

[vernonwrites]

--memorandum--

these tears are formative and nothing shapes them quite like your father's words before his last supper, before his gleaming eyes, before his laughter and now, here this? this is only memory

[vernonwrites]

this was not supposed to hurt when i was wearing my superman shirt but yet instead of kryptonite putting me under it was your soft words adding to my insults that i got from loving an injury and i loved that injury because i found it in the same hospital i was born and i was born and i was born and i was born into this 

[vernonwrites]

Your beating heart is my parade and your eyes are the moons that guide me.

[vernonwrites]

You Are Every Movie I See

Words form from smiles illicited by the spark of familiarity, left behind when we threw out our insecurity

Introduction ("Hello") Rising action (your touch) Climax (the laugh) Falling Action (the night out) Resolution (you)

[vernonwrites]

A Summer Spent in Motion

[vernonwrites]

Girls, I love Real Housewives. Call me. Via someecards

[vernonwrites]

Infinity for a Moment

save your breath for when it's most desirable  and when you are left empty pages ripped from your diary found underneath the bed you'll know that i had let myself in the window is unlocked and the climb over loosened the thread on my pants so you have something to remember me by i guess leaves turn new colors in the fall and i turn to leave when you fall because i just can't seem to be there or to get it right when i'm needed most because my thoughts end up on bar napkins and my heart ends up on torn sleeves and my head ends up on your bedpost notched like every other achievement you've won it looks like i've finally crossed the finish line with the memory of you intact  

[z-g-phelps]

The Sky and the Sea II

[vernonwrites]

My friend makes art. Follow him.