The Black Nail

Time.

It’s the one thing we can all agree upon.

It exists. It never stops. It can’t be taken back.

Under the heavens it is how we explain life.
We are born. We walk the earth. We die. And in a sense time has controlled the entire experience. From conception to first breath, from act one to the curtain call – with dates and entries time has left its mark.

Yet amidst our explanation and definition of a constant moving timeline there lies a mystery. Somewhere within the mind it seems that we can almost control time. It seems that we can assuage the speed of the second hand.

It happens when we are alone. It happens when we pause to reflect. It happens when we are waiting on something we expect; a phone call, a package, the school bell to ring our release. It happens in our dreams; where reality holds no bearing on the content – holds no semblance of time. In a dream one could feel as if they have lived out a lifetime and awaken to being just an hour older than before.

The most unexplainable of these is what happens when eyes meet. In full consciousness when two people lock eyes there is a connection unlike any other – an act of telepathy; communication without speech, transference of thought.

Most have experienced this. It could mean a number of things depending on the person, depending on the circumstance. It could be an unspoken union of agreement when someone in earshot utters a statement.

It can happen when you are embraced in a topical conversation of surface or depth. You look, not just glance, into the eyes of the person you are speaking with and it seems that you travel elsewhere and time slows – almost to a halt.

In those moments of time within time your mind will process a number of thoughts. In the gaps between spoken sentences – in what appears to be only seconds – we have the ability to carry out a subterranean conversation with our self in regards to what is happening behind the eyes of the other person. All the while continuing the thought process that will allow us to carry on the conversation we are engaged in with intellect.

This sixth sense of knowing is most captivating when it transpires between a man and a woman. Here the mystery flourishes and abounds. When reflecting upon my own timeline there are two of these experiences that are particularly prominent. A third occurred just yesterday.  The first two appear in my journal, one in the year 2001 and the other in 2002.  Between the years of 2000 and 2006 I wrote in a journal quite frequently, so it is not surprising that these two stories ended up on paper.

[Wednesday - 25 July 2001, 8:00AM – Quezon City, Philippines]

Roosters run the streets in this humidor of a country. This morning I awoke to the chaos of quite a few. One in particular, perched beneath my window, seemed to have forgotten the last three note of his morning song. When the other’s sang, “Cock-a-doodle-doo,” this fellow could only croon, “Cock-a…” Perhaps he was being dramatic, or perhaps he was run over by one of the 8 million motorcycles in the streets of Quezon City – left with a malfunctioning brain. Or maybe he too couldn’t breath with all of the pollutants swirling in the streets. I slept quite well last night, all things considered. Before turning in I read a bit more of The Old Man in the Sea and returned to it this morning – digesting a few chapters. Yesterday held fresh experiences for me, we took a bizarre little three-wheeled taxi to the bank so that we could exchange our dollars for pesos. These taxis are motorcycles left by the US Army following the war and have been rigged to house an enclosed sidecar. It’s something out of Mad Max, like a metal milk carton with small windows welded over top of a motorcycle. Inside the city uniformed men were everywhere standing guard with assault rifles. Once outside of the taxi a man began yelling at me in Tagalog, the native tongue. I asked our interpreter what he was saying and was informed that he was telling me to “just go home!” How pleasant. In the evening we took a train into downtown Manila once there we visited the home of a family who welcomed us in and cooked us a meal. Their home was directly under an enormous billboard on one of the tallest buildings in the city. The view from a top the billboard was spectacular – truly an amazing sight.  Patches of lush green gardens separated by poorly fashioned structures as far as the eye could see. Pockets of fog surrounded us creating the illusion of islands floating under the sunlight. While on the el train to Manila my eyes met those of a young Filipino girl, most likely around the age of 20. She was stunning. It was all I could do to keep from staring. I occasionally glanced her way and would catch her with eyes fixed in my direction. It was as if time stopped, or at least reduced to a slow crawl. I was snapped from my gaze by an elbow informing me that we had reached our stop. I departed the train and turned around to see if she was in view. It was the strangest occurrence – we locked eyes through the looking glass of the train and remained that way until she was completely out of sight. With the train pulling off at what seemed to be such a slow speed the look seemed to last an hour – when in reality it couldn’t have been more than 2 to 3 seconds at best.  Before she left my sightline she smiled at me. It could best be described as a mischievous “I know what you’re thinking, and I’m thinking the same” form of smile. No words were exchanged. No touch or embrace granted.  Yet I swear in that moment that I believed in love at first sight – the depth or length of love? Unknown. The feeling that came over me was indescribable; something I hadn’t felt in a long time. Unless fate has my number on speed dial I’m certain I will never see her again. It’s these moments that leave a pull-tab in my memory book.

[Wednesday - 18 December 2002, 2:58 AM – Hollywood, California]

While the world sleeps, I write. So many thoughts are buzzing in my head – I needed to grab this pen and capture them, like a fly to flypaper. Once I finish writing my hope is that the buzzing will stop. I discard more writings than I keep, but who keeps dead flies anyway? Some days I just can’t seem to write enough and then there are other days when I pick up the pen and it all goes black. I can’t seem to find the lens cap so that I may remove it and draw a crisp focus. Since the days of my youth I’ve wanted to be a cowboy, an astronaut, a football player, an animator, a rock star, a film star, and so on. Tonight I was forced to add another “profession” to the carousel of desire. A director. Call it dreaming big or call it self-torture, either way I can’t stop doing it to myself. Tonight I was invited to a private screening of a film that has yet to be released. The film was titled Gangs of New York. It was quite a big tadoo – seeming to be a who’s who event. A handful of the actors and crew were in attendance as well as famed director Martin Scorsese, who sat directly in front of me. It was quite a trip to watch a film of this magnitude with the director sitting 4 feet in front of you. Following the film he graced the audience with a Q&A segment. Very easy going fellow, down to earth in more than just stature. I was compelled by how one mans idea could erupt into such a masterpiece. Of course, I wanted to speak at length with Scorsese but resisted appearing as a bumbling idiot, having little knowledge of the craft, and settled for a brief exchange instead. I can’t say enough about this film, so I won’t attempt much. Daniel Day-Lewis was hauntingly perfect – the soundtrack so moving – the scale and imagery dirty yet divine. While waiting in the wings to enter the theatre I took notice of a mysterious girl. She was gorgeous. She wore a long black overcoat with a hood and a white scarf around her neck. Her hair was jet black with bangs. Short bangs, trimmed above her eyebrows. The kind of girl you’d want to cast as a love interest in your music video; the kind you’d fall for in an instant without even the exchange of names. It’s quite peculiar to remain in the same proximity with someone you feel drawn to for hours on end without speaking. Sharing nothing but glances. She sat in the same row as I during the film, about 20 people or so to my left. I went with a new friend who was a female and quite possibly expecting things to develop into more than a friendship. I had all but forgotten that I was there with her once I had made eye contact with the mysterious girl. I refused to approach her following the film out of respect for the girl I was with – I thought it rude and shallow…

[Thursday – 19 December 2002, 10:15 AM Mels drive-in, Ventura Blvd – California]

There’s such a feel-good atmosphere enveloping the local coffee dive. I rather enjoy my visits to Mels. They should charge admission for the people watching alone. This morning my mind is swallowed up by the dreams that came last night -I was visited by the girl who caught my eye at the screening. Perhaps it was the long black cloak and the way she carried herself – or, maybe it was the obscurity that allowed her entrance. If a happening doesn’t play out as you wished in reality does ones mind attempt to recreate and deliver what might have been? If so, in this case, my dream-conscious did a poor job. The dream of her was very much like the reality of her. It was dark, yet peaceful. She was around every corner – gifting me that same longing stare, a few entwined with a half-smile. Time seemed to stop when our eyes connected. The closing piece of music from the film last night was the soundtrack to the dream. It was a U2 song, “The Hands the Built America.” She spoke not a word. I followed around every building and into every alley yet still came up empty.  And I awoke feeling empty; with violins still echoing in my ear. Why is it that the most talked about fish in the sea is the one that got away? It’s the one you remember. It’s the unsolved mystery…

Yesterdays encounter lacked any form of mystery on the surface. However, the depths of why the connection was happening baffle me still. It was at a local coffee shop. A brief conversation occurred. Our eyes met and locked. And time stood still. It was enough to know that there is definitely something there with this girl. Details be damned at this point. I’ll let it breathe in the back of my mind and on Planet Ambiguous for the both of us – for the time being.

Time here on earth marches forward, without fail. You can take the battery out of your watch and you can knock over Big Ben but time will be kept with each tick and each tearing of the calendar. By the laws of nature we cannot stop it.

I’ve yet to see Superman fly around the earth counter-clockwise causing second-hands to spin the other way and time to rewind. I’ve yet to see Doc and Marty in a Delorean attempting to Save the Clock Tower! But what I do know and what I have experienced is the ability to slow the seconds and live inside of a moment. The mind is our greatest tool and strongest ally in the battle against time. You can stop time by capturing moments with a pen and paper. You can freeze time with a camera. You can time travel by sharing stories with friends and family around a dinner table or at a coffee shop.

In the mind there are no laws. No guidelines. No structure. It’s an uncharted universe. There are planets yet to be discovered. There are roads and highways to be explored. There are oceans unseen. Dreams and visions hidden. You have the key to unlock the door, step inside your mind and stop time.