Some tear hearts to watch them bleed.
They are weak, simple minded, Focused on only what they know.
It’s the hurt of the health that stands to walk again which leaves them in graves wishing forgiveness.
-M. Taggart
Sent from my iPhone
Month: May 2018
A strawberry state of mind
“A Strawberry, in my hand. Yea?”
I straight face him – I’m the parent
“A strawberry touching my fingers?”
Uh oh. He’s upped his game
“And on my tongue.”
This was a pure and direct statement
No question about it
I told him no more strawberries
I’m walking to the kitchen
To get two more
-M. Taggart
Sent from my iPhone
I close my curtain
You can learn from a curtain
Some demand to stay closed
I’m drinking a new beer
made in Massachusetts
I try not to think about that
The beer is good, not great
But I like it so I’m drinking more
Sometimes a definition of a word
sticks to my brain, but when I speak it
It sounds all wrong
It reminds me of when I speak truth
while no one sees
So I slowly peer out my window
And close the curtain
-M. Taggart
Coffee balls
Sometimes people make drinking
coffee look so good
that I become enraged with my own
and wonder- How the fuck
do I do this so badly
-M. Taggart
Black Cat Syndrome – A Short Story
Black Cat Syndrome
Fiction
Written by Matt Taggart
Black Cat Syndrome
It was late afternoon. The pub was busy. They had taken the last two seats. He sat with his elbow touching the wall. Pete was being crowded by an overweight man.
“Ever heard of the black cat syndrome?”
“No.”
“I was walking with Erin. Remember her? She was a good person. I wasn’t ready. Anyway, we were walking on the dirt road that splits the cornfield.”
Pete leaned closer to Eric. Not to hear him better, but because the overweight man laughed heavily and rolled his head back and crowded Pete even more.
The pub burst with noise as a new group of happy hour sympathizers opened the door and searched for their area of comfort. Eric noticed how everyone’s body language changed the moment new arrivals entered their space. He pressed closer to the wall. The wall wouldn’t change.
“Go on. I’m listening.” Pete said.
“We were walking toward the river. You could just make out the cliff face of Sugarloaf. I remember wanting to see how high the river was. As I looked toward the river a black cat walked out from the corn. It crossed the dirt road in front of us, and went back into the corn on the other side. I said to Erin, ‘You see the black cat?’ She smiled and nodded her head.”
Pete lurched in his chair. A portion of beer leaped from his pint glass and landed on his boots. Pete’s lips thinned as his head tilted. “Mother fucker” Pete murmured. The overweight man’s forearm had over taken Pete’s bar space.
“I’m sorry about that. I saw. I’ll get you another beer.” The bartender said.
“I’m fine. I have half left.”
“I’m still going to get you another beer. Be as fine as you want.” She smiled while walking back toward the taps.
“You’re always doing that. I see what you’re doing. You’re studying everyone.” Pete said.
“I don’t mean to. It just happens.” Even now Eric was looking passed Pete. The bar was dark oak. Half the patrons had food. Everyone had beer. Not one person had a whiskey. Someone needed to order a whiskey. It wasn’t right to not have a whiskey on this bar. A pub employee placed a hot plate of onion rings in front of a man. He could barely make out the scent of a woman’s perfume as the smell of onion rings filled the crowded air. And now the bartender was coming back with Pete’s beer, already smiling. The conversations filling the bar room were constant. Creating a noise with peaks and valleys, but it wasn’t random. It had somehow been designed with purpose.
“What the hell do you see?”
“I don’t know. Nothing really.”
“Here’s your beer, hun.” She smiled not the kind of smile demanding a good tip. And she lingered. Pete wasn’t very handsome. He was rugged, beautifully rustic, and sincere.
“Can I have a whiskey? Actually, a Manhattan. Not in a foo-foo glass either. I want it in a rocks glass. And I want the dirty rocks in another rocks glass, please.” Eric asked the bartender.
“You can, and will.” She didn’t look at him. She was watching Pete. Pete hadn’t noticed.
“Are you lost in the story?” asked Pete.
“Nope. So, we walked through the corn field, through the cemetery, and then to the river bank. The river wasn’t high. I thought it would be, but the storm didn’t bring it up hardly at all. I’m standing on the river bank, with Erin, and we’re taking in the view of the cliff face. For some reason I think of that damn black cat. I ask Erin, ‘Wasn’t it odd to see that cat walk out of the corn?’ I had thought it was odd because of its age. It was a young cat. Not a kitten, but not much older than one. And the farm was a long way off.” Eric said while watching the bartender make his drink. He wanted to see if she would spin the long spoon in the alcohol or shake it in a shaker. If she shook it, the drink would be spoiled. If it was spoiled he’d need to order a second Manhattan or else he wouldn’t let himself be comfortable. And the oak bar still wouldn’t be right.
“So that’s it. You saw a black cat on a walk?”
“No. It wasn’t that. It was Erin’s answer. She said, “What black cat? There wasn’t any black cat.”
“Why the hell would she say that? She just saw it with you. You said she nodded her head.”
“I don’t know. That’s why it’s the black cat syndrome. I’ve seen it everywhere since that moment. People have their eyes open and see about a third of what’s happening around them. Maybe less. I said to Erin, ‘You’re joking. You just saw the cat minutes ago. It crossed the road in front of us.’ But my flaw was that I was now talking with passion. Erin says, ‘Why are you yelling at me. There was no cat. Who cares anyways? Why do you always have to be like this?’ and now Erin’s upset and we’re on a brink of an argument and I can’t let it go because there WAS a black cat. If there weren’t a black cat I wouldn’t be passionate and it’s not even about the damn cat. It’s about her having seen it without locking it away as fact. And now I’m passionately digging through her mind to uncover this for her and it never works. It just never works.”
The bartender placed his Manhattan on the oak bar. He was afraid to taste it. “Why are you so fired up? You’re yelling.” she asked.
He wasn’t yelling, but that hardly mattered. “You’re right. I was remembering a time when someone wasn’t able to handle truth. And that pisses me off.”
“He’s not normal. He’ll talk to you, but he’s here and somewhere else too. Don’t mind him.” Pete said to the bartender.
Eric nodded in agreement. He slowly lifted the rocks glass filled with Manhattan. He brought the drink to his nose, smelled the tempting aroma of whiskey mixed with sweet vermouth, and tilted the glass. He wouldn’t need to order another. Unless he wanted to.
“You make a good drink. It’s exacting.” Eric said to the bartender. “Pete, take out your cell phone. You’re going to have her number.”
Pete had known Eric since childhood. He opened his new-contact screen in his cell and placed it on the bar.
She took Pete’s phone, entered her name, then number. She said nothing. She attempted a smile. She looked at Eric with something resembling anger. Beneath that was truth and that was all that mattered.
Cheers the Morning
Some mornings are better than others.
Hell, some are so good that I think it’s
important to cheers the morning and to
tell it it’s one of the best you’ve ever had.
That way it might just want to come back again
and again and again.
Mornings are funny like that.
Especially when you control them.
-M. Taggart
Cheers
Sent from my iPhone
Laugh on, Spartacus
Guys who write about love
using pictures of women
who aren’t their partner
well
they make me laugh.
Overcome Hardship, lead, and live well.
My family is riddled with suicide
I myself am not suicidal
Quite the opposite. I love life.
In fact for much of my life I’ve experienced
Jealousy from others over my ability
To be happy in terrible situations
And unfortunately I’ve been forced to live
through a few extra ordinarily bad situations
But that’s OK. I learned to enjoy watching leaves drop
And how to find solace in the darkness of my eyelids
Nothing is too large for me to handle
My confidence, I’m forced to shade, yet people still see
And it bothers them
And so be it
I was the one ready for the midnight phone call
When he said he’d taken the pills
With the alcohol and that he’d be dead soon
I was the one on the phone when the police
entered his home with the paramedics
Listening to him scream for them to leave
I was the one who calmed him
The one that walked his mind to the ambulance
to thank the police and EMTs for trying to
let him live
I called the hospital they were taking him to
I was on the phone with their personnel in the
Emergency room while he was being wheeled in
‘Yes, we’ll have a psychiatrist sent in as soon
as they empty his stomach. Thank you for this
information.’ I had to tell them things he would
not have. The root of his weakness.
I don’t know why these things happen
I know that I am blessed because these moments
are never too large for me.
He is now happily married and an amazing father
And one of my favorite people on this Earth
I told him two years before he tried committing suicide
that he was going to try to end his life
So when the phone rang and I saw the number
I was ready
Because I’ve already lost too many family members
this way
So no, I am not suicidal, but I write about death and suicide
because I know it well and I know its pace
and the path it takes
I am not afraid of death
I am concerned with the process which leads to death
I think to die well matters
And if you haven’t found your absolute truth of
how this all works
Well, I hope you do
Because I know beyond doubt
That we are not alone
-M. Taggart
Thanks for reading. This wasn’t easy to write.
Mamma! – Odd Walking Thoughts
Life is a funny thing that crawls on your face when you wish it to be over. Gathering sentiment as it forces your mouth open while screaming down your throat. You can’t wake up when the option is gone.
-M. Taggart
Sent from my iPhone
Use Your Words
We all have access to the same words
Yet use them infinitely differently
This helps me when I’m feeling flat
To think about how individually we use
The same words- To know it’s not possible
For everything to have already been done
-M. Taggart
mtaggartwriter 