"He's just so dull," I thought to myself. Date night consisted of me, my girlfriend, her best friend, and her new boyfriend, all dining at an Olive Garden. The food, faux Italian and mediocre wine, was dull. The decor, stereotyped Italian decor reminiscent of the Italian peninsula vomiting into(more) a small space, was dull. Worst of all, this "Chris" guy, the first grade teacher from a town over, was dull.
Appetizers: "So I like cars," he said, "you know, fixing, repairing, restoring. Hands-on stuff."
"Fascinating," I said with a hint of sarcasm.
During dinner: "I teach first graders. It's cool. Pretty easy too, and I get summers off."
"Please," I said, "regale the table with adventures in educating six year olds."
On the topic of wine: "I'm more of a Miller Lite guy," he laughed.
"I can see why you're passing up the '87 Cabernet," I sneered.
After desert: "You guys like MTV? I love MTV. I need to watch "The Real World," like, the moment it comes out."
I lost my cool. "Really, Chris?" I asked, "Really? Wow, that is so interesting! Please, tell me more about your life. I'm sure you have so much to offer the table. Would you mind telling us about your musical tastes? I'm sure you enjoy an interesting variety of classics, say, Uncle Kracker?"
My girlfriend and her friend looked at me with horror and disgust. I felt the redness in my face fading, and embarrassment creeping in. I found I had slightly stood up in my seat, and sat back down slowly.
Chris looked confused, and slowly replied, "Whoa, man. Sorry. I don't know, I was just trying to mix up the conversation. Sometimes you talk about things like politics, and the stuff you do at the hospital, and it's so dull."(less)
Just like you when you pretend to be something you're not.
When you take life too seriously.
The ironic thing is.
you become a joke.
(more) Just like you when you didn't put up a fight.
You put your life on the self.
For all the smiles and the laughs.
The sophisticated pats on the back.
With your common core mind.
as dull as the pencil you scored and signed.
Who are you now?
Where will you go?
The only reason for life is to follow your heart strings pull.
Thats the thing about being dull theres nothing distinguishing about you at all.(less)
there's a breed of leech that you're probably familiar with.
they look like you.
they look like you and are often mistaken for one of you. the difference is they want. they want and they want and they want and that's all they ever do. they li(more)ve gray lives and can never hope to be fulfilled in the ways that they so desire. their skin hungers for touches that they won't ever receive and their eyes are underlined by bags that carry absolutely nothing at all. they speak in moans and move by cowering. their breaths are laced with smoke; their sweat with vinegar. and yet in their misery, no one notices. no one cares. no one cares.
"You want to be a swordsman?" the man spoke with an accent, from some foreign country that Edwin couldn't even pronounce. His skin was as black as night, and in his hand, was a thin bladed rapier. He smiled, revealing a mouthful of beautiful white teeth.
(more) "Yes, very much," Edwin fell to his knees and bowed his head. "My father was a swordsman as well, a great one. He fought in the White Swan Company," Edwin said. The White Swans, though their name did not make it seem as such, were a fearsome mercenary company who were renowned for their art.
The Sword master nodded, "Do you have sword?"
Edwin unwrapped the cloth from the object beside him, revealing a sheathed long sword. It was nothing like the Sword master's katana. He drew it, and bathed in the glory of his father's sword.
"What?" Edwin's jaw felt unhinged.
"That sword is dull," he huffed. "No sway, no swing, no swish, you can barely trim grass with a blade like this," he turned away from Edwin and walked to the training dummy set up a few feet away. "A blade must be able to kill a man one hundred ways."
"But the blade is sharp, master," Edwin was beside himself. The blade wasn't dull, it was sharpened and cleaned and polished to the point of perfection.
"Not that kind of sharp, child," the Sword master said. "Your sword is sharp, but it is not 'sharp', do you see what I mean?"
"The sword is as sharp as its wielder," he said. And with a fluid motion, he spun, cutting the dummy in two. "My blade is not sharp, but its wielder is. Do you see?"
Edwin was taken back, "Teach me your way, Sword master."
"So, dull?" he asked.
She shrugged and tapped her cigarette on top of the side mirror. He frowned. It left a weird mark when she did that, and not that he didn't love her more than the car but...it left a weird mark.
"It's not dull, though," she sighed(more). "It's worse. Dull implies that there's something besides it, something interesting that happened either before or after."
"That spy movie was interesting," he said, staring at the steering wheel. He wished she'd be done soon. The car was getting hot. But she smoked thoughtfully and all he could do was try in vain to hide the sweat on the back of his hands.
"That spy is not our relationship."
"You're acting like we never do anything."
"You're acting like we do."
She ran her hand through her hair and the humidity amplified the smell of her shampoo in the car, along with the sharp smell of her dying cigarette.
"It's not about what we do, though it's--"
"Name one thing you know about be you couldn't find out from Googling my name."
"What, now the things you won't tell me count against me?"
She pushed her sunglasses up and looked straight at him. His gaze was far out the front window, resting on a couple of birds fighting over crumbs.
"You never asked."
She dropped her cigarette into an old can sitting the cupholder. There was no bitterness in her words, just fact.
"Do you want me to ask?"
"Not really." She paused, as if to say something more, but words had never been their forte. With a quick smile that was more of an apology, she stepped from the car and for a moment he forgot about the heat.
we were trapped in a place so dull that the walls bled boredom,
that the windows opened up onto malaise,
that the hairs on the back of our necks were falling asleep.
(more) they grey that became us that day left us wanting more,
left us seeking the excitement that only bloodshed can bring,
the knife he brought was enough to get us out of our chairs.
when the shovels were laid to rest,
and the body lay buried in a shallow grave,
we only found ourselves back in that same grey room,
wondering who could quell our melancholy next.