OMGabe

by Gabe Berman – the author of Live Like a Fruit Fly

Archive for the month “February, 2016”

I Love “You” 

A man reads a newspaper. Another rubs his eyes under his glasses. Two kids stare at their phones. A woman orders coffee. The floor is tiled. The ceiling is painted. My lower back is warmed by sunlight passing through the windows behind me. Steely Dan in my headphones. Everything couldn’t seem more separate – the roar of the espresso machine, the ink on his Wall Street Journal, the kids’ shoe laces, the red nails of the women who just walked in from getting a manicure next door. Everything couldn’t seem more separate but it’s all an elaborate illusion of the senses. It’s all just me. It’s all just you. It’s all just one. One. One. One. In this moment, the universe is writing these words to itself. Let’s breathe the truth of this in together and then exhale it out together. Thank you.


buy my goddamn books here: 

www.livelikeafruitfly.com

  

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For Dog Lovers Only

A very old lady, as cute as a kitten, was on a collision course with me on the boardwalk today.

She was walking a silver miniature schnauzer who looked exactly as if someone forgot to add the fabric softener. Clean but messy = perfect.

Excitedly I asked, “Is that a miniature schnauzer? They’re my favorite dogs ever!”

She said, “Yep! They’re my favorite too.”

When I bent down to look the little guy in his eyes and rub his head, she added, “This is Rudy. He’s fifteen.”

I stood up and Rudy pranced onward.

“Fifteen! Look at the pep in his step. He’s like a newborn puppy,” I told her.

She shielded her mouth with the backside of her hand and with a universe of life and light in her expression she whispered, “He doesn’t know he’s old.”

buy my goddamn books here:
www.LiveLikeAFruitFly.com

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Camel/Needle/Hell

How about this, take a fucking breath.

The two women next to me at Starbucks are whispering, loudly, about money and insurance and properties and about whose husband is doing what.

Enough already.

Enough.

And It’s not just them. It’s basically the only thing I hear from everyone, always.

Listen, I know money is important in this life of ours. I’m not a shmuck.

But c’mon man, can you give it a rest just once in awhile?

Please?

It would be nice to hear someone talk half as passionately about art or music or movies or sex as they do about finances.

But no.

We are a society obsessed.

And we’re all in for a big fat surprise that’s hiding right out in the open.

peace bitches,
gb

buy my goddamn books here:
www.LiveLikeAFruitFly.com

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It’s Not Your Fault 

Sitting in Starbucks. Thinking about life. Allowing all of my feelings to come and go. “Angeles” by Elliot Smith just came on in here. It’s like abiding for a few precious moments in Good Will Hunting. And for a few precious moments, I’m overtaken by gratefulness. It won’t last. But in this moment, I’m grateful to feel grateful. 

buy my damn books here:

www.livelikeafruitfly.com 

 

Justin Bieber and Kim Kardashian Are Fucking!


Bubby’s plants must have been thirsty.

It’s been weeks since they’ve been watered.

I was never alone in her place before and, at first, it was a bit unsettling.

Talking to her plants made me feel better pretty quickly though.

I told them not to worry. That I’d take care of them.

I watched her die and was the one to identify her body before it was lowered into the ground, but it was still shocking to me that she wasn’t there. Offering me non-vegetarian food I wouldn’t eat. Asking me, again, if I like All In The Family.

Her toothbrush is still in the bathroom. Her white sneakers are still lined up perfectly in the closest. The package of menthol cough drops I recently bought for her is still on the table next to the recliner – the chair which was once my Pop-pop’s.

I looked around a little more, locked up and left.

I thought about how she’d always walk me to the elevator. Sometimes she’d tell me about all of her friends who have died. But she’d always tell me she loved me as the elevator doors opened. I’d always hug her and say it back.

These sweet moments will forever eclipse, easily, how disappointed she was with me.

I know she couldn’t help it. Nobody can.
It’s okay though.

I know I’m enough.

And regardless of how anyone feels about you or has felt about you, or has made you feel about yourself, please trust me when I say that you’re enough as well.

I swear to god you are.

And I know these are just words on a page, but I hope at some point they really resonate with you. Resonate and then soak deep into your cells and soul.

Because…

You

Are

Enough.

And before anyone jumps down my throat for telling people they shouldn’t try to be better, I assure you I’m not saying that. 

What I’m saying, which should be obvious, is that you don’t exist to prove yourself to anyone. You’re here, regardless of whatever the fuck anyone says, to witness the good in the the world and to add to it as often as you can. The end.

Because our toothbrushes and cough drops and plants and the rest of our stuff will outlive us and none of that shit will matter anymore.

But maybe people will talk about how loving you were. And that certainly doesn’t suck.

Anyway, I got outside and there was a spoon on the floor near my car.

Which is just perfect.

“There is no spoon…” – Neo

thank you all for your sympathy and your love and your time – I am truly grateful,
gb

P.S. I’m sorry about the title. But just a little. Maybe it got someone to read it who needed to.

buy my goddamn books here:
www.LiveLikeAFruitFly.com

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