Take Another Look

{May 7, 2010}   ant lady

She looks like an ant, with her weathered leather skin and her scrawny but long neck. She has folds on her forehead and she sits there as if she is daring me to say how bad she is. But I never do. I just continue trying to make her work. A busted car, an engine that won’t putter on anymore. I sit in the car and imagine the feel of driving.

Riding in one of those new cars, there was lots of power, not so much finesse. But the driver revved it up past 120 miles on lone dark roads and it felt as if my feet were floating above the ground and I was spinning without getting dizzy.

None of that with the ant lady. I don’t know what happened to her but I did things right, and I’m not right a lot of the time. So her lack of creativity in responding to my streaks of memory make starting over with somebody else all the less appealing. Your first time you really give it your all. But then after a while you keep comparing your all to that first time.
Before you knew you had limits.


{March 16, 2010}   thrashing

i want to write a lullaby that is also a requiem… something sweet has to come out of all this thrashing.Something of music to myself, like Neil Cassady in White Collar finding the music box. But does he go all haywire when he finds out Kate was just conning him? We haven’t finished the storyline, and we don’t know for sure, and being a romantic, I still say Fowler might have her, but being the character and hero he is he finds violence banal and mundane. The cons who have known him taunt him, saying he never could get his hands dirty.

Back to the upsets. The thrashing has mostly been tonight. It calmed me down,all that thrashing, that it did, but my anger had no direction. Well, maybe one direction, one target, one I keep being angry at because of the things they don’t do, the precautions they don’t take, the truths they don’t tell themselves at night.. I’m not usually angry like that, and it was easy to blame it on the fever that took over my life, made me delirious, but mostly it seemed to overshadow everything inside my head and all of a sudden I found every good memory burned to a crisp. And so I no longer cared. I no longer cared at all and something in me wanted blood. I felt untied from any attraction I had ever had to this person. I used to care so much that I would imagine a shield protecting them, a soft shield enveloping them, and I would be next to them… or want to me. For a few hours I only could  feel  the bright whoosh that comes when you’re knocked out. The tumble of the sound of whooshing in my ears,  the sight of stars, and most of all the pressure.  A wounded animal is the most dangerous kind of animal is what they say.  The target of my anger only responded in a way that created more pain, and I just felt shame, the dangerous kind that tests your limits. Then I receive a nice reply from a friend, a friend that never had to try so hard to be a friend. Maybe we’ve had our upsets and our downs, and we don’t keep in touch as much as we should, but there is something different about my target that I feel that the friendship deserves a lot of time. Certain people, you can pick up wherever you left off. Other people, they belong in your life every day, and without that, you hate them for their absence. It might not be fair, it might not be just, but you know they aren’t even giving one percent, and how can you look past that, when you gave so much more, and would give so much more. And they can never look at the whole picture, think about how much they let me down, and how little anger I have expressed, and think for maybe one minute this isn’t about them, it’s about me needing to express my anger at them. I don’t care how they find it, and if the timing is inopportune then it’s their fault for not ever being available and ignoring every humane chance there is.  I think maybe there comes a time where I should walk away, but right now I am so blinded by the stars and the rage and the fall that I don’t know. I need a reason to care again, for it’s been taken away from me. And in its place is a beating drum, a knife, bullets, guns,  a kind of violence I find barbaric.
At least I am back at that stage in my life where I don’t care if the rest of my life is alone again.

I have blocked out the shrieking noises….And I have blocked out the idea that they care.. or ever did care and are nothing more than a loser.. Okay it is hard for me to believe they are a loser but I somehow lost something of heart when I burned passed normal temperatures… Or so I think… and the only imprint of the steps  taken are being washed away by the ocean.

{March 13, 2010}   Boing

I get so sore when I see that losers messy finger splotches on things, as if I can see the places in the bowl where they took the cake mix from a spoon and had a nice lick and then stuck the spoon back in. They get sloppy, just not with me, it’s okay for everybody else to be sloppy, but not for me, or those who they feel like judging. I thought they were completely gay when I met them with their pretentious hand-mannerisms trying to control everything around me, keep me close enough, far away, I’m dizzy enough now. And maybe they are still in the closet because they keep throwing themselves at their younger idiot friend, trying to be younger, trying to be stupider, and I get yelled at because I don’t pretend to be something I’m not. Just another mid mid crisis amidst crises or maybe just pants that they decided they put too much weight on to keep around, or maybe they just threw them in the trash just because they felt like it. I was just pants that got thrown out. So many weaknesses, things they can’t own up to that I find it disgusting, shatteringly so. It’s the hypocrisy that got me so worked up I needed to metaphorically put my head in an oven to start a new life. I need to walk away from the scene of the crime now but I feel like I’m going to pass out any minute here, and nobody in this ugly toothless house will pick me up, and nobody watching will give me a ride out of this place no matter how long my finger is planted, hello, I need a ride.

{February 16, 2010}   handcuffs

Who are these people with their eyes averting mine like clockwork a white car outside not for driving me around they don’t like to go giving things names these island people I’d go so far as to say they are crazy but I used one as a bank I didn’t expect to make money but I never figured out who drained my savings either just that it was in the middle of the night you know I bet it was me or somebody I know they say most crimes are committed by someone you know but who do I point a finger at? Even the simple act of raising a finger brings about questioning and let’s just assume the guy questioning you in the hot chair is really good at making you feel uncomfortable and making you say what they want, making you take the fall for whatever they had or have in mind- how long they’ve been planning this you don’t know- but now you are starting to feel hot and guilty inside and so you confess to whatever they want however they want because their voice calms down and even sounds agreeable even as you find yourself handcuffed for what? Oh dear. You manipulative bastard you want to scream but you have too much control to do that plus didn’t he say it made you look crazy? But nevertheless you are questioning not only his sanity but your own, for how did you so expertly end up In these handcuffs again? And when Oshiro comes for a favor you notice that not only do you grant it you also say “if Downey saw you tapping your leg like that over and over you would never hear the end of it; you would be known as the guy who perversely can’t stop tapping his legs; course he probably wouldn’t use the word perverse as that would be too perverse of him” so Oshiro goes on about a man shitting in his diapers while you look at your watch impatiently wondering when he will leave but you ask about Freud anyway and he explains about people being anal-retentive, and that is when you notice that he opened the blinds so you say “Oshiro, why did you open the blinds??” And his speech flies open faster and faster like something just got caught in his trap, and he claims he didn’t open the blinds and that the pointlessness of this argument is indisputable but besides knowing you did not open the blinds what can you do? You aren’t thoroughly knowledgeable in doing what it takes to make people admit they were lying.”But I didn’t open the blinds you did,” you say while he rants in a rabid, uncontrolled feverish way about people arguing about their name or date of birth, but you remember that he said he liked to purposefully play tricks on people’s minds to see what would happen.For example he said he would mislead somebody by encouraging them to do something that he and a large portion of society find vile just to see the result- a sort of sarcasm I believe. And now I’m supposed to call the person who ‘might make it happen’ and all I feel is dread, maybe tonight is the wrong night, but my parents would just say I was being irresponsible. After this, I do call them, and everything comes through, but still.

et cetera