Sunday, September 13, 2009

thoughts (fragments) :: welcome home penny man

___Or observe how words themselves can also write.

___House of Leaves

two of my favoritest favorites, by Golriz

it is the strangest rudest thing that the day never introduces itself or offers even a smile in place of an explanation. there it is. always. again and again. presenting itself at our doorway. in rectangular lines around blinded windows. running fingers here and there from behind our blinds. slamming full-forced into our eyelids as we wake-up on park benches and summer beaches. yes yes, i get it, there you are again. congratulations. unintroduced. unexplained. mostly mute, but for its gestures - light ; rain ; circumstances ; wind ; green-lights and yellow-lights ; good coffee and/or badly made coffee on the way to just that. here are some playing cards. here a diamond here a clover, red and black, this is a day. if we play again, roll the dice, finefine, but the only one single solo solitary side that is invisible ought to be the winner. not the one on top, or the sides. the part you never see.


6am. goodlord i love jetlag. i open the blinds partially, look out at the empty street. not something you see often enough. get ready for my day with no idea what i'm getting ready for, it's called monday. it has a name. a word written on a flashcard. happens regularly, one out of every seven, but each is different to its progeny. i listen to Drunk and Hot Girls, which is ridiculously out of place, and think where to get breakfast.


the plane is divided into three sets of three seats. by each window three, and the middle three. i'm in the middle. i'm just stoked someone left behind a copy of this month's British GQ in the gate-lounge and i flip through it as i walk onto the plane. sit down. fit my backpack under my seat and flipping. eventually i look up and realize the plane's more than half empty. to my right is a young woman. dark hair. not necessarily attractive but for reasons i have never understood i'm always aroused when i travel. and i always travel alone. later she'll sleep and her bare feet will hang over the edge and i'll spend 15 minutes staring at them but thinking about nothing(something)(somethings)(everything)(alleverything)else. then i'll rip the plastic off two blankets, grab all three pillows and lie down myself across all three seats and wake up 7 hours later and mumble the words somewhere over the dateline to myself set to the melody of 'somewhere over the rainbow'.


i told her i'd see her last night but i fell asleep reading. when i woke up it was 1:30am and i was on my couch and my book was heavy on my chest and i guess i submitted voluntarily because my glasses are off and sitting on the coffee table. i rub my eyes, respond apologetically to the text she sent couple of hours ago. turn off the lights, creep into my bed (new sheets and bed made properly, it feels wrong to get in, like i'm too dirty, too messy, too much entropy for it. i quarantine myself to just one side, decide to only use one pillow and promise to freeze into only one position for the whole night. when i wake at 6am, i have been true to my word. i carefully make the bed exactly as it had been. like i was never there. i consider texting her back and asking her to breakfast but i really just want to finish my book. and an omelet.
"can i add mushrooms to this?"
"uhm... yeah, sure."
"how much extra is it?"
"$4.50" (i'm soo annoyed i can't speak for a moment. getting used to Australian prices is always difficult. i considering writing a letter to the Prime Minister informing him of the horrendous economic situation in his country. instead i shake my head,
"no, don't worry, i'll take it as is."
i eat slowly and try not to be annoyed i'm not at Denny's across the Vons on Topanga - the tables always a little sticky from someone else's maple syrup mishap. smelling of oil and freshly brewed slightly burnt coffee. old faces of people who have no idea what's happened to their neighborhood and large immigrant families. i drink my coffee (which is superior to anything i've had in three weeks and smooth and soft and feels more like someone kissing me or a cloud in my mouth) and try to curb feeling annoyed about not being at Swingers in Santa Monica. Mel's on Sunset. where i had an omelet and an english breakfast and a redbull and Ashley just shook her head as at 2am i gulped down the redbull in two sips and put it on the edge of the table, whole thing took 30 seconds, before i begun messing with the teabag. where i had three sliders and curly fries and about 4 refills of my cherry coke. Ashley shaking her head, me saying peeing every 12 minutes for the next 3 days will be worth it i'm going to make damned use of free refills long as i can, hell, last week during Harry Potter i ran out the cinema (full-sprint i hate missing anything) up to the candy bar demanded they refill my frozencoke(by any other name icee.slurpie.slushie is just as potent an antidepressant) which they duly did and i ran back in feeling sick from being chock full of sugar and drank sucked licked tapped out every last crystal of syruppy brown ice one for the road i thought to myself, make best use.

next thing i know the book's finished (700-odd-pages). my omelet's finished. the coffee was gone lone ago, and the plate the muffin was in is empty but for crumbs. it's over. my vacation is over. [i sigh]


i'm wearing light grey sweatpants from H&M, they're thin and fitted and perfect. i get out of bed and notice a bluge in my crutch despite my being flaccid. i tuck my penis this way and that trying to make it go away but it won't. this is not a problem i usually have. unsure how to resolve it, i take the pants off. find a pair of tight navy corduroy pants to wear. i keep the light brown tshirt i wore to bed on (it reminds me of the 99c store which is my mom's favorite thing about America). i shut down my computer (PS if anyone is going to read House of Leaves, you'll need this), and can't decide what to do next.


the day(s) you finish a book are always soo special.

a climbed mountain, or, a notch on a bedpost, or... something definitive you said you did before you died. (achievement).

___(maybe it's just me. in that case:

the day(s) I finish a book are always soo special.

No comments: