Sunday, March 14, 2010

yeah, but, what about, everything
























love at first sight only works one way by Marie Edwards


i think this is going to be about future-fear. i think so. i'm just gonna sit here a minute and let Gonjasufi tell me what he thinks first. he's rasping about taking a holiday right now. which i understand. i understand it because i am tired. and look at resumes and transcripts and wardrobes and bookshelves and mirrors and think... average. you'll have to rely on luck. which is the very thought i'm trying to avoid. just once in this life i'd like to wake up in the morning and think it's tuesday. it's 7:10am. don worry, you got this kid. but that's just not human is it? may be it is. maybe it's just not Q. maybe that's one of those things that is 'for later'. like holidays.


*___*___*

after forgetting it was there for the better part of 9 months, i realize there is actually a piano in my room. it seems like an unusual shape. like a long-neglected once-was-BFF or a hungry cat contorted out of shape in the corner of a room waiting like furniture for a new chance. i pull the stool out from under it to sit down. when i go to lift the lid i see a small love-heart, drawn with a small finger. i don't know when she did it. but they're everywhere now. in the mildew of my shower there are patterns of love-hearts. perhaps there is a small, silent finger somewhere trying to tell me something.

i wonder what.


*___*___*

___- his wife is beautiful, gorgeous.
___- incredible for a woman her age.
___- you should see him.
___- Mr A?
___- he's nearly a 100 years old
___- don't be silly
___- silly, he's at least 95
___- SHUT_ UP.
___- i'm up shut. he's at least 95.
___- he's so...
___- he has cream with his coffee. not milk. cream, and cakes too. always cakes.
___- it's the stress that kills ya, nothing else.
___- h -_m.
___- ___ya
___- ______when'd you sleep?
___- bout 7.
___- you addicted to sunrise or something?
___- yah. something like that.


*___*___*

it's like a secret. sunrise, i'm talking about sunrise. it's like for 19 days you're excused from staying up all night, eating cakes and listening to techno and reading till your eyes are soo raw (mine scratch all the time but i can't rub them because it hurts speaking of which i need more eye-drops). but then you come out of your room, wearing a blue tshirt you got from the 99c store for 99c that comes down to your knees and you look out and its a secret blue color the rest of the world doesn't know about and it's not silent it's just... hussshhhhh and you look out the window and it's not the world you know. with glare and talktalktoo much talk, it's not that. the sky hangs like silk and its wet and shines sometimes darker sometimes brighter like gossamer or ether's got everything a little bit LSD-ed out. oh, it's a dream. right. i get it now. or not. i grab my little yogurt thingee outta the fridge, open all the windows so I'm chilly, and sit staring out at nothing much. 10 mins? 30? i don't know. last i remember it was 11pm, now it's... something else.

these days are...

*___*___*

i suppose at the end of it, if you don't think you're worth anything then it won't make a difference what grades/income/life you got. seems like a fair proposition. may as well drink another cup of tea and get on being miserable.


*___*___*

i don't like feeling like i'm a train-wreck waiting for the right bend to tip it once and for all. seriously, what drugs does a guy gotta get on to ditch the crazy-man? (meanwhile iTunes should never be on random - Mona sent me this song. i sat in an internet cafe in Vienna once for hours, with this on repeat trying to write an email to someone i knew was ready to break up with me). it was raining then too. and i was unshaven too. and it was probably 12:11am then too.

where was i?
(what happened to Gonjasufi, he was teaching me good lessons).


*___*___*

it bothers me when i'm not the dream my parents had of me.

whatever that was.



*___*___*

i'd like to be in Haifa right now. the moon is different there. i know it's just pollution, the sky's wretched. and at the beach, the sand is too grainy, hurts the soles of your feet. and everywhere you walk goddam stairs. crooked cab-drivers. that's where i wanna be. i want breakfast with Martha. i want to watch movies with Mona. and come home and argue about C.S. Lewis for an hour with Benny. and i want for Jinab to put me straight and shake his head at me when i say obscene things. i'd like to be in LA right now. maybe Ash wants to get pinkberry with me. or we can drive somewhere far (in LA everything's far). so we can go farther. like Seattle maybe. like Shanghai where no one knows you exist but everyone stares at you anyway when you walk past and you feel like a ghost and a rockstar both all at once. maybe i'd just like to be someone else right now.

lots of maybes.

god i'm whiny. i think i should be a singer-songwriter. they strike me as whiny momma's-boys with too BIG emotions they feel the need to tell everybody else. kinda like poets maybe. and bloggers. eff my elle.


*___*___*

yo Bobby, what's next?
Monday. the rest of Monday.
and something after that.
grades. background checks. resumes. departure lounges. overdue rent. unshaven faces. dirty glasses. lifetime guarantees. weakness. unanswered applications. traffic. Jesus. mortgage. tomorrow. tomorrow. tomorrow.

*___*___*

___- will you wake me for sunrise?
___- ___sure. ___what the hell.


*___*___*

____________and the rest is silence

____________[players exeunt]

2 comments:

Ghetto Blaster said...

i'd take you to pinkberry right now. yum.

capone said...

oh.... may i come too?