Friday, October 30, 2015
Thursday, October 29, 2015
The alarm is set for 5:30 but who needs an alarm anymore? You have to sleep to need an alarm clock. Waking up isn't really the issue. Getting out of bed might be sometimes but that is another issue. My feet are cold for no good reason. The bedroom is warm enough. Still, they feel icy cold and damp. Cold, wet socks like.
The icy burn matches the one I always get in my stomach and it's there now. I am trying to use these relaxation exercises I learned decades ago that never really worked but just maybe this could be the first time. That is doubtful as I am dodging shrapnel memories.
Still thinking about The Nutty Professor and how she cut me down with my confidences, but more feeling this shame because I know there was a window of time that I would have taken her back. What the fuck? What was that about anyway? She was a fucking troll hiding under the bridge! Didn't trust her. Couldn't quite bring myself to like her but I might have told you at the time that I loved her and her steamer trunk full of issues and oddness.
Her strange anti-semitism despite that her son was bar mitzvahed. The undercurrent of middle America racism. The bitterness. The sexual hang-ups. Yah, those. I got the impression that she didn't like it though she wanted to fuck all the time. Was it guilt? Who the fuck knows? My head was too far up my own ass to figure that one out but it always seemed to me that it was more of a validation rite with her. There were things she would do with conviction and others she wouldn't. She said doggy style was sexist and demeaning. Really? How would I know. My motto has always been "no children, no pets and all else sure why not." I didn't try to suss it out. I just wanted to know why I felt desperately grateful that she would fuck me. That was more than unsettling.
This is the shit that goes through my head in the wee hours. It stabs through to the foreground like a shaft of light and then flips off to other tangents.
Why? I guess it's complicated. I am trying to sort it out.
I don't really know what I believe or don't believe. I don't know what TO believe and tberein lies the dilemma. It would really suck to be wrong. I don't want to be wrong.
Superstition gnaws away at me some days. There are (seemingly) signs at every turn. There are coincidences too uncanny (seemingly) to be coincidental. I will be thinking about someone I haven't thought about for a while and then suddenly they bump into me in the street. A song that I was only just humming will start to play in over the loudspeakers in a store.
There are random things I see that nip at a nerve and set the day off in a fearful direction. A homeless person may look really familiar or say something strange and inscrutable but eerie enough to want to ask...
Who sent you?
Then there might be a silver, sharktooth earring lying on the floor of my entryway, that incidentally wasn't there when I left to walk the dog ten minutes earlier. Why would this shake me? No clues here but it did something. It seems... threatening.
Somehow a hostile gesture even when the rational brain tut-tuts and says, but with no real authority that it is just a tacky piece of jewelry. It is a fashion mistake. Someone dropped it.
Okay. I will try to write it off as the spirit of the season.
Wednesday, October 28, 2015
Very little creeps me out more than discarded toys, in particular the plush beasties lashed to the front of garbage trucks, but dolls even worse. They really wreck my head. Where they were once possessed of magic and dreams and life, at some point the lights go out. They sit there dead with their eyes still open. It is horrorshow stuff and never fails to chill me right through.
Tuesday, October 27, 2015
Saturday, October 24, 2015
Thursday, October 22, 2015
Wednesday, October 21, 2015
Friday, October 16, 2015
Thursday, October 15, 2015
Wednesday, October 14, 2015
You wake up one day, like Rip Van Winkle, in a place that may or may not look anything that you expected to see when you opened your eyes, but you just know. It's all wrong.
Everything is wrong.
It's worse when you open your eyes and it's the same damn thing but suddenly you realize that you couldn't be farther away from where you want to be. Same old thing so why all of a sudden the surprise.
Huh. I just remembered that I am supposed to be somewhere else right now.
Monday, October 05, 2015
Sunday, October 04, 2015
I've never been out to see but the very first time I saw the surf pounding the shore I knew I was from there.
That we are all from the ocean.
I also knew that I would return there when I die. Whatever remains... my remains... row out and drop me in.
Saturday, October 03, 2015
Argentina: “It’s raining dung head-first.”
I shall forget you presently, my dear (Sonnet IV)
Edna St. Vincent Millay, 1892 - 1950
So make the most of this, your little day,
Your little month, your little half a year
Ere I forget, or die, or move away,
And we are done forever; by and by
I shall forget you, as I said, but now,
If you entreat me with your loveliest lie
I will protest you with my favorite vow.
I would indeed that love were longer-lived,
And vows were not so brittle as they are,
But so it is, and nature has contrived
To struggle on without a break thus far,—
Whether or not we find what we are seeking
Is idle, biologically speaking.
Friday, October 02, 2015
I tried to sever my early life from my present and future. To pull up my remains and sculpt a new me from the carnage.
Of course this crude surgery was wildly unsuccessful. The partially amputated limb swung behind me with all the gore and nerves exposed. In time it scarred over but was no less grotesque and impossible to conceal. Every so often sharp pains would jet through the tortured nerve endings leaving me incapacitated for periods of time. Or infections, similarly dehabilitating, would set in.
Now, it has become readily apparent that age will only exacerbate this self-inflicted malady. It will require continued professional attention. It will require a sort of surgery, sans anesthesia.
And so on...
What does it all mean now that the big bad wolf that hung over a whole generation like a dark cloud is just a footnote now?
Time renders most of us, the best and the very worst, irrelevant.
I was surprised to see this because you never even hear his name invoked anymore. Another generation and he will cease to exist, even as a morbid curiosity.
I have this longstanding, long-running relationship with NPR. I turn the station on in the morning and it remains on all day. It is, for me, like working the counter in a cafe that fills throughout the day with a rotating cast of regulars. The core cast is the same and they will have new people, friends and family in town, joining the rotation. Their conversations fill the room all day. Nobody sits quietly. Sometimes I eavesdrop, harvesting tidbits that I look further into later. Sometimes I tune them out and go about my business wiping the counter and cleaning the dishes. Often I pray to never hear them again, but that's just about turning a switch.
Thursday, October 01, 2015
Poop plague in Park Slope. Yes, this is a real thing. Someone is 'fertilizing' all the trees along one block in otherwise nearly suburban Park Slope. It would be lying to say I don't find it funny so maybe there is something wrong with me. For sure it would piss me off were it in front of my house but it's not. And yes it is disgusting but it really piques my curiosity. There has to be a backstory here. It's been going on for months now. Furthermore since I pride myself on honesty I will have to admit that my disdain for the artisanal Caucasian culture that has come to define this neighborhood is what is fueling my glee. Whatever.