July 1, 2008

you look like a slutty asshole

Last night was the first time in a while I thought about posterity. I thought about everything that I chalked up to some lesson or experience for the future. What bullocks.

I remember stomping on the foamy couch in the complex office with the blinds up sometime in December, screaming "FUCK YOU FUCK OFF" until I was hoarse, Cole cheering me on. No matter how hard I jumped my ankles buckled but nothing about the Earth shook or shifted, even if I had ground that piece of shit seating arrangement into the floor.
We were supposed to be working, making phone calls to see that somebody's window crank was fixed or write another complaint about another washer/dryer machine combo. Something like that. The purple hoodie I wore that night still reminds me.
People say kicking and shouting will make you feel better about things. That it is a cathartic primal thing. The only thing I felt was weary.
Pedestrians looked in the windows and I didn't care because it's not like I was trying to be any sort of role model or authority figure or anything. I was only a community assistant. I felt awful and if screaming and jumping around someone else's office wouldn't make me feel better, I would do it anyway because not screaming and jumping around just meant that I wasn't even trying.
It's not like I was trying to impress myself.

Something wondered what would happen if I ingested a week's worth of prescription strength pain killers. But that's ridiculous I thought, and completely irrational and pointless. It was inspired purely by radio waves. It's not like I was trying to die or place myself any nearer to it. I wanted the opposite. I wanted to be reincarnate.

Something made him say her name one night in the winter when I had ordered a Blue Sapphire on the rocks at some office party. And I looked up and told him, "you have never once said her name before tonight."
He said, "yeah, I know."
It was then I knew that what I had done to someone else in the past comes back to me at least three times the strength in understanding.
"Oh," I said, or something like it.
"What?" he asked.
It wasn't then, but it had only reassured me, that I didn't stand a chance.

The ensuing 5 months told me I should take advantage of every opportunity to make a mistake. To be indulgent all of the time. To take no prisoners. To talk back to you and get fresh. Something told me that I'd rather resent you than feel sorry for myself, that it would make me feel better about the nothing that I felt I had too much of.

I want to say, "You know what you did." but you actually would know and not just pretend not to know what I was talking about. You would know. That's all I would have to say. And then you would say, "I just wanted to say happy birthday." But it would be via text like always and I would ignore it and then probably read it again after a little while before deleting it. I deleted every good thing you ever sent me. I didn't know then that you would be right. You actually are nothing special. And kind of a liar.

I don't know why I just wrote that. Thinking about that annoys. I only want to think about success and happiness. I don't care about being wrong. I am not a perfectionist. I want to shake the fear out of everyone or anything I have ever not bothered with because I could not stand for it to be imperfect. I imagine it would be like shaking a palm tree. The rate of falling-coconut deaths in Hawaii is rising. So I hear. Either that or the rate of death by shark bites is decreasing. But probably only because instead of treading shark-infested waters people are spending more time reading under palm trees. Standing under palm trees. Being idle underneath loose coconuts. That sort of thing.

Lots of times, I would've rather been wrong. I would like to have been surprised. To be impressed. To not hold my breath not knowing why I am holding my breath.
Or to know why I am holding my breath. And then when I exhale, I wouldn't feel so alienated. I would like to feel safe and/or sound.
I would like to sleep and I would like to wake up to something more than I expect to wake up to. I'd like to get you between the eyes.

1 comment:

ryan said...

serious literature