Friday, May 06, 2005
the other woman
dear mistress. how long have we been together? I can barely count the years on my hands anymore. every time we run into your ex he sais the same thing: "my baby. what have you done to her? I can't believe she's still with you." yes. and you're better then ever.
I don't get attached to things. but I can't help but feel strongly for you. your loyalty has held us together. sometimes I feel guilty. I can't help but think our relationship is a little one sided. you're always giving. and I neglect you. so I wanted to tell you--- thank you.
after all:
you get me from point A to point B. and you rarely complain about it. the only time you stopped to rest ended up being a nice little layover. we were near butte, montana. you simply needed a moment to reflect and get what you needed. and while we were stranded there in that dead town of aging Irish miners we made the best of it. they bought us drinks. "sit down. have a drink. what else ya gonna do?" they let us talk for hours in the casino. and when matt and I went to kill the evening we found a barrel of fried chicken and a 6-back of budweiser tall-boys for five dollars. even the hotel room had a decent bed and a TV playing 'the outsiders'. and that's perfection. you see? everything you touch turns to goodness, darling.
you're a steady calm friend. how many hours have you listened while I interviewed myself? or blasted music over long distances? you've never mentioned any displeasure with my choice of words or music. I do think we share the same tastes. I love to talk. you love to listen.
you give me space for everything I need. you don't mind all my heavy things. you don't mind at all. and when it's raining at the back of some dank smokey hole, and I'm dumping my things on you once again, you act right at home. that's fitting. I feel right at home wherever you are.
when I'm tired you offer me a comfortable loft to sleep on. there's been so many times when I've been laying there at 3 am staring out the back window---just watching the pavement and the dark outlines of geography slip away at 70 miles an hour. and I've prayed to God to keep your path straight so I can rest peacefully---all the time nursing a comforting thought in the back of my mind that if you go astray and lose control, and hurl me from your womb, at least I might be able to be burried with a piece of you.
finally, you know I don't a need another woman in my life. I'm finely stocked in that department. you're a jealous one. you seem to have some power of invisibility. girls don't even seem to look our way when we're together. except the hookers. but they have the ability to see everyone.
I just wanted you to know. you've done so much for me. and while I've run my hand over you so many times, and asked God to keep you healthy, I want you to know something: I would understand if you felt like giving in. I've heard the strange sound you've been making recently. It's not a pretty sound. Sorry to be blunt---I'm just not one for pretending. so what I'm trying to say is- you've done so much for me, darling. please stay forever. but if you can't. I'll understand. and let you go.
love,
me.
I don't get attached to things. but I can't help but feel strongly for you. your loyalty has held us together. sometimes I feel guilty. I can't help but think our relationship is a little one sided. you're always giving. and I neglect you. so I wanted to tell you--- thank you.
after all:
you get me from point A to point B. and you rarely complain about it. the only time you stopped to rest ended up being a nice little layover. we were near butte, montana. you simply needed a moment to reflect and get what you needed. and while we were stranded there in that dead town of aging Irish miners we made the best of it. they bought us drinks. "sit down. have a drink. what else ya gonna do?" they let us talk for hours in the casino. and when matt and I went to kill the evening we found a barrel of fried chicken and a 6-back of budweiser tall-boys for five dollars. even the hotel room had a decent bed and a TV playing 'the outsiders'. and that's perfection. you see? everything you touch turns to goodness, darling.
you're a steady calm friend. how many hours have you listened while I interviewed myself? or blasted music over long distances? you've never mentioned any displeasure with my choice of words or music. I do think we share the same tastes. I love to talk. you love to listen.
you give me space for everything I need. you don't mind all my heavy things. you don't mind at all. and when it's raining at the back of some dank smokey hole, and I'm dumping my things on you once again, you act right at home. that's fitting. I feel right at home wherever you are.
when I'm tired you offer me a comfortable loft to sleep on. there's been so many times when I've been laying there at 3 am staring out the back window---just watching the pavement and the dark outlines of geography slip away at 70 miles an hour. and I've prayed to God to keep your path straight so I can rest peacefully---all the time nursing a comforting thought in the back of my mind that if you go astray and lose control, and hurl me from your womb, at least I might be able to be burried with a piece of you.
finally, you know I don't a need another woman in my life. I'm finely stocked in that department. you're a jealous one. you seem to have some power of invisibility. girls don't even seem to look our way when we're together. except the hookers. but they have the ability to see everyone.
I just wanted you to know. you've done so much for me. and while I've run my hand over you so many times, and asked God to keep you healthy, I want you to know something: I would understand if you felt like giving in. I've heard the strange sound you've been making recently. It's not a pretty sound. Sorry to be blunt---I'm just not one for pretending. so what I'm trying to say is- you've done so much for me, darling. please stay forever. but if you can't. I'll understand. and let you go.
love,
me.
Tuesday, May 03, 2005
attack of the clowns
It’s funny how cars on the freeway are blurry from the side. But not from the front. Pushing my nose against the back window I could almost imagine I wasn’t in a car at all. I was flying backwards and laughing at the slow people behind.
We were on I-5, headed to southern Oregon. It’s one of the most boring drives I know of. Our station wagon barely held all six of us. I was the youngest, and therefore most likely to end up in the way-back. hunkering over a pillow, I was staying on the lookout for snipers. I could survey my three siblings with AM/FM headsets on in the seat in front of me. I also had a good view of any passing cars out the side window. Dad drove. I forget what mom did. I think she read a magazine. I’ll have to get back to you on that.
“We’re driving to deadford? It’s so boring,” we would all take turns saying. Perhaps it’s rude to insult cities in the southern parts of states. What can I say? We were kids. What’s much worse is when parents weren’t around we repeated terrible jokes about Polish, homosexuals, Ethiopians, Michael Jackson, and people with AIDS or hepatitis B. come to think of it- our mouths were like little monsters. Like I said, we were kids.
“When you pass people, they always turn their head real slow, then stare at you.” Dad was making an observation from the front seat. I can’t remember how far we were. There wasn’t much geography to the drive until later. There was a town with ice cream, a steep mountain pass, then some awesome rock formations. And at that point I knew our suffering would soon be over. Don’t get me wrong. Medford, Oregon offered it’s own brand of suffering to a young child with no money. But it had much better foot room.
“Watch. They all turn their heads slow. Do you know what’s funny? When you know they’re looking over---turn your head real fast like this:”. My father quickly shot us a gaping grin that looked as though it had been peeled from a giant clown. It was a little startling. In fact, all four of us kids gasped. Especially my brother, who still had his headphones on and didn’t know it was coming.
“OK. All at once. Wait. Wait.” Dad was keeping his keen senses fixed on the car coming up to our left. “NOW!” we all shot gaping faces at the entire car. The people inside quickly looked straight ahead. They looked a little startled. Or at the very least uncomfortable. “hahahahahahahahahahahah”, a legitimate chorus of glee filled our station wagon. It was the sound of mischief, and it didn’t dissipate from the car for at least two mile markers.
“Wait. Wait. Wait. NOW!”. This time we pelted the passing car with joint looks of insanity. They were no match for our surprise attacks. None of them. The middle-aged man who had been slyly scoping us out now looked as though he were taking a dump. There was a prune-faced old lady who seemed so startled she looked as though she were slurping spaghetti. And there were children who’s faces filled with twisting terror. They were all staring in the wrong place at the wrong time.
“hahahahahahaha”
“ahahahahahahaha”
“did you see that guy with the mustache?”
---
We were on I-5, headed to southern Oregon. It’s one of the most boring drives I know of. Our station wagon barely held all six of us. I was the youngest, and therefore most likely to end up in the way-back. hunkering over a pillow, I was staying on the lookout for snipers. I could survey my three siblings with AM/FM headsets on in the seat in front of me. I also had a good view of any passing cars out the side window. Dad drove. I forget what mom did. I think she read a magazine. I’ll have to get back to you on that.
“We’re driving to deadford? It’s so boring,” we would all take turns saying. Perhaps it’s rude to insult cities in the southern parts of states. What can I say? We were kids. What’s much worse is when parents weren’t around we repeated terrible jokes about Polish, homosexuals, Ethiopians, Michael Jackson, and people with AIDS or hepatitis B. come to think of it- our mouths were like little monsters. Like I said, we were kids.
“When you pass people, they always turn their head real slow, then stare at you.” Dad was making an observation from the front seat. I can’t remember how far we were. There wasn’t much geography to the drive until later. There was a town with ice cream, a steep mountain pass, then some awesome rock formations. And at that point I knew our suffering would soon be over. Don’t get me wrong. Medford, Oregon offered it’s own brand of suffering to a young child with no money. But it had much better foot room.
“Watch. They all turn their heads slow. Do you know what’s funny? When you know they’re looking over---turn your head real fast like this:”. My father quickly shot us a gaping grin that looked as though it had been peeled from a giant clown. It was a little startling. In fact, all four of us kids gasped. Especially my brother, who still had his headphones on and didn’t know it was coming.
“OK. All at once. Wait. Wait.” Dad was keeping his keen senses fixed on the car coming up to our left. “NOW!” we all shot gaping faces at the entire car. The people inside quickly looked straight ahead. They looked a little startled. Or at the very least uncomfortable. “hahahahahahahahahahahah”, a legitimate chorus of glee filled our station wagon. It was the sound of mischief, and it didn’t dissipate from the car for at least two mile markers.
“Wait. Wait. Wait. NOW!”. This time we pelted the passing car with joint looks of insanity. They were no match for our surprise attacks. None of them. The middle-aged man who had been slyly scoping us out now looked as though he were taking a dump. There was a prune-faced old lady who seemed so startled she looked as though she were slurping spaghetti. And there were children who’s faces filled with twisting terror. They were all staring in the wrong place at the wrong time.
“hahahahahahaha”
“ahahahahahahaha”
“did you see that guy with the mustache?”
---
Monday, May 02, 2005
star seed
“do you like star trek?” I was standing next to his wheel chair. Looking toward his face I caught a sliver of light from deep within his eye. It was like a place untouched by dust or age. A place unlike his clothes, which were soiled with smoke and smelled like empty bottles of beer in the sun. or his beard, which was full of wild twisting threads of grey and black. His face was not old, but looked aged by neglect of use and the cool ashy haze that filled the room.
“yes”.
“have you seen the first star trek movie?”
“yes. I watched it here. That was good.”
“have you seen the wrath of kahn?”
“yes. That’s a good one. It’s awesome.”
“well have you seen star seed then?”
“no.”
“you havn’t seen star seed?”
“no.”
“mark! Come put in star seed!”
footsteps rumbled closer and soon mark was at my side, ready to tend to his father again. When he heard the news that I had seen the wrath of kahn without seeing star seed mark let out a gasp. “you havn’t seen star seed?” he immediately went to a stack of VHS tapes in the corner of the darkened room. The television sat nearby, filling half of the wall. It was a large television in a small room. A flickering flame in a rabbit hole.
Looking down I pondered petting bandit a bit. He was an old toughened dog. A mutt of unknown descent. There was a bandana proudly adorning his neck. he looked like a thin german shepherd. chewing at his paw, he lazily indulged in the moment while laying on his side. The fur at his hindquarters was all but gone, revealing leathery patches of skin and scab. A few lone hairs pushed out of the area like weeds feeding on brown and red earth. Even in the darkened room little black dots could be seen scurrying about bandit’s back, looking for new places to bite and hide.
“you can’t really understand the wrath of kahn without seeing star seed.” He was pulling another smokey breath through the cigarette holder. He proceeded to draw a gulp of liquid through the tube connected to a bottle of beer, which I was now convinced sat half empty.
The VHS player was loaded. And the television was filling with a bright image of the star trek logo basking in stars. There was no talking during star trek. No noise at all. Except the beer fridge buzzing calmly in the room next to us. And the sound of a dog scratching and chewing, waging battle on greedy parasites in a war long in it’s history. a war chock-full of casualties.
---
“yes”.
“have you seen the first star trek movie?”
“yes. I watched it here. That was good.”
“have you seen the wrath of kahn?”
“yes. That’s a good one. It’s awesome.”
“well have you seen star seed then?”
“no.”
“you havn’t seen star seed?”
“no.”
“mark! Come put in star seed!”
footsteps rumbled closer and soon mark was at my side, ready to tend to his father again. When he heard the news that I had seen the wrath of kahn without seeing star seed mark let out a gasp. “you havn’t seen star seed?” he immediately went to a stack of VHS tapes in the corner of the darkened room. The television sat nearby, filling half of the wall. It was a large television in a small room. A flickering flame in a rabbit hole.
Looking down I pondered petting bandit a bit. He was an old toughened dog. A mutt of unknown descent. There was a bandana proudly adorning his neck. he looked like a thin german shepherd. chewing at his paw, he lazily indulged in the moment while laying on his side. The fur at his hindquarters was all but gone, revealing leathery patches of skin and scab. A few lone hairs pushed out of the area like weeds feeding on brown and red earth. Even in the darkened room little black dots could be seen scurrying about bandit’s back, looking for new places to bite and hide.
“you can’t really understand the wrath of kahn without seeing star seed.” He was pulling another smokey breath through the cigarette holder. He proceeded to draw a gulp of liquid through the tube connected to a bottle of beer, which I was now convinced sat half empty.
The VHS player was loaded. And the television was filling with a bright image of the star trek logo basking in stars. There was no talking during star trek. No noise at all. Except the beer fridge buzzing calmly in the room next to us. And the sound of a dog scratching and chewing, waging battle on greedy parasites in a war long in it’s history. a war chock-full of casualties.
---
