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Over the past decade I've been searching for some way to explain what has been happening with my family. The soap opera analogy is rather apt at times, but how to encapsulate the absurdity? Yesterday on the couch, flipping through the movies, I selected Crimes and Misdemeanors - Ah, Wood Allen.
A eureka moment! My adult life has been a parody of a Woody Allen movie. You only need to replace the Jewish references with Christian ones, otherwise the undercurrents and subtexts feel one in the same. Disappointingly, I wasn't born a filmmaker. Such material I would have. Oy vay!
I saw your mother at the visitation. The last time I spoke with her was some seven years ago. "How are you doing?" She asked.
She told me you were "good." Your gal was doing her doctorate. "I think she is in history," she said. Your one brother in and out of jail and rehab. The other one in Calgary.
"Spoke with him this morning. Your grandfather was so nice to him. He sends his condolences."
I overheard her later saying to my mother, "Your daughter just gets more beautiful as the years go on."
Your girlfriend crashed your father's funeral. She wore a white sweatshirt inappropriate for the occasion. She was unwelcome. You lied and said she was going to be in Sudbury. Wasn't going to be able to make it. Guess she sure does drive fast to be there in back in less than half a day.
I guess I know now why you seem to like her. Boy, she can really kiss ass, but then again, I see you can too. A good salesman always tries to get the customer to buy what he is selling. You are trying too hard, though.
As I see it, there are two ways to deal with the new space.
First, acknowledge the new space by pretending it isn't there. There is no elephant hiding in the corner.
Second acknowledge the new space by flat out saying it is there. Celebrate the elephant hiding in the corner.
First, publicly I say life is fine fine fine. Everything is coming up roses here.
Second, privately, I yell you hurt me. I responded in kind.
First, your lack of response.
Second, I know I was right.
First, I'll survive. Don't need you.
Second, it was inevitable. Wasn't it?
The fire burned brightly in my darkened room. Pleasure derived from the heat and light. Red embers within black and grey ashes remained when the flames were gone.
On a cool spring morning the ashes from the winter fires were shoveled and scraped in to a bucket. All the left over memories and residues from earlier times, fitting in to a much smaller container. Making space for the future.
Out to the garden, mixing with the soil. Sew the seeds. Beauty again, but in a different form.
The flowers will be beautiful. The fires couldn't have been hotter.
A simple card with a disturbing message.
Politeness, and no other motive, looks to say "Thank you."
Dredge the past.
See your hurt.
FUCK YOU was needed.
See the present.
Polite thoughts hurt love.
Too quick to forgive past indescressions!
Reasons were justified.
Present relationships are too important.
Read it again. READ IT AGAIN!
Not as innocent as the first time.
See the manipulations.
Lay down dog. Return to your slumber.
Better that, let me get my gun.
Put you out of your misery.
I am much the same, yet different.
With love, XO and
Glance over. That guy looks like someone I know. Doesn't he? Maybe he doesn't. What was his last name? When was the last time I had seen him?
I don't have those moments very often. There aren't too many people I notice in a crowd, who I think I have known. I either remember your face, or I don't. Though the other day, sitting in that mass of people at the passport office, for a good half hour I contemplated whether or not I knew this guy seated a row up and a few seats over.
I couldn't be sure.
I don't understand how the government operates. Why is it, when I already have a passport, albeit recently expired, do I need to provide two pieces of identification, plus my birth certificate, plus a guarantor, plus two references (with addresses and phone numbers), plus information on my employer?
In this information age there is a file containing everything about me, somewhere in my nation's capital. It includes all of the above plus the last medical procedure that was performed on me, my phone logs, e-mail logs, websites I visit, and the name of my cat.
Come on, look me up.
Puffs of duvet feathers skitter across the floor and collect in the corners.
Milk swirling around in my dark coffee.
Salt crust thick on the body of the car. No telling what its original colour was.
Hair and fur on the sofa, on the chair, on my clothes.
Snow on the ground. A deep thick insulating crust. Cat curled in my lap.
Ice reflecting the early morning sun in a blinding shine.
Random hairs in my eyebrows, showing my age.
Cobwebs and spider webs hiding under the radiators.
My mind as I try to think of something to say.
What to do? What to do?
I'm up. It's 1:30 am. What to do?
What's on TV at 1:30 am?
I never do this.
Seen that movie. Seen this movie too.
Talk show, Talk show, infomercial, infomercial.
Lookie, lookie an "adult movie."
The late night sleep deprived mind thinks...
They don't look like they are enjoying themselves.
Those stairs must hurt.
I really don't think they are having a good time.
I'm not having a good time watching this.
She's faking it. You can see it in her eyes.
There must be something else on.
I'd face the mental anguish and stay at my job, if I there was not other way for me not to be a financial burden.
Masturbation would suffice, if there was a lack of interest on your part.
Cheap wine could fill in for the finer vintages, if they were too expensive to afford.
The most used and abused car, or should I say rust bucket, could fill in for me in a pinch, if there was no other alternative.
I'd shave off my hair, if I thought you'd find it attractive, and that would be pretty desperate!
A slow sinking sensation starts as I hear foot steps coming down the hall. The computer is running slowly today. I know what I have open will not close in time. Everything will be seen. My secret life revealed.
My hands and body begin to shake. Slowly I turn to the presence in the room.
"Who feels mentally shitty right now?"
"Who were you emailing?"
Slowly I'm sinking in to the floor.
"Um, my sister."
The presence turns. Foot steps retreat back down the hall. The unmasking doesn't happen, but how?
I can not speak. My lips feel sewn together. I am trying to forget there is a pathway from my brain to my mouth. Sighs and moans are the only sounds I seem capable of making. I haven't even been able to write. The lines of communication from my brain to my fingers have shorted out.
I'm living in my head, again. It is safe in there. No one can touch me. My thoughts spiral around. I can pull out a topic and go over the arguments and emotions again and again. The only one experiencing the boredom is myself.
Shades of the colour of the day
Wine in the glass on the table.
Blush flush in the cheeks.
Lips swollen from too much kissing.
Nipples erect for pinching.
Pubic hair on the slit between a pair of thighs.
Tousled hair on a pillow.
Eyes and nostrils rimmed from excessive crying.
Scabbed Arcs from finger nails pressed in to palms.
Blood in the veins returning to a pumping heart.
Blood in the arteries feeding a hungry brain.
Fantasies dreamed up and never expressed but in words and wrapped up in appropriately coloured tissue paper with a velvet bow.
I say, "I would like to get a laptop."
You say, "Do you feel you'll use it? If you will, then sure!"
I am thinking - a machine that gets me on the internet. Something that allows me to do some wordprocessing. A machine faster than the one we currently have.
You are thinking - it must play the latest games. Big games. Connect it to the gaming systems. Connect it to the TV.
I want to keep it inexpensive.
You want to pay for top of the line.
"Honey, see if you can get a discount?"
Dear Mr. Wizzard,
For a conservative quasi pop-music addict, what is the appropriate music to play during Battle of the Stereos, when your neighbour enjoys the same?
Pop Pop Blast
Dear Pop Pop Blast,
What the fuck to you mean you only like pop music? If you are out of your teens, you are quite lame! Branch out and explore the world of alternative music. My best recommendation is to find something that annoys you, like any of the grunge bands or some classic punk, play it loud, and learn to love it, ya big pussy!
Have no fear! Technology is your friend!
The bank machine will not eat your card. It will give you cold hard cash, if you punch in the correct numbers and press the right buttons. With these machines you no longer have to worry about being personable to your teller. On some occasions, when I am alone, I slide my hand down the side of the machine, stroking it, "I love you sweet bank machine. You give me cash every time I need it. You let me pay all my bills. You feed my need to be anti-social. Thank you."
List of things that might happen:
Space Freakoids come down to earth and enslave me.
Cats learn to speak English. They finally explain all their bizarre behaviours.
Atlantis is discovered by James Cameron and his documentary film team.
God makes himself known to the world, second coming-like.
Telepathy puts all our issues out in the open.
Exercise is proven to be bad for our health.
Cars are banned. Mass transit becomes the only way to get around.
I finally decide to pull the plug and you never notice the difference.
I can be sure of only one thing, you no longer feel the pain and anguish that you must have felt at the end of your life. Answers to the questions of heaven or hell are beyond me. I cry, wishing you had found some remedy to keep you in this world.
Bookends. My grandfather so old. A life so deeply lived. The other a young man. A life not continuing beyond 38 years. Both lives intersect with mine in very different ways.
These words keep repeating in my head, I will miss your presence, my friend.
How low can I go? Things just start to look up. Life has almost righted itself. Happiness or contentment was beginning to settle around me like a warm blanket. One instant. One email. The blanket is yanked away. Winter settles in again. I shiver.
You throw your arms around me. I am so numb from the cold, your warmth doesn't reach me. I feel cold down to my core, like I'm made of blue steel set out in the arctic. I try to capture the warmth in your words. You rewrap me in that protective blanket and stroke my shoulders.
I had to make the trek. Wanted to see the abandoned subway station. Open and accessible, but only for a limited time. My mind pictured cobwebs in corners. Dark gritty soot on the tiles. Lots of those little blackened mice you see running between the tracks at St. George Station.
I prepared for my adventure to this imagines space with a digital camera. Practicing on the subway ride. Good photo on this setting. Bad photo on this setting. What about trying the 40 second movie feature.
Got on the train to take me to my location. Imagination to become reality.
He said to me, "I'm a drunk. I'm an idiot. I hold a grudge. I'm selfish. I'm mean. I'm dishonest. I'll lie to you."
I believed he was all those things. No one lies about their faults.
I told him, "I'll get hurt easily. I'm mean. I'm reactionary. I lash out. I'm a bitch. I'll know your weaknesses and throw them back in your face. But, I'll try to like you for who you are."
It came as no surprise to me, when he acted like he did. But, my reaction, really seemed like a surprise to him.
There is sick harmony in my world. Watching Market Place on CBC Saturday evening. Not my usual TV fare, because I'm not a fan of Wendy Mesley. The topic is car dealerships and credit life insurance. If you die, the insurance is suppose to pay off your car loan, not leaving the burden to your family. CBC says, but there are problems with this people aren't getting the benefits they are paying for. Car salesmen are selling selling selling. You could get screwed. Wake up fools! Since when did car sales men do anything fully on the up and up?
Everyone is upset with me. We all saw you in that car. We all saw you kissing that boy. Shame on you. Did you think we wouldn't notice these goings on, when you were parked at the end of the driveway? You have a lovely boy waiting for you inside. We haven't told him what we saw. We are so disappointed with your behaviour. Is he one of your other high school friends? You know, boys who kiss girls in cars, they are only interested in one thing. And that one thing does not have to do with dating you.
How can you justify earning a couple of million dollars when you are a man of god, and I'm speaking Christian here, not any of the other faiths? Then again how stupid can you be if you continue to attend a church where the monies collected aren't going to any projects other than the pastor's new house in Florida?
You hear about these things all the time in the Christian churches. Sex or molestation with parishioners, young and old. Embezzlement of church funds.
Why is it I never hear of these types of scandals from the Jewish or Islamic faiths?
The matter matters to me.
Not mad as a hatter at merely witty banter.
You think no matter.
Though it really does matter.
Vexing with other directions.
Detection leads to rejection.
Injection of protection?
Speculation leads only to dejection.
Inaction is an attraction...
Why the hell did I start this? It is rather awful. I should do more research in to rhyme schemes. Ack! Just another artistic failure of mine to be put up on the shelf. To submit it would be folly. They'd all see that I can't really produce anything other than crap. Oops.
A young boy lived next door to us before we moved. He would be 5 or 6 years younger than me. He lived with his single father. They had cable. We did not. My parents once went next door to watch porn. I think it was Debbie Does Dallas. My parents never watched porn.
I was almost 15 when we moved away. Well through puberty. This boy comes up and grabs my tits (moving his hands back and forth) and says "Tune in Toyko."
It was a total reflex reaction when I smacked the boy right across the face.
I've hit the point where I want to quit. Quit what? Everything. I've never felt such a strong urge to say "FUCK YOU! FUCK YOU!" The anxiety and stress are wearing me down. I want to quit my job. Ifantasize about walking in to my boss' office and saying "Fuck you bitch, I quit! Effective immediately!"
I want to quit my life, at least for a while. I want to leave my fucked up family behind. "Fuck ya'll, I quit this family." I don't give a shit about any of you.
Wouldn't it be fuckin' beautiful?
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