This has been a test of the Emergency How-Much-Do-You-Want-To-Be-A-Writer System. Your regularly scheduled life will resume shortly.
Commence time.
As if it had stopped
and living has becomes fractional into neatly sectioned equal segments of time
hour to hour
sitcom to sitcom
webpage to webpage
instead of moment to moment
regret to regret
like you had planned on
I remember living rented VHS to rented VHS
just for some noise in the background
and a laugh track
to go along with my sobbing
a reminder
a sucker punch
of smallness
of humiliation at the inability to keep my shit together
like all my peers
who went on to become exactly what their parents dreamed of on the way home
from the hospital when they were born
doctors and lawyers
dentists and accountants
and the naive one's saying "I just want you to be happy."
cause some of those bucking young lads and lasses
went on to happiness in the measure of their parents defintion
something was different
something went horribly wrong
cause after graduation this little coward went
wah wah wah all the way home
and each time that little pig went to make anew
that little pig built a house of hay
and then a little house of sticks
each time facing the wind of the big bad world
and each time walking away from a disaster
I could give this fairytale a happy ending
by admitting my luck at walking away
rather than being carried away
but that's a slow walk to make when everything you fear is in your past
and when you look back all you see is a torn down house
fallen over to the wind
but that rumbling wind is transparent
it carries the scent of history
and the small sandy debris of failure
enough to get in your eyes and irritate clarity
stretching out arms only allows you to run into roadblocks and brick walls sooner
rather than later
it's been a whirlwind lately
and something below the surface is working in conjunction with the atmosphere
and I'm just stuck in between
trying to hold back the forces of the universe
on a day in which you haven't slept in 36 hours
and the words "explosive diarrhea" aren't even close to how bad you're
really
feeling cause you've been there today
and it wasn't as bad as right now
I'm trying to tell you a story
the story of this moment I haven't been able to define in time
but it is the breaking down of time that gets me through my day
having somewhere to be everyday is like having somewhere to die every day
having some place to compare to hell every day
walk in the door, just home from hell
and I get a talkin' to about privilege
and the luxury of believing a place other than hell even exists
that place of white light and nutritionally valuable cheesecake
but I guess I deserve the dark side experience
seeing as how this silver spoon in my mouth only returned a concaved reflection
of my own white face lit by the sun
thus white light and belief in total happiness
nirvana is a delusional paradise of naked women and chocolate fountains
but I would just take a world with no guilt or jealousy as nirvanic harmony
but we've unfortunately been born in the "real world"
you know the one...
"7 strangers picked to live in a house."
no, not that one
the one where insomnia isn't a good excuse to stay home from work
and the one where people have much more to worry about than insomnia
wasn't it tupac who said "both black and white are smokin' crack tonight?"
the real world where the person I just profoundly quoted was killed in a hail
of gunfire
a menace to white society
but a hero on the block
an oppressed group of law-abiding citizens
can only stay silent for so long
can only tolerate so much
until a changing of the guards occurs
and another great american war is on our hands
poverty will reach an all-time high
when a white-defined monetary system is no longer valid
and we're bartering for electric batteries and gallons of oil
to be sold on the white market
just to feed our babies
there's a bad moon rising beautifully on the horizon
and I'm ready to howl
HOWL in it's honor
and lay down my silver spoon and my complaining about insomnia for the greater
good of my kids future
tomorrow I will be able to dismiss this into a stoner fog
and say this isn't real
that I know nothing of social ills
and my compassion and empathy for my fellow kind stops at my skin
cause I'm just talking
just thinking
just writing.
and now it's back to complaining.
May 5, 2006