Send to Returner
So.
Open floodgates.
Time inexorably passes, crushing us all beneath its wheels.
I have, in the past four weeks, been to three weddings, one of them my own.
I have been married for 8 days, after dating Sara G. for over eight years. I confirmed with her tonight that she knew my brain was messy and forgetful when she married me, so this fact cannot be grounds for annulment. She seemed to think I was joking, but we broken people take our paranoia seriously.
My friends Bob and Anne are now married. They are madly in love, and I wish them the best. Bob needs a baby. *insert smiley here*
My friends Brad and Rachel are now married. They lived in a shitty house-converted-to-apartments with us from about 2000 to 2002. All of the residents spent long nights on the porch together, smoking and drinking, and it was there that we first saw the two smile at each other. You know, like THAT.
Sara woke me this morning to point out about a half-dozen randomly-placed white hairs in my goatee.
Spent a bit of tonight with my chin on the corner of the bathroom sink, leaking tears and snot as I cried that we’ll probably have to find a new home for our devilcat Isis, as she has become increasingly unpredictable. She loves us dearly and was actually improving her “people skills.” But seemingly random attacks on us, leaving scars on Sara, have become too much, even when months apart.
The Humane Society cannot have her. If I’m leaning back towards vegetarianism, I refuse to not eat a cow that I’ve never met while well-meaning strangers shoot a syringe of Kill-A-Pet into her after she keeps getting returned for being made of evil. Don’t get me wrong, I love the H.S., but if they kill my cat I’ll kick their fucking heads in, hypocrisy be damned.
I would prefer an outdoor location for her. Anybody in the Urbana, Illinois, area with ideas can send me an e-mail.
Isis aside, I’ve been irredeemably happy this week.
Married, in a ceremony where I got to mention Giant Robots in my vows.
Crazyfun new job in the bookstacks of the University of Illinois, sixth largest library in the nation.
Regular hours.
Good pay.
I own the ginormous sign to a restaurant I worked at for 2 ½ years, fighting with the late-owner’s widow, the night crew’s alcoholic crackheads, and drunken hook-handed college kids.
Life looks down at me, after curb-stomping my dreams for years, and offers me a hand up to my feet. I worry that it’ll be one of the evil detachable clown hands, but I remain optimistic.
Whilst in Ikea - a store that would hold the town I was born in one-and-a-half times and still not be over the fire-code limit - I ran into a mightily dear friend of mine that I lost track of years ago. She cannot hide so easily this time. Susan Kang, you WILL visit us and we will watch silly movies until dawn.
Pessimistically optimistic. Optimistically pessimistic. Realistic.
I am not joking about the hook hand. And my wedding DJ, playing about 97% music *I* provided for him, even got to mind-numbing Cantopop song “Sugar in the Marmalade” by H.K. singer/actor Leon Lai. Find it on a p2p program, the Cantonese language version. It’ll stick in your head like Hell Bubblegum.
Christ, I’m on a rant tonight.
I haven’t had a cigarette since last October and it hurts so much to not reach into the desk drawer and pull out my three “Smoke In Case of Emergency” cigs.
I barely drink alcohol, on account of it making my throat tighten up and beer tastes like, to quote my mama, wet dog hair, and wine to me is elegant grapejuicecowpiss, but damn I could go for a drunk about now. A silly silly gotta work tomorrow kinda drunk.
But, alas, I’ll probably just knock back a sherry glass of Chartreuse, carry Sara upstairs, and finish watching Sonny Chiba in SAMURAI RESURECTION, on the ass-kick portable APEX DVD-player that Dr. Doug got us for getting married.
And here’s my two niblets of on-the-spot fiction for you, now that my stupidlong ranting is done:
---
Let it never be said that we did not love him.
To be certain, when the kuru reached his brain, we drove a pickaxe straight through it.
But that was because we loved him.
---
Mandy waits outside in the rain, flickering neon across the street intermittently stealing her shadow.
Tonight, his tongue on her lips was like barbed wire, his hot breath left red patches on her skin. They drank too much, the both of them, and did things that they would regret the next day, if they knew any better.
One of her shoes had a lost a heel during the night, but when she could not say.
Her ears were ringing and her hands shook like an beggar’s.
She swears that she heard the porcelain bathroom sink crack during her orgasmic screams.
She had enough cash for a cab ride home or a pack of cigarettes and a fifth of something cheap.
She could pretend the door was not unlocked behind her.
She could walk home with her smokes and her drink.
She could pretend that she would leave him.
But after tonight, she knew she never would.
After tonight, she knew it was love.
Again.
Kicking off her shoes, she walked the dotted yellow line of the street to the corner store, where she would buy him gifts, of gummi worms and Red Bull, of Star Magazine and chapstick.
And with her pockets full of shoplifted airplane-sized bottles of Captain Morgan, she would run back to his apartment, throw her soaking wet body at him as he slept.
He would mistake her tears of joy for tears of sadness.
He would comfort her and kiss her and pour her rum into a dirty cup.
She would whisper words of love and they would never be apart again.
“Happy ten day anniversary,” she would whisper, and let the dark swallow them again.
---
I’m fucking off to bed.
Kisses to you all.
benjamin sTone
Urbana, IL
12:33am, 8/16/04
CURRENT MUSIC: “Don't Dream it's Over” Crowded House
CURRENT BOOK: FEAR AND LOATHING ON THE CAMPAIGN TRAIL IN ’72, Hunter S. Thompson
CURRENT MOVIE: SAMURAI RESURRECTION (Japan)
---------
My hypershort fictions and commentaries go to http://www.yahoogroups.com/groups/compositemolecules
---------
People discuss at http://www.yahoogroups.com/groups/dead-horse
---------
Also visible, with a few exceptions, at http://www.livejournal.com/users/benchilada
---------
Open floodgates.
Time inexorably passes, crushing us all beneath its wheels.
I have, in the past four weeks, been to three weddings, one of them my own.
I have been married for 8 days, after dating Sara G. for over eight years. I confirmed with her tonight that she knew my brain was messy and forgetful when she married me, so this fact cannot be grounds for annulment. She seemed to think I was joking, but we broken people take our paranoia seriously.
My friends Bob and Anne are now married. They are madly in love, and I wish them the best. Bob needs a baby. *insert smiley here*
My friends Brad and Rachel are now married. They lived in a shitty house-converted-to-apartments with us from about 2000 to 2002. All of the residents spent long nights on the porch together, smoking and drinking, and it was there that we first saw the two smile at each other. You know, like THAT.
Sara woke me this morning to point out about a half-dozen randomly-placed white hairs in my goatee.
Spent a bit of tonight with my chin on the corner of the bathroom sink, leaking tears and snot as I cried that we’ll probably have to find a new home for our devilcat Isis, as she has become increasingly unpredictable. She loves us dearly and was actually improving her “people skills.” But seemingly random attacks on us, leaving scars on Sara, have become too much, even when months apart.
The Humane Society cannot have her. If I’m leaning back towards vegetarianism, I refuse to not eat a cow that I’ve never met while well-meaning strangers shoot a syringe of Kill-A-Pet into her after she keeps getting returned for being made of evil. Don’t get me wrong, I love the H.S., but if they kill my cat I’ll kick their fucking heads in, hypocrisy be damned.
I would prefer an outdoor location for her. Anybody in the Urbana, Illinois, area with ideas can send me an e-mail.
Isis aside, I’ve been irredeemably happy this week.
Married, in a ceremony where I got to mention Giant Robots in my vows.
Crazyfun new job in the bookstacks of the University of Illinois, sixth largest library in the nation.
Regular hours.
Good pay.
I own the ginormous sign to a restaurant I worked at for 2 ½ years, fighting with the late-owner’s widow, the night crew’s alcoholic crackheads, and drunken hook-handed college kids.
Life looks down at me, after curb-stomping my dreams for years, and offers me a hand up to my feet. I worry that it’ll be one of the evil detachable clown hands, but I remain optimistic.
Whilst in Ikea - a store that would hold the town I was born in one-and-a-half times and still not be over the fire-code limit - I ran into a mightily dear friend of mine that I lost track of years ago. She cannot hide so easily this time. Susan Kang, you WILL visit us and we will watch silly movies until dawn.
Pessimistically optimistic. Optimistically pessimistic. Realistic.
I am not joking about the hook hand. And my wedding DJ, playing about 97% music *I* provided for him, even got to mind-numbing Cantopop song “Sugar in the Marmalade” by H.K. singer/actor Leon Lai. Find it on a p2p program, the Cantonese language version. It’ll stick in your head like Hell Bubblegum.
Christ, I’m on a rant tonight.
I haven’t had a cigarette since last October and it hurts so much to not reach into the desk drawer and pull out my three “Smoke In Case of Emergency” cigs.
I barely drink alcohol, on account of it making my throat tighten up and beer tastes like, to quote my mama, wet dog hair, and wine to me is elegant grapejuicecowpiss, but damn I could go for a drunk about now. A silly silly gotta work tomorrow kinda drunk.
But, alas, I’ll probably just knock back a sherry glass of Chartreuse, carry Sara upstairs, and finish watching Sonny Chiba in SAMURAI RESURECTION, on the ass-kick portable APEX DVD-player that Dr. Doug got us for getting married.
And here’s my two niblets of on-the-spot fiction for you, now that my stupidlong ranting is done:
---
Let it never be said that we did not love him.
To be certain, when the kuru reached his brain, we drove a pickaxe straight through it.
But that was because we loved him.
---
Mandy waits outside in the rain, flickering neon across the street intermittently stealing her shadow.
Tonight, his tongue on her lips was like barbed wire, his hot breath left red patches on her skin. They drank too much, the both of them, and did things that they would regret the next day, if they knew any better.
One of her shoes had a lost a heel during the night, but when she could not say.
Her ears were ringing and her hands shook like an beggar’s.
She swears that she heard the porcelain bathroom sink crack during her orgasmic screams.
She had enough cash for a cab ride home or a pack of cigarettes and a fifth of something cheap.
She could pretend the door was not unlocked behind her.
She could walk home with her smokes and her drink.
She could pretend that she would leave him.
But after tonight, she knew she never would.
After tonight, she knew it was love.
Again.
Kicking off her shoes, she walked the dotted yellow line of the street to the corner store, where she would buy him gifts, of gummi worms and Red Bull, of Star Magazine and chapstick.
And with her pockets full of shoplifted airplane-sized bottles of Captain Morgan, she would run back to his apartment, throw her soaking wet body at him as he slept.
He would mistake her tears of joy for tears of sadness.
He would comfort her and kiss her and pour her rum into a dirty cup.
She would whisper words of love and they would never be apart again.
“Happy ten day anniversary,” she would whisper, and let the dark swallow them again.
---
I’m fucking off to bed.
Kisses to you all.
benjamin sTone
Urbana, IL
12:33am, 8/16/04
CURRENT MUSIC: “Don't Dream it's Over” Crowded House
CURRENT BOOK: FEAR AND LOATHING ON THE CAMPAIGN TRAIL IN ’72, Hunter S. Thompson
CURRENT MOVIE: SAMURAI RESURRECTION (Japan)
---------
My hypershort fictions and commentaries go to http://www.yahoogroups.com/groups/compositemolecules
---------
People discuss at http://www.yahoogroups.com/groups/dead-horse
---------
Also visible, with a few exceptions, at http://www.livejournal.com/users/benchilada
---------