Sometimes when people call my name I pretend not to hear. I think God's been doing that to me.
Bup (my grandfather) came home from the hospital today. Things are not good.
Mike McD says I should harness this pain and use it creatively and write with it. Ben Franklin tied a key to a kite and tried to harness electricity. He just got the shit shocked out of him.
My dad thinks I'm a failure. That's not what bothers me though. What bothers me is that I know he's right. He's always been right. Sure, he's a drunk, but he hits the nail on the head after a few belligerent whacks.
I wonder what it would be like to fall from the top of a 100 story building. Each story passing like a distant memory. Story 97 - 4 years old - my dad hits a car in front of us. I bump my chin, but I don't cry. I'm 4 years out of the womb and already completely desensitized. Completely callused to the world. Story 78 - 8 years old - I'm making fun of my cousin for peeing his pants. He claims he spilled lemonade on his white shorts. I made fun of him some more for being so stupid. I'm 8 years out of the womb and I'm already a bastard. Story 63 - 10 years old - a girl tries to kiss me and I run away. I'm 10 years out of the womb, shouldn't I be kissing girls by now? Story 45 - 13 years old - I strike out every time I'm up to bat in little league baseball. My dad made me play. I'm 13 years of out the womb and I'm already dissapointing him. Story 30 - 15 years old - Matt's party. I see my first boobs. So what? I'm 15 years out of the womb and I already have this feeling that I'm going to be misunderstood my entire life. Totally alone. Story 22 - 17 years old - I nearly kill a girl. She loved me so much and I nearly kill her. How can I live with myself? 17 years out of the womb and I'm still a bastard. Story 12 - 18 years old - I fall in love. She's so beautiful and I fall so hard. 18 years out of the womb and I'm certain this girl is the one. I long for a parachute. The faster I fall, the more quickly the sparkling cement rushes up the more quickly I realize that life is just one event after another. But it's not TV. It's not pretty, it's not fun, it's sometimes interesting. I wish it were TV, then maybe Pizza Hut or Geico Direct could give me some money for just waking up in the morning. For just being me. Story 3 - 18 years old - Shit that ground is close.
I want a revolution of the soul. I want the bitterness and sorrow to be overthrown and hanged on meathooks in the town square of my body.
Mel got two kittens. I asked her to name one Jasper the Turd Bird. It's the least she could do for the 18 years of awesome friendship I've provided her. I would go visit Jasper the Turd Bird and I would love him. Please reconsider, Mel. Please.
"It's beautiful, isn't it?" my father asked me as he knelt beside a deer removing the crimson insides from a cut in its stomach. The insides were like pieces of a puzzle that created the life of something and I watched as my father removed them as if they were a burden to him. He complained about the smell. I wonder if the deer complained about the searing pain of the bullet interrupting its heart's beat, "It's beautiful, ain't it, Dutch?"
"No. not really." I was ten.
Mike McD says I should harness this pain and use it creatively and write with it. Ben Franklin tied a key to a kite and tried to harness electricity. He just got the shit shocked out of him.
My dad thinks I'm a failure. That's not what bothers me though. What bothers me is that I know he's right. He's always been right. Sure, he's a drunk, but he hits the nail on the head after a few belligerent whacks.
I wonder what it would be like to fall from the top of a 100 story building. Each story passing like a distant memory. Story 97 - 4 years old - my dad hits a car in front of us. I bump my chin, but I don't cry. I'm 4 years out of the womb and already completely desensitized. Completely callused to the world. Story 78 - 8 years old - I'm making fun of my cousin for peeing his pants. He claims he spilled lemonade on his white shorts. I made fun of him some more for being so stupid. I'm 8 years out of the womb and I'm already a bastard. Story 63 - 10 years old - a girl tries to kiss me and I run away. I'm 10 years out of the womb, shouldn't I be kissing girls by now? Story 45 - 13 years old - I strike out every time I'm up to bat in little league baseball. My dad made me play. I'm 13 years of out the womb and I'm already dissapointing him. Story 30 - 15 years old - Matt's party. I see my first boobs. So what? I'm 15 years out of the womb and I already have this feeling that I'm going to be misunderstood my entire life. Totally alone. Story 22 - 17 years old - I nearly kill a girl. She loved me so much and I nearly kill her. How can I live with myself? 17 years out of the womb and I'm still a bastard. Story 12 - 18 years old - I fall in love. She's so beautiful and I fall so hard. 18 years out of the womb and I'm certain this girl is the one. I long for a parachute. The faster I fall, the more quickly the sparkling cement rushes up the more quickly I realize that life is just one event after another. But it's not TV. It's not pretty, it's not fun, it's sometimes interesting. I wish it were TV, then maybe Pizza Hut or Geico Direct could give me some money for just waking up in the morning. For just being me. Story 3 - 18 years old - Shit that ground is close.
I want a revolution of the soul. I want the bitterness and sorrow to be overthrown and hanged on meathooks in the town square of my body.
Mel got two kittens. I asked her to name one Jasper the Turd Bird. It's the least she could do for the 18 years of awesome friendship I've provided her. I would go visit Jasper the Turd Bird and I would love him. Please reconsider, Mel. Please.
"It's beautiful, isn't it?" my father asked me as he knelt beside a deer removing the crimson insides from a cut in its stomach. The insides were like pieces of a puzzle that created the life of something and I watched as my father removed them as if they were a burden to him. He complained about the smell. I wonder if the deer complained about the searing pain of the bullet interrupting its heart's beat, "It's beautiful, ain't it, Dutch?"
"No. not really." I was ten.