Cerebralstockfootagereel6
I listened all too carefully as Roger explained what an "ash pipe" was and his many adventures in being a patsy for rich ghetto trash. When he spoke of such things I could see a rich glimmer in his eye, like he had something stashed in the bushes and was only waiting to be released to smoke it.
"He's here voluntarily. He doesn't really have to participate in the activities."
Voluntarily?
I had slept in the parking lot, hunkered down and covered only by a thin afghan I'd had in the car seemingly since the day I got it. I had never really looked at it before, but under the sick yellow lights of the hospital parking lot it seemed like the most interesting thing in the world. With little gas I couldn't keep the car running for heat, so I decided to contort myself into the floorboard, being just small enough to do so, yet too big to be comfortable. I wasn't cold anymore. I thought about times when children freely roamed the back seat of their parents then-hip tugboats. My dad's giant Nova with the questionable 8 track player. I'd hide in the floor, just behind the front seat, and close my eyez to feel the motion, and I could always tell where we were without looking up. When the car slowed for stop lights, I knew which ones.. When it finally pulled into the driveway I allowed myself to breathe, and everything looked bright and colorful, and the house smelled clean and new to me. Little mind games like this were what I lived for in hindsight. A feeling that everything could and should be made better and simply dealing with whats given to you is not enough. If I pinched the skin of my stomach for a few minutes it hurt, but letting go felt as though I had thrown the windows open for a moment and could breathe. I dreamed of cutting a single layer of skin from my body, just to take some of the weight off of my spirit. If I could just get OUT of this body, I could do what I wanted and not scare everyone in the process. I sat alone in the living room and watched Road Runner and Bugs Bunny cartoons, choking myself blue and then letting go, feeling rush of relief as I tried to figure out why these shows were supposed to be funny. I remember laughing before, maybe it was just this episode. Why was it that I enjoyed something one day and the very same thing another day meant nothing to me?
I sat at the desk that was once in my dad's room when he was a boy and traced all the scratches and etchings with my fingers.. I wondered what he had written that may have made an imprint in the wood, and if I could somehow pull these memories out. I opened the drawers and found things I'd long forgotten. I cursed nearly everything that was school-related, and focused instead on the creative things I had done on my own. Seven drawers held more memories than my own brain at that moment, and I was hungry to find more. I wondered if I could fit all of the things I had lost over the years into this desk.. If I would even remember or recognize most of what I'd lost in my absence of mind. The many necklaces I'd made that had been ripped from my neck by niggerbeasts with low self esteem.. My ankh I'd jerked off my neck at the water fountain and mysteriously never found. A ring someone held for me as I hit my big moment head on, and never saw again. Seems this type of ring would be noticeable and a bit out of place in a Revolutionary War documentary. I was assured the ring was safe and would be returned to me, and I had pictures taken to prove what I had gone through had I ended up in an editor's shredder.
"Ok how clear can I make this for you? You want a picture?"
He drew a stick figure with an oversized head and I cracked a smile.. He proceeded to scribble through the paper a dark hole in the center of the figure between the legs.. My bewilderment prompted him to make the body a triangle as the univeral sign for "woman." He snatched a twig or something from the grape vine and fucked the paper doll to shreds, then burned it all on the ground, leaving a tiny little spot in the yard that I stared at long after my lesson was done. I looked up at him, his back turned as he laughed at me and I wanted to take the barbwire fence that held the grapes and wrap it around his neck. I wanted to eat his tongue and spit his words back at him. I took a grape from the vine and crushed it in my hand. I took another... I did this until my hand was stained purple and my daydream was reality. I didn't hurt anyone, and the grapes would never taste the same anyway. "I will never do that to anyone." I said to myself.
I eventually made it to the monkey bars, and I went back and forth, over and over, trying to get this thought out of my head. I stopped mid-way and pulled my little body up over the bars and sat on top. I was afraid to come down, but I liked the way it felt. I could feel my heart and my stomach was full of butterflies. I eyed the trees around me and a flimsy washing line for something to swing from. I wanted to swing but the swings were long rotted away as my dad had probably given them hell with his brothers years before I arrived. I closed my eyez and felt the butterflies inching up my throat, as if I could lean my head back and spit a beautiful display of color and nature into the sky with only my fear and excitement.
I remembered how someone had told me that once you touch a butterfly's wings it loses its magic. It can no longer fly and is a caterpillar again. I hoped no one would ever touch my wings. I felt guilty for holding so many beautiful butterflies captive and wondered if they'd ever fly again.
I felt guilty when I wasn't. I felt lonely when my front yard was full of neighborhood kids who wanted to do inane things like kick balls back and forth and play freeze tag. Freeze tag was fun, credit is due there, but TV tag was much better. Dukes of Hazzard, Scooby Doo, M*A*S*H and Dallas were easy enough. From there you were in trouble.
"Its like....How can I describe this... I tried telling my family and they think I'm losing my mind.. I mean.. You're on this one planet, and its more Venus than Earth, only everyone else has a hard time living there. No....... Ok, you're on this planet and you have this incredible magnetic draw on my heart, but everyone else is pulling me away from you, back to Earth, and if I don't spend every waking minute with you I drift farther away and the pull is weaker. I watch you every night and I see you aching but I can only close the window and go to sleep. I'm sorry."
With a little help, and many more delicious butterflies, I made my way to the ground, ready for anything. For some strange reason there was a never ending supply of fresh watermelons at the bottom of the yard just above the drop off to the shed with holes in the ceiling perfect for spitting seeds into and tossing rocks through to see what sort of demons we could stir up.
We ate the watermelons and spit the seeds over the hill and tossed one through the roof of the shack, oblivious to this being anyone else's property. Complete absurdity sucked me off from day one and hasn't stopped yet. Blatant acts of whatthefuck broke the constant stream of worry in my head, and if I had to destroy a dilapidated shed then so be it, for the sake of my own sanity.
I looked down at the menacing woods that sloped forever, probably into another world I assumed. My most recent and clinging movies at the time were fantasies, and I really believed I could find a leprechaun and wasted many a day looking for one.
A tiny corridor of trees and such became a beautiful waterfall and I thought of jumping down there, eating the grapes and drinking the water.
A few years later, out of touch and absent in mind, I walked to the bottom of the yard and saw a newly paved parking lot completely covering my paradise. I wanted to cry but instead I made my way down the hill and ran from one end to the other, the smell of tar still fresh in the air. I had never set foot in this part of the earth and I was finally there. Whatever was there to begin with was long gone, and I thought about the tiny corridor of paradise. Why would a church cover the Garden of Eden with a parking lot??
"He's here voluntarily. He doesn't really have to participate in the activities."
Voluntarily?
I had slept in the parking lot, hunkered down and covered only by a thin afghan I'd had in the car seemingly since the day I got it. I had never really looked at it before, but under the sick yellow lights of the hospital parking lot it seemed like the most interesting thing in the world. With little gas I couldn't keep the car running for heat, so I decided to contort myself into the floorboard, being just small enough to do so, yet too big to be comfortable. I wasn't cold anymore. I thought about times when children freely roamed the back seat of their parents then-hip tugboats. My dad's giant Nova with the questionable 8 track player. I'd hide in the floor, just behind the front seat, and close my eyez to feel the motion, and I could always tell where we were without looking up. When the car slowed for stop lights, I knew which ones.. When it finally pulled into the driveway I allowed myself to breathe, and everything looked bright and colorful, and the house smelled clean and new to me. Little mind games like this were what I lived for in hindsight. A feeling that everything could and should be made better and simply dealing with whats given to you is not enough. If I pinched the skin of my stomach for a few minutes it hurt, but letting go felt as though I had thrown the windows open for a moment and could breathe. I dreamed of cutting a single layer of skin from my body, just to take some of the weight off of my spirit. If I could just get OUT of this body, I could do what I wanted and not scare everyone in the process. I sat alone in the living room and watched Road Runner and Bugs Bunny cartoons, choking myself blue and then letting go, feeling rush of relief as I tried to figure out why these shows were supposed to be funny. I remember laughing before, maybe it was just this episode. Why was it that I enjoyed something one day and the very same thing another day meant nothing to me?
I sat at the desk that was once in my dad's room when he was a boy and traced all the scratches and etchings with my fingers.. I wondered what he had written that may have made an imprint in the wood, and if I could somehow pull these memories out. I opened the drawers and found things I'd long forgotten. I cursed nearly everything that was school-related, and focused instead on the creative things I had done on my own. Seven drawers held more memories than my own brain at that moment, and I was hungry to find more. I wondered if I could fit all of the things I had lost over the years into this desk.. If I would even remember or recognize most of what I'd lost in my absence of mind. The many necklaces I'd made that had been ripped from my neck by niggerbeasts with low self esteem.. My ankh I'd jerked off my neck at the water fountain and mysteriously never found. A ring someone held for me as I hit my big moment head on, and never saw again. Seems this type of ring would be noticeable and a bit out of place in a Revolutionary War documentary. I was assured the ring was safe and would be returned to me, and I had pictures taken to prove what I had gone through had I ended up in an editor's shredder.
"Ok how clear can I make this for you? You want a picture?"
He drew a stick figure with an oversized head and I cracked a smile.. He proceeded to scribble through the paper a dark hole in the center of the figure between the legs.. My bewilderment prompted him to make the body a triangle as the univeral sign for "woman." He snatched a twig or something from the grape vine and fucked the paper doll to shreds, then burned it all on the ground, leaving a tiny little spot in the yard that I stared at long after my lesson was done. I looked up at him, his back turned as he laughed at me and I wanted to take the barbwire fence that held the grapes and wrap it around his neck. I wanted to eat his tongue and spit his words back at him. I took a grape from the vine and crushed it in my hand. I took another... I did this until my hand was stained purple and my daydream was reality. I didn't hurt anyone, and the grapes would never taste the same anyway. "I will never do that to anyone." I said to myself.
I eventually made it to the monkey bars, and I went back and forth, over and over, trying to get this thought out of my head. I stopped mid-way and pulled my little body up over the bars and sat on top. I was afraid to come down, but I liked the way it felt. I could feel my heart and my stomach was full of butterflies. I eyed the trees around me and a flimsy washing line for something to swing from. I wanted to swing but the swings were long rotted away as my dad had probably given them hell with his brothers years before I arrived. I closed my eyez and felt the butterflies inching up my throat, as if I could lean my head back and spit a beautiful display of color and nature into the sky with only my fear and excitement.
I remembered how someone had told me that once you touch a butterfly's wings it loses its magic. It can no longer fly and is a caterpillar again. I hoped no one would ever touch my wings. I felt guilty for holding so many beautiful butterflies captive and wondered if they'd ever fly again.
I felt guilty when I wasn't. I felt lonely when my front yard was full of neighborhood kids who wanted to do inane things like kick balls back and forth and play freeze tag. Freeze tag was fun, credit is due there, but TV tag was much better. Dukes of Hazzard, Scooby Doo, M*A*S*H and Dallas were easy enough. From there you were in trouble.
"Its like....How can I describe this... I tried telling my family and they think I'm losing my mind.. I mean.. You're on this one planet, and its more Venus than Earth, only everyone else has a hard time living there. No....... Ok, you're on this planet and you have this incredible magnetic draw on my heart, but everyone else is pulling me away from you, back to Earth, and if I don't spend every waking minute with you I drift farther away and the pull is weaker. I watch you every night and I see you aching but I can only close the window and go to sleep. I'm sorry."
With a little help, and many more delicious butterflies, I made my way to the ground, ready for anything. For some strange reason there was a never ending supply of fresh watermelons at the bottom of the yard just above the drop off to the shed with holes in the ceiling perfect for spitting seeds into and tossing rocks through to see what sort of demons we could stir up.
We ate the watermelons and spit the seeds over the hill and tossed one through the roof of the shack, oblivious to this being anyone else's property. Complete absurdity sucked me off from day one and hasn't stopped yet. Blatant acts of whatthefuck broke the constant stream of worry in my head, and if I had to destroy a dilapidated shed then so be it, for the sake of my own sanity.
I looked down at the menacing woods that sloped forever, probably into another world I assumed. My most recent and clinging movies at the time were fantasies, and I really believed I could find a leprechaun and wasted many a day looking for one.
A tiny corridor of trees and such became a beautiful waterfall and I thought of jumping down there, eating the grapes and drinking the water.
A few years later, out of touch and absent in mind, I walked to the bottom of the yard and saw a newly paved parking lot completely covering my paradise. I wanted to cry but instead I made my way down the hill and ran from one end to the other, the smell of tar still fresh in the air. I had never set foot in this part of the earth and I was finally there. Whatever was there to begin with was long gone, and I thought about the tiny corridor of paradise. Why would a church cover the Garden of Eden with a parking lot??