..kittens and rainwater..
let's just say that the one good thing about a headache is that it helps me not want the things that i don't want to want. it's really good at that. except for my wanting to roast a certain bird over a spit into a toasty, silent-but-for-a-smokey-crackle morsel. otherwise, it helps me not want the s-curved back of the woman that sat in front of me, through the pane window at the bakery. her back was tanned and had a few small red bumps on it, and some freckles, and the headache made me not want it. that was good.
because i'm sick and tired of wanting. of waiting. of having to be the strong one. of always having to learn my lessons while everyone else blithely goes on being stupid, and unburdened with lessons. i'm tired of being a painful vertex in the three-dimensional fabric of existence as my brain interprets it.
i dreamed last night i was in another country. like australia. and there were beautiful young girls that worked at a department store that for some reason thought highly of me. or at least, they didn't mind me being around. and outside the store was a wheat field and a road, and next to the road was a long barbed-wire fence, rhythmically punctuated with wooden posts. and see, the story goes that a bunch of criminals from a local jail had all been relieved of their in-jail pets and that there were a lot of them sort of dumbly wandering around outside, ownerless. i saw a bird on one of those barbed-wire posts. i reached out my finger to it and it hopped aboard. it was heavy, and for a moment i thought its claws would do some serious damage to my finger. i noticed that it was wearing a sort of jade hat, and on top of the hat was a sculpture of two people having sex. i set the bird back onto the post and saw another one further down. i reached out to it and it too dutifully hopped aboard. it looked swarthy, and sad. it didn't even look like a bird really after a moment. i told it to repeat what i was saying and it did. it talked enough that finally it became a really tiny man, all sad and stout.
meanwhile, me and the people i was with were leaving the country, and i couldn't take the sad little man with me. i felt a little frantic about it, and tried to get the girls at the department store to look after him. finally an old ex-convict came up and said he'd take care of him. that it would remind him of the times he had in jail, which you could tell he sort of longed for.
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i've said before that being in love sucks, if you're not being loved back, and i stand by that. this headache is like a love-sponge, soaking up any synaptic impulses that threaten to make me moony or wistful. i wish i had a headache hat, a heavy jade hat with ancient kama-sutratic figurines decorating its top. one thing i know, is that i can't even let myself imagine love to be like a kitten, or a rabbit. or something else equally cute and warm. because i'm going to drown it, choke out the life of it so it doesn't hurt me anymore. at least this one time.
when i was a kid some cat had babies at my grandmas. and because they couldn't afford to feed them my grandpa took the kittens, mewling and srawny, and drowned them in the 5-gallon bucket filled with rainwater at the bottom of the eave to the little house we stayed in. he'd rather do them in than listen to them go hungry and die of starvation.
what a terrible, dark pathway of thought i'm traveling now.
because i'm sick and tired of wanting. of waiting. of having to be the strong one. of always having to learn my lessons while everyone else blithely goes on being stupid, and unburdened with lessons. i'm tired of being a painful vertex in the three-dimensional fabric of existence as my brain interprets it.
i dreamed last night i was in another country. like australia. and there were beautiful young girls that worked at a department store that for some reason thought highly of me. or at least, they didn't mind me being around. and outside the store was a wheat field and a road, and next to the road was a long barbed-wire fence, rhythmically punctuated with wooden posts. and see, the story goes that a bunch of criminals from a local jail had all been relieved of their in-jail pets and that there were a lot of them sort of dumbly wandering around outside, ownerless. i saw a bird on one of those barbed-wire posts. i reached out my finger to it and it hopped aboard. it was heavy, and for a moment i thought its claws would do some serious damage to my finger. i noticed that it was wearing a sort of jade hat, and on top of the hat was a sculpture of two people having sex. i set the bird back onto the post and saw another one further down. i reached out to it and it too dutifully hopped aboard. it looked swarthy, and sad. it didn't even look like a bird really after a moment. i told it to repeat what i was saying and it did. it talked enough that finally it became a really tiny man, all sad and stout.
meanwhile, me and the people i was with were leaving the country, and i couldn't take the sad little man with me. i felt a little frantic about it, and tried to get the girls at the department store to look after him. finally an old ex-convict came up and said he'd take care of him. that it would remind him of the times he had in jail, which you could tell he sort of longed for.
---------------------
i've said before that being in love sucks, if you're not being loved back, and i stand by that. this headache is like a love-sponge, soaking up any synaptic impulses that threaten to make me moony or wistful. i wish i had a headache hat, a heavy jade hat with ancient kama-sutratic figurines decorating its top. one thing i know, is that i can't even let myself imagine love to be like a kitten, or a rabbit. or something else equally cute and warm. because i'm going to drown it, choke out the life of it so it doesn't hurt me anymore. at least this one time.
when i was a kid some cat had babies at my grandmas. and because they couldn't afford to feed them my grandpa took the kittens, mewling and srawny, and drowned them in the 5-gallon bucket filled with rainwater at the bottom of the eave to the little house we stayed in. he'd rather do them in than listen to them go hungry and die of starvation.
what a terrible, dark pathway of thought i'm traveling now.