(no subject)
I've been trying for the last month or so to write something about 'my' (read: the family) cat- however, it's all no good (I've deleted paragraphs and paragraphs)...anyway, he's dead now (no, I'm not feigning apathy per usual...I've been told being indifferent is how I show I care...which is really only partially true). He was a stray (found in Dunkirk, N.Y.), who had an incapacity to *meow* for the first few months we had him (he'd open his mouth, but nothing came out); stoic in nature (which made him an unlikable cat, unless you knew him-- see, he wasn't 'cute'; didn't need to cuddle, etc.). He had an utterly sad skeletal figure when I last saw him (more so than the usual)...like seeing grandpa the for last time-- everyones asking themselves: 'Alright, whens he going to kick it?' (which, actually just happened a bit ago too...how many things can die in the course of a year!?)...oh yes, a part of life and all that; right? Right! Still?! Bladeeblablah...
I always seem to be half conscious when people give me bad news-- a result of a 3rd shift schedule (beside, half the time I don't even pick up the phone anyway, bad news or not). But you always hear it in their voice-- the machine picks up: "Hey, weeteeth, its ___X_____, call me back"...and I think: 'All right, who died now?'...well, I guess it was the cat! Okay well, he didn't 'die', he was really sick, and the family decided to 'put him down'...I understand it, he was 91 after all (cat years, naturally-- which is actually stupid, like we have to justify a 13 year life span by fooling ourselves about it!?). Still...oh, I know-- what this really is-- is me venting my natural emotional stoicism out in, not necessarily mundane, but otherwise sub-par tragedy (but, we all have our quirky little ways of dealing, don't we *har fucking har*-- it's hilarious..."too little too late"?!..."the straw the broke the camels back"-- like finally freaking out and going on a murderous rampage cause of some everyday, mundane inconvenience; you know?...how could you not be a fan of deconstructive emotional displacement that leads to violent outbursts?!; "Oh *grr*-- I'm a burning ball of blinding rage; and by 'rage', I mean 'hilarity'")...and oh yes, ah-- also, about: The utter bullshit of remembrance (which, will now be the title of my autobiography)...a few blurry photos, and some jumbled narrative running through your head *ha*! The details pick at you more than you pick at them...
And how to extract/deliver/do 'justice' ("There is no justice-- just us" *blargh*) to these things in uncomplicated, unconscious forms? (This is why its so hard for me to write fiction-- I can't even give a narrative to my own life! How am I suppose to do it for someone who doesn't even exist?! Though, I understand, that makes it easier for some...not me though) You have to really work to neutralize a memory...make it worth it/worthy? Do a memory justice? (Your guess is as good as mine; I mean, it's only your/their life-- and who wants to take that weight on?) It's something very difficult...I don't really have the ability...it all come out like: 'And then this happened-- and then this happened-- and then this'...etc. [see below].
Know: You cannot bring (narrative?) life to the dead...wait! I know; *ahh*; memories! Like zombies! *hehehe* That's it...that's funny...zombies eat brains, right?! I blather and hope something comes-- big deal. It's all like 'Blaharghahaehehe'...does that make sense? No, I didn't think so either. So, we all carry on and hope for the best...but it's all piling up, so we document-- douse ourselves in the details (i.e. 'Today I had a sandwich'), which may sound stupid, but is really quite natural and necessary (fearful of forgetting and all). Then again, why find it necessary to deliver something-- anything-- anyway? Some form of output (i.e. history/culture- it's all [bi]product, I suppose?...oh right-- 'trash-heap of human history'-- now you're stretching! Those cliches are wearing pretty thin)...and no, this isn't a 'Why bother you'll never know anyone/anyway; the worlds gonna exploded' rant...crap; actually, I don't know what I'm getting at here...
Something vaguely similar to me drunkenly trying to explain about the idea of a selfish striving to be remembered/known (and, in no particular way-- celebrity worship?) in your life...you're not thinking in long term here...unless you were something quite spectacular or something (which is crap anyway-- I know plenty of supposed "nobodies" that are getting the short end of the history shtick)-- but you think anyone's even going to remember your name 3?...4?...5? generations from now (right, I know-- if the world hasn't ended by then, of course)? Why do you think you're so important?...when I bet you don't even know who your great-great-great-grandpa was!? ('Who let you in here?'...wow, sorry, I think I just called the majority of the population 'filler', myself included of course)...really though-- it's all the Rom reading I've been doing...someone needs to write an in depth comparison/history of vagabond-ish sects of the world...be it: hobos; gypsies; crusties; carnies; et. al..
Moving on: That's the steady routine (it's called 'making a name for yourself'; OR: "that's the way we get by...the way we get by", or something like that, yeah?); but you describe 'A week in the life of X'-- and it applies for the last month/year/decade...I still don't know whether or not this is charming, or totally fucked-up. Over and over "I've seem it all before- - I've seem it all before". But, 'If I haven't seen it, it's new to me', right? Don't look at the big picture! It'll strain your eyes...see-- it's hilarious; no point, really; but details...details...details...remember! (i.e. 'Today I had a really good sandwich'-- big deal! You're dead already! I don't care about your sandwich; which doesn't mean I don't care about you. Oh, but wait? Are you a sandwich? And/or the sum of your sandwich? Perhaps? And by 'sandwich', I mean: 'Your wasted life' *hehe...meh*, but really, who would call themselves filler? And even so-- who cares? Whats filler anyway? *ugh* I've given some sad people some pretty stupid reasons for carrying on though-- what do I know? "Oh, come on-- life's not so bad, right-- hang out, have a beer, a few laughs, yeah?" All 'Blablablablablah' now-- obsolete). I'm not crazy here-- I just lost my train of thought...so, there's nothing selfish about self-preservation; it's only natural...no wait, that wasn't it my point...this was suppose to be about a cat, more or less...C-A-T spells cat (the other day, I was writing, and briefly forgot the correct way to spell Morgen's name...it was terrifying...'time heals all wounds', and you're left dumbfounded; 'time causes all wounds', and you're left scarred...time is the enemy!). I really tell you all this with a smile/grimace...so cheer up; all is not (totally) lost (...just most of it).
No, actually-- I had a lovely weekend/month/year/decade/life (in no particular order): S.J. turned 20; Jish turned 21; Sam C. (an old friend) and Joco got older too...maintained a pleasing level of intoxication (without making too much of ass of myself...which is actually quite a feat, believe me)...passed out in Lee's bed listening to side one of a B-52's record for about six hours (I swear to Christ I heard "Rock Lobster" about hundred times). Had an ironic V-Day 'date' with Adam B. and Lauren ('Love is for poseurs!'...no, really, it is. But I've been saying that for years). Harassed friends at their jobs; found a few long lost acquaintances; talked with pseudo strangers; listened to drunken arguments about Marx, Nietzsche and Irish literature; saw an amusing Gawth show; had a band (and a half) break-up (the death of Spiderbaby!; ASS looks doomed?); soup making (which is always very satisfying to me for some reason); undead party; 'panic' attacks on the porch; drunken trivial pursuit; been having really vivid screwed up dreams (with the alcohol; odd sleeping hours; and lingering sickness-- my line between reality and dreams is getting blurrier and blurrier...and it doesn't help that the people in my dream want for me to go insane-- they play mind tricks on me! But it's my frickin' head!? Does that make sense? Maybe more about that later?). Book 'meetings'; played a show in St. Cloud; made efforts to curb my personality for the better (to little avail); thoughts of doom interlaced with pleasant company and lots of booze (as is the usual)-- you get the idea-- a day in the life! As I said before; still...are you not amused?
That about sums up February...oh, yes, I aged a year-- and yes, I realize its the stupid usual to be bitter and sad about getting older-- but *meh*, I don't care (things to remember: you're dying too-- face! P.S. Thanks all: for the movies, music, kind words, books, booze, etc.). Let's see, what else...missed the second hell themed chili cook off (though, I doubt it could have rivaled the one years ago, that now lives in infamy); cut my hair (like most people, every few weeks I freak out and want to cut all my hair off; but I'm trying to exercise some will, so its sorta happening in slow motion...just a little bit at a time).
Errand days: the bad one consisted of me hauling my accordion all the way to Lyn-Lake on my bike, only to find the place closed early on Thursdays for whatever reason-- then going to a friends house (who wasn't even home) to find a lingering police presence from a drive-by/car chase that happened in the area.
The good one: Finished reading Mysteries...started a new book...finally got more stamps...coffee drinking alone at Spyhouse to good music (Angels of Light); and other general biking around getting things done and slacking etc.. Friends art opening at the Belfry...good show...lots of tequila...lost my watch (hey you-- do you have my watch? Maybe I gave it away in my haze/daze). You have to understand-- its my typical three day weekend of: Getting off work Saturday morning, and not having to go in till Tuesday night that leads to 72 plus hours of drunken wanderings all about the city (sometimes I forget what water tastes like). Its something I rather enjoy...trips to the suburbs to buy knives (cause drunk people need knives!); lightrail...walking around the skyway...ironic block E. meandering. Yesterday was another book meeting (i.e. hang out at Palmer's and drink 6 dollar pitchers of Hamm's club); sat around with, uh, 'The Gang' (I suppose we're a gang?) and babbled about the death of romance...the only real conclusion being that I'm a bitter asshole (and awkward to boot! I believe I said something to the effect that "we're all just walking holes"-- cause really, who can argue that we're not all fucked?! *oh, har har*)...came home...heard hilarious story about the gross underbelly of the B.D.S.M scene (*hehe* Gawths)...drunk dialed almost everyone we know (we're full of great bad ideas); more tequila...lots of ouzo...cigarettes...fedoras...yup; the sun is very bright...that's about it I think. I heart my friends-- old, new, returning, lingering, or leaving; they put up with alotta my shit...speaking of: It feels like everyone is going away come Spring (though, its only a few-- but some very important few). I miss them already...but no doubt more people need to get the hell outta here, before we all loose it (which we all will)...a little change of scenery is indeed in order...this whole last snow storm the last week or so-- I didn't even bat an eyelash (normally, I'd think 'Well, this is going to suck to bike in', or something to that effect)...but I think we're all so used to it by now-- all pretty numb about this time of year...but alas, we must prepare for the great thaw! The grand deicing...and all the departing to come ("Holler at em' down these hollowed halls hearts...but we just can't let the human factor fail to be a factor at all").
For now, I will go and read my book (thanks K.V.); take a nap; sift through old photographs; listen to DeVotchKa; think about getting a unicorn tattoo (fer serious...perhaps this weekend?); go to work and make an effort to not hate my life (any more than usual). So, enjoy your sandwich you sad bastard! And oh, yes-- bringing it back to the original point: The cat. Sad...goddamn the sun sad...
Dunkirk
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*Weeteeth entries now feature fun new games (with prizes!); if you successfully count the correct amount of:
- Mentions of booze and/or getting drunk
- Mood swings
- Talk of death (and other doom laden sentiment)
You win the crazy fun mystery prize box (of fun and mystery and craziness)-- who knows what you might find in this crazy box!? Candy? Wood shavings? You're very own toe? All of the above?! Who knows? Its insanity!