stigmata in a stovepipe hat.
i am a valentine's day party animal:
dead in bed by 9pm, listening to my roommate and our friend gene going on about die hard and lethal weapon movies. seriously. three of the first, and four of the second. nuclear bombs, electro-magnets, figure skating. the soundtrack to my slumber. i joined in where i could. i do what i can.
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i try.
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seven hours. several dreams.
my brain was all over the place. my body was a chalk outline on black and grey sheets. cafeterias. catholic school bathrooms. my parents house and the Preditor. "would you be willing to go in his place?" cartoons playing football with human bodies. searching for even numbers.
megan told me she had read a book on dreams. about their meanings and how to interpret them. i remember my sophomore year of highschool listening to two females (student and teacher) talk about a similar book. spiders. something about spiders. maybe they were supposed to be sexual? i dont know.
"i think thats bullshit."
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today was one-out-of-two of my classes and hours at the radio station. noon to two. minus one, especially. four to six. plus one, excitedly. all about how to build a time machine and dance parties to the faint. "its a head nodding party." packaged in a little box. (you're miniature without arms, sizable for carry-on luggage)
i yo-yo'd home in red with nina, then chris. wined and dined with chris and nathan (minus w, plus h-2-tha-muthafuckin-izz0). saw the cute girl with short hair. and died in a single bed. happy v-day to me.
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a sample of dream #1
being kissed on the back of the neck by a friend winning our tickling match, squirming to regain control. "everything's spider-webby." wrists shackled in fists, loosely noosed in a kiss. suffocating, gasping for breath and bed. somewhere in there, she pulled the wind out of me and we had to think things over together. happy v-day to me.
woke up, looked at nathan, went back to sleep.
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frankenstein-ed my way out of bed at 4am. patchworked and divided by sleep. 81 minutes later, im starving and wide awake. (why are we doing this? wide awake, doing this) two and a half hours til the dininghall opens.
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my mom called this evening. didnt recognize my voice on the phone when i picked up. talk was thin, famished, and passed over to my little brother before too long so i could tell him happy valentine's day. he had a party today, in his first grade class, and gave out valentines with pokemon and monsters inc and something else. saturday he is racing his pinewood derby car in scouts. too cute.
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about the figure in dream #1: sometimes i wonder how she puts up with me. i've had too few kind words to share this year. a cold front and "fuck" to eveything she says. incompleted stares. somewhere in there, certain social skills are severely lacking on my part. saint valentine, retreat and come back home*.
incompleted stares: if you blew me a kiss in the dark i would pull out the supports and fold. roll across my knees, head to heals. slumped in bad posture would turn into slumped in bad form. i would kill the idea. like lincoln. like a dead fucking bird, feathers all crushed and promising disease.
[you] expected more from [me] than distant dodging eyes.
retreat and come back home.
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"buses. public transportation. hand rails from above.
"it was all aesthetics versus practicality. public transportation was economically and ecologically efficient. and the notion 'tis nobler to surround oneself with one's fellow man filled his heart... sometimes. but there had been times, alone in his own automobile, that he had discovered things and the beautiful part was that there was no one there to share it. the moment was rarified. unique to his own experiences.
"one event stood out in his mind. at a stop sign in the old-fashioned downtown of his home. waiting to make a left turn onto the road that wrapped the BBQ-n-biscuits shack of a resturant. this was his rearing. his blood. it had been summer time, so surely his elbow was jutting out of an open window. and he happened to look up in time to see the most peculiar sight in his rear-view mirror: behind him, and down the small street, a yellow balloon half deflated, bouncing along the road perpendicular, as if it too were an automobile. perfectly normal. trying to blend in.
"it was fate, his silly friends might contend, if he ever shared that story. they would attribute it to some supreme being, search for meaning that wasnt there. but he was pretty sure nothing ever happened for a reason. if he was ever to allow himself to believe otherwise, he would have to face the fact that, in light of the evidence he had collected, god did not like him.
"he pressed his briefcase tighter to his lap and waist, then released his tension, and looked sadly, from his seat on the bus, at those using the hand rails from above."
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i am a 6:31 hunger fit. time to put myself back to sleep. to death in a single bed, dressed in black and grey sheets. signed, your valentine.
xoxo
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postscript: in 12 hours i will be with my best friend, brooks, again. life is good (when you are a cheesy motherfucker).
-----------------------------------------------------
*details:
"everything's spider-webby" from cornish in a turtle neck... this line just happened to play as i was typing.
"retreat and come back home" from i hate myself's To A Husband At War.
"why are we doing this? wide awake doing this?" and "i expected more from you than distant dodging eyes" from 12 hour turn. (dodging or darting? i cant recall)
dead in bed by 9pm, listening to my roommate and our friend gene going on about die hard and lethal weapon movies. seriously. three of the first, and four of the second. nuclear bombs, electro-magnets, figure skating. the soundtrack to my slumber. i joined in where i could. i do what i can.
----------------------------------------------------
i try.
----------------------------------------------------
seven hours. several dreams.
my brain was all over the place. my body was a chalk outline on black and grey sheets. cafeterias. catholic school bathrooms. my parents house and the Preditor. "would you be willing to go in his place?" cartoons playing football with human bodies. searching for even numbers.
megan told me she had read a book on dreams. about their meanings and how to interpret them. i remember my sophomore year of highschool listening to two females (student and teacher) talk about a similar book. spiders. something about spiders. maybe they were supposed to be sexual? i dont know.
"i think thats bullshit."
----------------------------------------------------
today was one-out-of-two of my classes and hours at the radio station. noon to two. minus one, especially. four to six. plus one, excitedly. all about how to build a time machine and dance parties to the faint. "its a head nodding party." packaged in a little box. (you're miniature without arms, sizable for carry-on luggage)
i yo-yo'd home in red with nina, then chris. wined and dined with chris and nathan (minus w, plus h-2-tha-muthafuckin-izz0). saw the cute girl with short hair. and died in a single bed. happy v-day to me.
-----------------------------------------------------
a sample of dream #1
being kissed on the back of the neck by a friend winning our tickling match, squirming to regain control. "everything's spider-webby." wrists shackled in fists, loosely noosed in a kiss. suffocating, gasping for breath and bed. somewhere in there, she pulled the wind out of me and we had to think things over together. happy v-day to me.
woke up, looked at nathan, went back to sleep.
-----------------------------------------------------
frankenstein-ed my way out of bed at 4am. patchworked and divided by sleep. 81 minutes later, im starving and wide awake. (why are we doing this? wide awake, doing this) two and a half hours til the dininghall opens.
-----------------------------------------------------
my mom called this evening. didnt recognize my voice on the phone when i picked up. talk was thin, famished, and passed over to my little brother before too long so i could tell him happy valentine's day. he had a party today, in his first grade class, and gave out valentines with pokemon and monsters inc and something else. saturday he is racing his pinewood derby car in scouts. too cute.
-----------------------------------------------------
about the figure in dream #1: sometimes i wonder how she puts up with me. i've had too few kind words to share this year. a cold front and "fuck" to eveything she says. incompleted stares. somewhere in there, certain social skills are severely lacking on my part. saint valentine, retreat and come back home*.
incompleted stares: if you blew me a kiss in the dark i would pull out the supports and fold. roll across my knees, head to heals. slumped in bad posture would turn into slumped in bad form. i would kill the idea. like lincoln. like a dead fucking bird, feathers all crushed and promising disease.
[you] expected more from [me] than distant dodging eyes.
retreat and come back home.
-----------------------------------------------------
"buses. public transportation. hand rails from above.
"it was all aesthetics versus practicality. public transportation was economically and ecologically efficient. and the notion 'tis nobler to surround oneself with one's fellow man filled his heart... sometimes. but there had been times, alone in his own automobile, that he had discovered things and the beautiful part was that there was no one there to share it. the moment was rarified. unique to his own experiences.
"one event stood out in his mind. at a stop sign in the old-fashioned downtown of his home. waiting to make a left turn onto the road that wrapped the BBQ-n-biscuits shack of a resturant. this was his rearing. his blood. it had been summer time, so surely his elbow was jutting out of an open window. and he happened to look up in time to see the most peculiar sight in his rear-view mirror: behind him, and down the small street, a yellow balloon half deflated, bouncing along the road perpendicular, as if it too were an automobile. perfectly normal. trying to blend in.
"it was fate, his silly friends might contend, if he ever shared that story. they would attribute it to some supreme being, search for meaning that wasnt there. but he was pretty sure nothing ever happened for a reason. if he was ever to allow himself to believe otherwise, he would have to face the fact that, in light of the evidence he had collected, god did not like him.
"he pressed his briefcase tighter to his lap and waist, then released his tension, and looked sadly, from his seat on the bus, at those using the hand rails from above."
-----------------------------------------------------
i am a 6:31 hunger fit. time to put myself back to sleep. to death in a single bed, dressed in black and grey sheets. signed, your valentine.
xoxo
-----------------------------------------------------
postscript: in 12 hours i will be with my best friend, brooks, again. life is good (when you are a cheesy motherfucker).
-----------------------------------------------------
*details:
"everything's spider-webby" from cornish in a turtle neck... this line just happened to play as i was typing.
"retreat and come back home" from i hate myself's To A Husband At War.
"why are we doing this? wide awake doing this?" and "i expected more from you than distant dodging eyes" from 12 hour turn. (dodging or darting? i cant recall)