Ima stick with the memories. They are fun, they keep me out of trouble. Sort of.
Next set, in no particular order:
He is giving a lecture in the beginning of the year to the entire freshman class. It is about what he calls "homobovinus." Cow people. I fall in love with his smile, his wisdom, and his wit. I am sitting next to someone I know but I don't talk to anymore. I write these words on the top of my notes: "I could look at his smile all day."
I am sitting among friends in the cafe at the dorms. One of the more serious of our number is probably talking about something to do with russians, vodka, or Quentin Tarantino- he always was at that point. He is probably wearing a Hawaiian shirt. Expressionless, unannounced, I put my knife in his cup of milk.
It is the middle of the night and I am sitting on the hood of his car while he goes to relieve himself on a nearby building. We have had a few drinks and are in problem solving mode: who is spending the night where, for how long and with who. I have written a text message to my good friend Ms. Moonshine much earlier in the evening during the actual 'evening' part of the evening. I consider the reality, which is that we have not spoken in nearly five years, he lives very far away, and last I knew he was a mortician who shaved his eyebrows. As he approaches from afar my phone tweedles.
The message I sent: "Dude."
The message I get back: "Dude, seriously."
The power has been out for two days- my father, my mother and my sister have all been sleeping in the living-room because we have limited candles and flashlights, and limited ways to heat the rest of the house. My father is reading by the light of a large candle, this song and others like it are playing from a small, battery operated, yellow, plastic tape player/radio.
I spend every day after school in my room, drawing the faces of musicians I like.
I am running over the top of a snowbank in the early evening. It is still snowing, and many places closed early in anticipation of the storm. It is only a mile from where I live, but it is dark with low visibility, and there are those monstrous ploughs out- I try to make the trip quick to diminish possibility of tragedy. I compound the risk by, of course, having all black winter wear- the flashiest thing about me at this point is that I haven't been falling through the top crust of the banks. There is only one student in, as he lives closer to the school than I do, I expect this. I don't recall the lesson, only the eerie quiet beauty of the commute.
There is a kid at the day care center I go to who always gives me a hug when I get there. I always try to avoid him, thinking this naked emotional display of his joy over my arrival is a little too intense. There is also a girl there who finds pleasure in slapping me in the face on a pretty routine basis- she is an older sister of a friend of mine so I see her regularly. I don't recall why, but I do remember asking the lady who ran the place (I'm sure it was her house, actually) to tie a bandanna, kamikaze style, around my head sometimes.
I am in front of a small group wearing white uniforms- I am also wearing a white uniform. There are a number of men sitting at a table wearing black uniforms facing us. I am speaking with a peer, but we are pretending to have just met each other. She is displaying to the table full of black uniforms what she knows about "information". I am her dummy "information". I have been told by one of the black uniforms to pretend to be looking for something to relieve stress, but something more interesting than a gym. She asks me what I do for work. In the real world I have just lost my job.
"I'm a.. radio.. personality."
"Oh-ho really? And what are you looking for here?"
"Just something different you know? I don't get to move around a lot at work.. and it can be pretty stressful with the.. sound effects.. "
End set.
So. Been visiting Mr. Blog a lot lately I guess.. .. it's a good way to escape without completely mentally checking out I suppose, but then so is qi gong.
No comments:
Post a Comment