the other day i did this thing that i was very happy about doing because it was something i had been thinking about doing, like when i was younger and wanted to become a barnstormer.
but first,
there's this short, one hundred foot stretch of sidewalk on this block not far from me that i hate so much that i do all i can to avoid it.
sometimes, i can't.
sometimes, i get all locked up on something and it snowballs. its starts. at the time it makes sense. if you ask me why - i'll explain it with great conviction and logic. (as far as hating a stretch of sidewalk goes). i can give you bullet points. push pins. fenceposts. time stamps. dots. and the most symmetrical mounds of freudian dog shit to shine and whiff with marvel but when it comes down to it - i hate a one hundred foot stretch of sidewalk - and after a while; no matter what you say - there's no explaining it.
let's put it this way. its not unlike the time i got into it with the postman because he wouldn't stop putting junk mail in my box and left me a note telling me to empty it - and until i did he wasn't going to give me my mail. the cable was shut off. the phone was shut off. everything was shut off. electricity was paid for. so, i didn't empty it until i moved. a year or more. i'm not sure. i've told this story before - but this is the sort of thing that makes perfect sense to me -
the absurdity is not lost on me. self, says me . . . take care of yourself. do what you've got to do to keep it together enough to put that sort of energy into something else that's important (this is the motivation behind it - the way i feel inside when going by that piece of sidewalk is so upsetting that i don't want to feel it. i don't like feeling that way. the feeling itself as well as the fact that i know its happening and its a stupid thing to go to war with a piece of sidewalk because outside of that stretch - the place isn't half bad and the people (even in that stretch) aren't bad - it's not about them - it isn't. its a thing like deciding if you want to open yourself up to falling in love or if you make the choice to keep everything and everyone away because you don't want the pain of betrayal, loss, heartache, rejection, disillusionment - whatever you skulking fucks want to call it. skulking fuck, says self. yes, says i the fucking skulker. no matter what you do it's going to hurt. and what's worse is - you know it, you skulking fuck. - which is a whole 'nother dimension to going to war and getting stuck at a red light right across from that one hundred foot stretch of sidewalk.)
its like a permanent mood - a mood that has a dimension - a tangible space/portal/hub. yes. the best way that i can explain it is that if time were the earth and your emotions (the ups and downs) were the vehicle - that piece of sidewalk would be nothing more than a mood that can be bombed from space or scrawled down by some flower shop keeper in pasadena so that they can deliver the orchids.
i've had this same thing with the nice guy at the liquor/everything store on the corner. just outside my door. two hundred feet away. for a long time i wouldn't go in there because it was too much pressure to talk to him. we started trading phrases in korean so i would get in my car and drive six blocks to buy a pack of smokes or supplies for the evening.
i've been back there twice this week. i mean, i went to see him twice this week. as i make progress i still suck fuck at korean. nothing has changed.
to be honest with you, i had to do it because my want for smokes and building materials were greater than my desire to ask someone who blocked me in to move there car and the time for walking six blocks was over.
i have almost forgotten how this started. (speaking of this story/blog/post - whatever you want to call it).
its not about the sidewalk. its about the first sentence. doing that thing i did that i've been wanting to do - like a barnstormer.
but first,
so . . . i was there with a friend - eating some food across from the sidewalk which had turned the block into the most hated block in los angeles which became the topic of conversation - because the place we were eating was nice and it was a pretty afternoon.
my friend said, "don't you hate that one little stretch of sidewalk poisons a whole block?"
(then came the ramble - the try - the shiny bits of shit poof-ing proof - there was no explaining.)
then came a lady. the lady sat down. she was friends with my friend. not my friend. and i clammed up - because i'm not sure why. as i clammed up - there was no existing. for some reason - with this lady - i was invisible. which, brought up a feeling that i didn't like. the topic of conversation was about two coffee shops in our neighborhood - not unlike the sidewalk. this lady likes the sidewalk.
at one point, i went outside to get myself some air and smoke and across the street = there it was. i looked into the shops for something but didn't go inside. on my side of the street. with my back to my enemy.
you're turning 34, says self. i know, says me. self says, don't you think you should work this thing out? me, says - you're right. there's no explaining it because no matter what i say - there's no explaining because there is no answer.
so, i went back inside the eating place to sit down and eat all weird and awkward and decided to go ahead and wait it out - and look at something different.
my friend and the lady were in between me and the street and what was across from it - the sidewalk - behind all of that was the sillouette maker.
calm. calm. calm down. eat. eat. watch. don't be lazy. use your eyes. the lady can't see you because she is extremely interested in your friend - who can't see it.
so, i sat. and watched them eat. she had some quirks - these ticks. a panda tattoo on her neck. she like squeezing her lime onto her rice - i think it was her favorite part of the meal, a nice gentle down swoop with the crunch and a sharp up-swing as it sprinkled.
him, his hands would go down and dip into his plate - then up - to his mouth - something would inevitably fall - and their conversation was easy - awkward - and private. from where i was not sitting they were dancing.
i did not miss this. and it was better. it lasted for a flash. a little while. and i decided that i would keep working on this sort of thing. even if it was in short bursts and meant that i would have to sit in that eating spot and look across the street until i felt like going over their and licking it.
i still felt gross as i was thinking this.
on the way home, i told this to my friend - and i thought i saw something happen to him - because i think it was something that happened to both of us - just two clicks off tandem.
then there was the other night - the beginning of this ramble - where i was doing the thing that i was happy to have been doing (that is my secret that i can barely keep - a thing that i've been thinking about like the time of the barnstormer).
i was sitting there taking notes watching people - wondering what the fuck they were doing - why were they there - there were all sorts - much parody. images one would expect for sure.
as i waited for it to begin, i began to ask myself - why the fuck are you here? self, i said. aren't you a little too old to be doing the barnstormer song and dance again. and self said, i don't know. you tell me. why are we doing this.
the sidewalk came to mind with the disinterested panda and the eating dance of potential everything - it took the shape of korean - and i wrote myself a note.
practice.
for what?
practice.
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