This here is an expensive scrawl of scribbles. I haven't been writing. It's bumming me out.
(must push through this natural pause - right here. 9am at the fix looking at some lady with
wet hair whose dude wearing black glasses and cut like henry rollins gave me the gawk in return. me,
i look like charlie - army jacket, black glasses, beanie, cuts on my hands ((primarily from my belt.
i dig my hands down into my pants about 85-88% of the time either absentmindedly or with intention.
its as if my testicles are a pair of those smashing stress balls one finds at an office supply store like
staples; an impulse buy for the believers - and when i give em a good squeeze the universe goes
goggle eyed like a coyote making a cat call or like a tea kettle's life coming to a nice and tidy
conclusion . . . .
yes. i pushed through that pause nicely. now back to trying to say something.
something: (n). that thing that lurks and needs to get flushed out.
but first - a diagram:
side note: I have a burn (from the toaster over) on the top of my right pointer finger. it didn't
hurt when it happened. which was both unexpected and delightful.
true note: I don't want to be the guy who spends his time cutting out images of the moon and taping
them to his wall - and goes nowhere.
now note: I am not writing. I blame (or have been blaming it) on my imaginary workload. Imaginary
in the sense that I'm the only one that sees it as a workload - which means that it will eventually
pay off - i am building a business "animal style". i hear the chickens coo and the pigeons chortle
and i feel like the gauntlet has been dropped - i do well then comes paralysis. i am not writing.
so goes the blame. then my computer broke - then i got a desktop - then my back hurt from not
having a desk/proper sitting situation - then i set up my desk/proper sitting situation - the
workload remains (animal style continuous) and now my new reason for not writing is that i'm not
used to writing at a desktop, especially without a proper word processing program and trying to
scrawl something in these conditions is just too g.d. weird and with my workload (animal style) i
don't have the time or energy to punch my way through it.
i am not writing because i am all jammed up inside and have fallen into a streak of fear for
sharing about:
item one:
of laughter, guacamole, my birthday dip party (as in chips & dip), giving up on the gray lady (i
asked, the cigarette dropped, she said move on, i picked up the cigarette, and moved on) ((not so
slick and tidy like that but that's the way i put it here because that's how moving on happens)), the
son of hulk, the phrase "monster make monster until monster make right", and how 10-11 days later i
taped drawing paper to my bedroom windows because i finally decided 10-11 days after my neighbor
brought guacamole to my dip party and the contents of item one were generated for the record I
decided that blanking out the windows with drawing paper was not a losing battle because since the
contents of item one became contextual i realized that blocking my view of the hill outside my
bedroom was not a losing battle because:
a) my little fantasy about my prom date who i thought i saw at the coffee shop/sandwich joint that
sometimes gets chinsy on the turkey smiling at me (she looked healthy rich - with Kampuchea aesthetic
and steam shower anesthetic) had lost its gusto (boner power) in lieu of wanting to be able to stop
playing puppet show with her (my prom date who over a decade later was smiling at me at the sandwich shop who i lost track of who i really liked but things got weird and there is a whole story there which really illustrates how knotted up my thoughts can become - in fact the fantasy runs deep and i wrote about her in "the first book of you" but let's not get into that here. i was hoping to see
her and be watched by her and see her again and know that smile and return that smile because it
gave me a boner and was a nice ending to some unfinished business that would lay sweet with the
daisies in the idea that the smile i got from her at the sandwich shop - because it was a very long
and lingering one that i did my best to ignore because i was trying to hustle some work (animal style)
from some guy who wanted nothing to do with me and my mind got locked up on her and linked her to
the hill behind my bedroom with all the windows looking at me and the one window with a brick sized
square cut out of the mini-blinds that i had a strange relationship with (prom date excluded) that
found reason in the belief that the reason why the stranger with healthy skin and slow roast smile
gawked at me like she did was because she has been watching me through a brick sized hole in her
mini blinds - and it was smile worthy. IT WAS NOT A LOSS because my little fantasy lost its boner
power in the name of being wanting to not worry about making sure i shut the bedroom door to take
a shit just in case i forgot to reload the toilet paper of turn on the furnace.
it wasn't a losing battle because of aforementioned point "a" in addition to the fact that when
my neighbor came over with a fine plate of guacamole in addition the ingestion of exotics coupled
with all the noise of aforementioned item one, she looked out my bedroom window right down into her
apartment and was like,
"we were wondering what you could see from up here" -
i tried to share my thoughts on the matter but couldn't.
cut to ten days later and my windows are blanked out like a temple.
*i feel trapped - animal style - its good to sit outside and write this (someone is mowing their
lawn) - i won. i'm a winner. god dammit. a winner.
like i said,
i do not (i will not) be the guy who tapes pics and ideas to his wall about trips he'll never take
phrases that go nowhere.
Wha? Could you please explain that in layman's terms? And what about a Steam Shower? I looked up what that was and this is what I found.
Posted by: Greg Henson | May 18, 2009 at 10:42 AM