Listening to Chris Isaak, while turning the cold piece of steel, has a surreal feeling to it as if I’ve done this before only to realize that it’s simply a moment of Future Past. I’m writing this simply in a n attempt of piecing together my sanity as a frightened child pulls fragments from some china chachki, hoping that the glue will hold and that there are no missing or powdered pieces. In the matter of a week, I’ve ended up with a cut down my wrist, having to take a knife away from the drunkenly stupid, having to play the villain on xmas eve, and missing out on Chinese today.
I swear, somewhere somebody is crying.
I know. Some of you are wondering what the hell happened. You’ve just seen me a few days ago and how the hell could I have this shit just happen in the matter of a few days. If I knew I’d would have hidden myself in a Norman Rockwell dream including the white picket fences and the Holly Jolly Sandy Clause leaving me gifts under a moonlit night. Then again, I’ve never really had Heroin, although I hear it’s to die for and it’s all the rave since it replaced that nasty finger that goes down the throat.
I know. You’re trying to keep up with the thoughts and wondering if I will ever give the symbolism a rest and simply speak plain. Sorry, even though my usual response would have you removing it from my cold, dead hands a la Charles, I still need to live in the spaces between what is real and what is in the either. I’ve learned too early in this choppy life line that you can’t return to reality all too soon unless you wish to gain affinity to crash and burn. I need to keep things in an unattached, and abstract frame of mind unless I would have to have someone shake me to stop the screaming.
I’m trying, ok? I’m trying.
It’s funny how history’s greatest moments have been in the cause of a woman, or a hog, or over some stupid insult over a meaning of a word. People never see it as it is happening, yet with the glory of hindsight you can actually sit down and ask yourself what the fuck were people thinking about. Honestly, would you have hung around Poland without your foreskin? Would you have told Ronnie that fucking with the Russians using Afghanistan is not a good idea for the New York skyline? Or that John should not sign autographs in front of his high rise? Little moments in time that slip by in the blink of an eye as quick as a sigh or a regret.
I’m still trying to get hold of the events in some sort of a timeline. To understand that I’ve saved someone’s life again and all it cost me was a little bit of blood and a handy skill of a silver tongue. I mean, it’s not just for helping your partners hit that soprano’s high notes! Since I’ve learned the use of my tongue I’ve have to say that I’ve learned to keep from getting shot, stabbed, beaten, and many other act of vengeance that I would have not have looked forward. Yet, today I’d have to say that it has actually saved someone’s skin. Someone who have no idea who the hell I am or how close they were of having the the living shit beaten out of them over some air of bravado or insult of honor.
Guys, seriously. I’m talking to you. You, fucker. You. Your dick is not that big. I’m telling you this not because I’m interested in the size of your wiener, but interested in preventing some of the stupidest shit to happen. You are not that big. I don’t care if you can beat down someone with it, you are not that big. You are not your dick. Get your head out of your fucken ass and understand that you are not in the fucking south with honor killing and this macho bullshit of not getting respect. Seriously, son. If you want that deep down respect and look of admiration, get out of your pants and use your fucken brain.
Mutherfuckinghell!!!!!! *angry tantrum that is more guttural gurgling than coherent diction*
You know. You make plans on how things would go so nicely and smoothly and yet things just get so messed up over stupidity and alcohol. I mean alcohol. IF anything needed to be licensed or prescribed it would have to be alcohol. I mean if you can’t think clearly enough, or become an asshole or if you can’t recognize that since you are drunk and your thought patterns are not the best, booze is not for you. Seriously. You need to be referred to the weed man to calm your ass to the point that you are not even coherent or mobile if you are going to be this stupid.
So, in the matter of a few days everything has come full circle. I’m going to say just enough to protect the chronically stupid yet I think you can get enough of an idea of the living hell I’ve endured. In the past three days, a dog was lost, children cried on xmas night, accusations was tossed around, a car full of mutherfuckers was rolled, my wrist was almost slit open, my plea for peace and humanity over some guy’s case who I have no idea who they are, and the dog comes back.
Yes, the dog comes back. Seems some little girl liked him so much she took it home and never bothered to ask who placed the collar on its neck. I swear, I wanted to look for the muther fucking cameras. I was expecting Tiny Tim or at least some cameo followed by silent night being sung. The sight of the stupid over this little, yapping dog and not at the guy with the bloody wrist could have not placed more of a cherry over the ironic sundae. The look of dumbfounded stupidity and contemplation over what could have been done in the name of honor and big balls. What could have been done?
Seriously, someone needs to write this movie. You thought Forrest Gump was a money maker. I’ve given up with the book. I don’t have enough words to express some of this shit. I guess it saved me both time and effort in talking to the chronically stupid as well as the amount of blood that I was losing.
Seriously, a Four Non Blonds moment. Am I getting a dollar for every seriously I say, cause I want my cut at this point.
In the end, my cut wasn’t that serious. My point was proven in not jumping to conclusions over who stole a dog or who is a witch. And I still have that knife that cut me. Dave, you’re so right. Just prepared in getting cut. The stupid just rolled out with their machismo between their legs without a word. I sit here now with the physical hopes of a liberated Cuba trying to get my mind around the idea that stupidity almost killed. Not mine, but someone else’s. Perhaps I was stupid. In my act of standing against if I suffered it and if I look far enough I could say that I was stupid myself for saying a damn bloody thing. Perhaps I should have let the shit hit the fan and just let things fall where they may. Ha, and perhaps I would have been happy with shootings on my street and more acts of stupidity.
And yet, I wonder how many of these ghosts of xmas past have I endured that were like this? I mean, how many of these have I endured? How many of these stupid moments have I lived through and oddly enough the pile gets a little high and unsightly. I expand the though now and think of the entire month. How many Decembers have been filled with future humorous moments to make a great story after the scars have disappeared a little?
“All things pass into the night.”
Geesh…my plans went out of the window. Least I know I’m not going to slit my wrist when I kill myself. That just hurts.
