this is where we look for things
6.6.01 - 8:42
oh god. oh, damn it. this is a different version of mary lou lord's 'his indie world.' oh god. my throat is so tight. help me, i can't breathe. i don't think i fit in to his indie world, guided by voices and velocity girl....oh god, where the hell are you? no, this is NOT a pleasant surprise and i have to go now, i have to run, i have to, what, run to my room and find something expected, this isn't good, this is not good, this=bad. oh god.
ok. crisis averted. narrowly, but averted. when you're trying to hear her song and you can't and you take out this cd and the mirror is clouded with some sort of sticky substance all you can think is goddamnit, this better come off with my spit or there will be hell to pay. you actually form that phrase in your mind -- hell to pay. ha.
the reason i don't want to have kids is sometimes very clear to me. the bluster in the 12 year old voice behind me, mocking something, anything, in that condescending tone, i am talking to my father, i am funny, oh, i could make this whole train full of tired evening commuters laugh out loud with my 12 year old wit and charm. oh, it's contemptuous, but then contempt is a very complex thing, who is this contempt really aimed at, i don't know. dave eggers says it's true, basically, i wanted to devour all of you. oh god, it's true. i want to fix you all but the fixing, when it gets too difficult, this is when it becomes this open, hungry, blind mouth.
why would you arrange the couch and the cd player in such a way that you would not be able to operate the cd player from the couch? is anyone's living room arranged this way? i haven't yet seen it, but i am sure one day i will. the family with the remote control that didn't work, oh, but didn't work because it had no batteries, mystery solved, a miracle. this is true.
is this it, that frightening blankness. the air was balmy on the way back from the station and the memory of the swarms of people, crossing the tracks, echoes of mind the gap, fried bodies in deep ditches, but not that here, just gravel, and yellow paint, and hard metal. and the swarms, yes, like hordes of ants converging on a dead worm, was it dead or did you kill it, does it matter, oh, this worm is long and silvery, it is a two-story worm, look at us. we'll die before they do anyway.
and how loud exactly is too loud on a wednesday night? is it wednesday? i guess.
a space filled by light and sound is somehow far smaller than the same space dark and cold and empty and sometimes there is a need for more space, sometimes the space is too much, so what do you do. turn on a light and a radio, turn it up, louder, louder, LOUDER, DAMNIT, ok. fine. it's ok to feel misunderstood as long as the air isn't cold enough to bring out goose bumps, because the level of comfort is already appreciably negative with the goose bumps and there isn't a need for other complications, like feeling misunderstood.
excuse me, please. we got off track somewhere along the way tonight.
