Thursday, March 26, 2009

It's ok. Everything is Ok.


I lost my phone adapter. That means I can't listen to my phone with headphones.

I know you don't care, and you are wondering why I wrote that. I haven't written on this blog in a while and when I finally take the time to write a post --all I talk about is losing my 3.5 mm to 2.5 mm ear phone adapter.

It probably isn't even lost. I am sure it is the truck somewhere.

The reason I wrote about the lost adapter is I think of it as some kind of metaphor for the Existential angst I feel in general. The separation from reality that my ego posits as truth, but is in reality simply a symptom of brain chemistry reacting to my personal circumstances and socio-historical setting.

I waited to write and that's all I have.

I don't want to talk to you about the perfect weather we are having.

The sun has set. The wind is blowing. The tree planted next to my apartment building sways dangerously against the side our building, the sky has few clouds. The sky is gray, but cheerful.

It felt good to stand outside, so I opened the door and just stared at nature. Not like you do. I don't care about nature. I can't think of anything to do with it. I thought about going for a walk. But I was lonely without my phone adapter.

I misplaced my mp3 player too. But I just found it. Right where I thought it would be.

I plopped 2 lbs of fresh pink ground beef in the frying pan. The beef tasted good. Fresh. So much better than the 5 lb bag of frozen beef patties I bought at Walmart.

The girl who made the beef displayed her packages with pride. She winked at me behind her white smock and apron. The cashier flirted at me when I came back in a few minutes later to purchase a can of beans.

"You can't make beef combo burritos without beans." I tell the cashier.

She wants to know if I make beans at home, then she nods likes she understands me, like we have something in common. I thinks she tells me a story about her father making beans at home, but only when she is not around. She is hurt by her father.

"He only wants to make the good food when I am not around." She tells me as she pushes buttons on her cash register.

I won't tell her that I think she is fat and maybe Daddy does her a favor by not giving in to her fleshy appetites. That she herself if pink like ground beef and she could taste good on a BBQ grill.

Instead I will pretend that I don't need to resort to cannibalistic fantasies 'to get me off' because my dick is so dry and bored.

Today I was pretending. I was pretending like you all must do. Otherwise I pity you. Wasting so much effort being cheerful. Wasting so much energy. I pretended so well that I did not even think those thoughts as the moment occurred. I am just now thinking them. And only as a shock tactic. You know I don't mean those things. I won't ever cook your bodies over open flame.

Someone could notice.

I am relaxed. Like I am at the beach. Someone keeps calling me from work. I am not going to work today. I am on vacation. So I can relax. I can take a walk. I would too. If I felt better. If my body didn't feel so old and bumpy.

I took a brown shit today. First time in two weeks. I think that means I am as healthy as I get. But it still makes me wonder, "When do the 'feel good' days come?"

I guess you only get them if you work out and eat right and go to the doctor and do all the things you have to do that don't include watching depressing child molestation stories on NetFlix.

But I don't want to be engaged in the world. I almost said I hated "being engaged in the world," but then I erased those words, because I don't have that kind of passion today. Today I am just peaceful. No. Not peaceful. I am panicked, but the calm kind of panicked. Like right before you go under for the third time. The ocean spray hitting you in the face. Swallowing quarts of seawater. The tide pressing you out. The feeling of hope forcing you up. Buoyant like.

All before the lungs give up. Over capacity they burst, and your eyeballs open in mock surprise like the used rectums of anal porn models. Alluring and disgusting all at once.

But at least you stop splashing. You stop making those disgusting sounds of survival. And for a second... you CAN breathe underwater. I like to think that's how you die.

Your last thoughts are, "I am immortal."

1 comment:

Lisa said...

Classic Romius T. No - wait, even better. Super Classic!

Glad to see you're still here.