Tuesday, February 17, 2009

dont let your son go down on me

This is the sound of a structured settlement. I guess we all need something to illustrate our fascinating otherness. how we are not bricks in the wall, just the mortar maybe. the things that are talked around, the anti-shortcut, the scenic route through life in the Everglades of conversation, or conservation as the case may be. perceptive meets persuasive. in the glossing over, the mixed metaphor, I have completely gotten turned around. the no spin zone becomes a no fly zone and then something about the reality of remembering. to intuit or inflagrate - "the unauthorized biography of my mood thermometer". how turning profanity into prose causes lost in translation smile nod who gives a shit moments to feign profound spiritual moments of ephemeral transcendence - the comedown of consideration. the current depression - no money mo' problems in the post 9-11 breadline. the proof that perfection is passé and stories of epic, tragic or redemptive nature are the new money millionaires. reinforcing bad behavior, acting or attitudes. the hero is the villain, see, there's a twist you wouldn't see coming. the piss stain of postmodernism. is it really a confession if it's your opening monologue? some people live honestly without honesty and some people wrap themselves in expectation. some things don't require a disclaimer or defy explanation. other things rule the artifice of complication. no assembly required. no thought desired. voyeurism is overrated. this disappearing act becomes the party line. disaffection graduates to modest income venues.
Going nowhere becomes less the destination and more the scenery.
I am always amused when the hidden depths of arrogance innocently surface in the ripple of another's reflection. Guarded communication and as Josh and I say, the "pansexual insult" serve as the personality litmus test for the subject(ed). Is it a desire to be so relatable to others that you will always be included? I don't understand in this post pronoun era to be a jack-off of all trades. the hooker with a Jarvik heart of gold, making bling fair trade and compassion whole sale. So I suppose this is my way of saying, yet again, in the quest for personal I don't know what and misguided retaliation of minuscule authority, I accidentally hurt someone I care(d)? about. How much can made of the oft hostile work environment. In my case, this job has found a way to exaggerate my worst characteristics. I am irritated at people that are sick, poor and usually under-educated. I used to cry at work after hours of these interviews. I used to feel like maybe we were fixing something, or I was a kind ear for people that didn't have anyone. I would get contact high off injustice and underlying classism. Now I just sit and wait for the axe to fall.

I need to be patient.
I need to feel less intensely.
I need to exercise compassion.
I need to be more detached.
I am alienating, to people who might like extra-terrestrials.
I am self destructive.
I am reactionary to delayed stimulus.
I am unnecessarily cruel.

1 comment:

Anthony said...

We have this in common: I often think: "more mortar than bricks, love" when considering destinations or (t)weekends or haircuts or thinking of cramped car-fucks in the unmarked parking lot of a humble dental practice that left marks on skin.

And of course I start out talking about myself, right? How predictable?

But I'm reminded of a story in the LA Times that I read on Friday about some paleontologists discovering a humongous Ice Aged fossil pit beneath a parking garage in downtown LA. The article mentioned all the detritus: the leaves and bones and pelts and teeth and twigs and insects they hoped to find in these large chunks of earth they carted off intact. Your writing makes me feel like an explorer where I think I know you and let my suspicions be my guide. And I am momentarily consumed with a present relic of a recent past: facts become fictions and vice versa and this is how our small legends are born. I am sure of your subject and yet not. It's a quality of your thought process that used to frustrate me. But as a femur wears a tibia, my gait has been uncomfortably coaxed.