This morning I woke up, tried to make coffee, and found that the coffeemaker was broken. All my clothes are dirty, there is a crick in my neck, and I don't have any weed. What a mess. I get up early and write because it is all that I can think to do. I don’t find it useful but I do find it distracting. Numb, numb, numb! Dumb, dumb, dumb! Today, I have to go to work for people that only bought their own business so that they could feel like they were better than somebody. I have to go to work for people that are both admitted drug abusers that insinuate drug use on my part to be the cause if I forget any small part of the long and ridiculous tirades they assault me with daily. I have to go to work for people that judge me. Their business is one that was built on top of cardboard. Dog grooming. I wonder what would happen if we sent all the money people pay to groom their dogs to starving people in third world countries. Would they earn enough cash to storm the US and kill us all? Let's give it a try. I mean, just for something different. You never know... and, at the bottom of this totem pole, you find a squat version of me, leering at you. This is not real.
This is not real. I have to escape.
Humanity has infested everywhere that could have once been considered beautiful. My world is made of cardboard and metal. See these sights of man... I have abandoned love, sex, truth, beauty... I have abandoned happiness. I don't see the point of trying so hard for anything. I work enough, I can't go around caring if I get laid or not on top of it all. I want instant passion, instant love, then, I would like to be left alone. Too much to ask? Well, fuck you, because so is everything else, in my opinion.
I can love, too, you know. Allow me to tell you a tale of love. I met a woman at the Greyhound station. She was older, by which I mean, old-ish. Old, like an older version of my mother, but less beautiful. This woman, whose name I don't know... we can call her Nancy, being as I hate that fucking name, and I'd like to know at least one Nancy I didn't despise, so it might as well be her. Anyway, as I said, she is not a woman to be judged by standards of physical attraction, but happens to be beautiful anyway. To me, I mean. She is to me. Her ankles are made of metal, but I'm getting ahead of myself.
Back to beginning-type scenarios: I am at a Greyhound station in Seattle. If you examine this situation thoroughly and go even further back, you would find that I relocated to Seattle based on a previous desire to, and because I joined a band in Seattle, and because I was in love with a girl that lived miles and miles away from there. To the north. I mean, she was closer to Seattle than to Denver. I didn’t really move because of her, but I suppose her presence made me feel like it was a better idea to go than it really was. At the time, I thought for certain that we would end up falling in love and spending our lives together. No, really, I did, I thought that about someone. Obviously, down the road, I pushed the situation into being an ugly one. She hates me now, of course. On a related note, I am a fuck-up. Not to say you’re not, but I mean it, I am a fucking fuck-up, and I always will be.
There is this woman. Rocking back and forth on the floor of the Greyhound station. She has her headphones on. She’s listening to a tape of some hack bastard evangelist. I know, because I can hear it. She hums, and mumbles along with the tape. “Help us, Jesus! We love you, Jesus! We need your strength. We can’t do it alone! We can’t do it alone.” Her husband is next to her, with headphones of his own. They are listening to the same tape, and he agrees with her wholeheartedly.
I don’t know if this is scary or depressing, or weird, or what it is. I honestly have no idea what to think of it. These two young women from Kenya are standing in front of a singing fish display. If you push a button, it goes crazy and sings “Don’t Worry, Be Happy.” They are absolutely fucking delighted. I am forced into smiling even though I despise everything about my situation (which is as follows; girl, band, job all ruined by this time, heading back to Denver in disgrace, heartbroken, friendless, and devoid of prospects. Considering heroin addiction as a viable option). Because these two girls don’t speak English everyone assumes that they are stupid. When it is time for us all to get in line and board buses, they get jostled around by a few white American fools that shout in their faces (because shouting makes you make more sense, you know) about how they’re in the wrong line. So they move a few times, only to discover they were in the right line to begin with. Oh, the horror. The girls stare at these guys as if they were completely stupid, because… well, they are. I start laughing, and the girls both smile at me incredulously. We all share a good eye roll at their expense. They vanish away, off to New York. Enjoy the next seven days of bus travel, ladies, and farewell...
There is a woman with prosthetic legs in front of me. Her name is Nancy. She has the oddest smile I’ve ever seen. It’s interesting, to look down and see two pieces of thin bended wire in place of ankles. I like her, but I wonder if she’s like this all the time. Kind. Soft-spoken. Beautiful. If so, she’s the sweetest person I’ve ever met. We fall into conversation. She says the ankles creep people out a lot, and people tend to avoid eye contact because they don‘t want to make a big deal of it or whatever. I ask her what she thinks of riding the bus. She says that she prefers trains, because they have specific cars reserved for people that are handicapped. She says she could take off her legs and lay on her side, and that there were other people with prosthetics, too. I prefer trains, too, even though this guy kept waking me up and talking to me the whole trip last time I was on one. Anyway, I love her. She’s awesome. I’ll never see her again, but she’s my friend, for sure. Later, I read about a society, or group, or weird religious sect that believes people missing parts of their bodies are missing parts of their souls. Thereby, they are all working for Satan. Of course, this makes perfect sense. No wonder this woman is pretending not to know which line to stand in, and no wonder I find her so endearing! The dark prince takes many forms…
Painting a portrait of city life... painting a portrait of morality. Telling you a tale with a moral at the ending. I had deceived you into believing you were here for rants and insanity, but now, the surprise ending jumps out and bites you on the face. It is a waste of time, so don't bother. Get your refunds, and back away. Leave it.
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