Thursday, July 17, 2003 :
comic relief...
 

Coming home on the train early this morning (caught the last train from Daly City at 12:10AM) I met 2 new people: Brad and Alex. One very drunk guy and one almost sober. Brad asked me what I had been doing tonight. "Working on my web page," I told him. He slurred something like, "Could there be anything more fun?" And I said, "Yeah, spreadsheets." That cracked him up. "Spreadsheets!" he called out to everyone on the train over and over until Alex made him stop. Brad was like a bad puppy. Alex and I kept having to push him back into his seat every time he tried to climb over into mine. For some reason, I couldn't get mad. It was just all so funny. So Alex, if you remembered my web address and are reading this, "Hi." And Brad, hope your hangover is not too bad... and I hope you never find out where I live!

Later: Reading over old stories and poems from the last decade. Where have all my words gone? The ones that used to spill from my pen or lips as easily as milk or apple juice on the floor. Words like "frenetic" or "excrescence" or "weft." Where are all the bodily fluids that would soak my writing back in the day when the words on the page were the only sex I could count on? And when my body was something I carted around carelessly, ignored in favor of the images in my head.

See, now that I've returned to this flesh; dropped the excess weight that flattened my feet and pushed acid up my gullet; worked these muscles, lungs, this heart; taken the pills that soothe the soreness in my brain; and learned, finally, how to breathe, I find I have little to say. Sex? Yes, I like it. Piercing, flogging, tattoos? What for? The supply of angers and regrets is nearly used up. There's no one here to tell me to go to bed now, but if there were, and if they did, I probably would.

What need for words when there are prunes and green tea in the morning, a whistling tea kettle, a sink of dishes to wash, and warm, clean laundry to smell as I put it away?

 

This page is powered by Blogger. Isn't yours?