Weekend in Brief 13 & 14

Oct 28-29 Monster Massive w/ Willis, Amy, Naoko. Crashed with eight other sardines in a Le Meridien single room. L.A. day-trippin.

Nov 04-05 Elevate @ Detroit Bar in O.C. w/ Willis, Amy, Naoko. A walk in the park.

* * *

The point of a story is exactly that, there is a point and you reach it. Conversely, the point of reality is that you never really find a point. You think you have a story but it only blends together, and the locus gets lost in mid-delivery. Maybe there are too many points and they stop mattering. Simply put, once you think you understand the situation, it changes. There’s one thing certain, though. Strange times are a’ coming; you can smell it in the air.

* * *

“I had the weirdest day,” I say, pushing the door open.

“What, a chicken in a pin-stripe suit walks into the office and starts talking?”

“Metaphorically speaking, yes. That is exactly what happened.”

* * *

There is a waking moment. The back of my throat hurts. Inside the porcelain sink, a red puddle so dark it looks black stares back with an unblinking pupil. I inhale deeply; no, my lungs don’t hurt any more than the occasional pack-a-night binge, but my stomach does feel abnormal. Heavy. It is decided then. I had suffered a nosebleed in my sleep and it has trickled down and filled my insides with revulsion. A self-revolution. Denial is a man’s best friend: it has no teeth and is always loyal.

* * *

“I am emotionally unstable,” he says, on freeway 5, “And I’m going to therapy.”

“What?”

“Don’t worry, I’m not going to kill anyone.”

* * *

I watch her laugh in the park. We are sitting beside the swing sets, the four of us, and I’m burying a cigarette, putting out the flame to an imagined relationship. It’s difficult not to feel attached, her energy is contagious. She turns around and smiles. This isn’t a story, it’s reality; in the end, a smile is a smile: pointless. She’s lovely alright and a funny devil. But I have no idea what to say. And that’s the problem. There’s nothing to say. Not now, not ever, especially not when she’s in another game.

* * *

A list tells no story, like a carton of cigarettes, coaxing the red tide.

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