Sunday, October 31, 2004

Somewhere Out There, cont.

VII

It’s later the same day, at night. I’m at this party I was invited to. They’re all passing around the beer, taking it in like no tomorrow. I have to be the only one here not having any. Not getting plastered. Not getting wasted. Not getting inebriated by alcohol. Not letting this depressant of the central nervous system enter my body.

In our society, it’s okay to drink. You can socially drink. You can do whatever you want with the stuff. But me, I don’t touch it.

Some women, they’re all tippy. They’re stripping off clothes. You can see some firm tits here. You can see some perky breasts here. You can see some nice ass. Some nice poochies. To some, it’d be going to heaven and dying. For me, I suppose it is.

The women are coming onto all the guys here. Most are too plastered to really even know what’s going on. They mutter in their slurred garble, and it’s impossible to make out what they’re saying. Soon enough, you suppose there’ll be a big orgy here. It will smell and sex will storm an affront all over this house. Whose house it is, I don’t know. Their parents live here for all I know. What’d be great is, if their parents came in here after this was all over – everyone on the ground, naked, snoring. Waking up as this person’s parents yell, everyone having extreme hangovers.

I’m standing in this corner, just watching. Some music is blaring. The women, all tippy, are kissing some guys, are wrapping their arms around some. They’re trying to pull of the guys’ shirts and pants, boxers, briefs. But having trouble since they’re so drunk, so they just kind of swoon all over the place, stumble around, yank and yank but can’t get off the shirts without a long trial at it.

I have to stop myself from laughing at the things people will do to themselves, the lengths they’ll go to to not feel the real world. But, what am I saying? I do something of the same thing. But not to this extent. Or so I, the crazy bastard, think.

All I’m doing, is thinking about the night with Laurice again. How I’d like to be with her right now, if I could.

She wasn’t home when I called her earlier, so I decided to go here. Nothing better to do. Besides, it’s kind of entertaining to watch people make idiots of themselves. Watch them go around in a stupor, doing the main thing that’s on everyone’s mind. Doing what comes naturally. Being the gene machines they are. Completing their purpose.

People can be so funny when they’re drunk. They can be so sad when they’re drunk. So angry. With a drunk, it could be any brim of emotion, you never really know.

While I’m standing there, this woman swoons over. I know her from class. Trincy Simmons. She’s this pretty attractive girl. She has brown hair, a nice look.

She says something to me all slurred. It’s impossible to make out just what she’s saying. She’s got this rough look on her face. She says another thing all slurred, I can’t make it out. There’s anger in her voice this time, her voice is rising. All I can do is stand there and wonder what’s going on For all I know maybe she’s going to kill me.

Then she says, “Wuhy’dyouhdewthat,” and I say, “What?” “What?” I say.

She looks at me even harsher, red washing her face. She says, “Iwusjustuhlillkihd!”

I say, “I didn’t do it.”

Then she passes out in my arms, this girl. Just leans in. It sounded like she was talking about something that happened in her past. Then she passes out, like that.

I kept tapping this girl, telling her to wake up. I poured water on her face.

She wakes up eventually, and me, I’m just looking at her. Our eyes meet, and her lips bloom open for a kiss. She comes in on me and I can do nothing else but just take it in. I figure I might as well have some fun.

We end up in the bedroom, and we stradle each other, but while we’re at it she passes out again – just in the middle of it. Me, I don’t have a clue what to do. By this time, it’s late. I should be going home.

I put on my clothes, and I walk into the main room, leave her in the bedroom, and see what you’d think I’d see.

There’s all these naked people lying, in each other’s arms, there’s puke next to some, there’s snoring, there’s the smell of sweaty alcoholic bodies. I’m sure someone here’s gotten pregnant. I’m sure here, someone’s done their point in life. There’s probably the next Shakespeare here. The next Newton. The next Barney the Dinosaur. Maybe even the next Albert Einstein.

I figure all this sex has to have a consequence. I’m sure all these drunkards didn’t have the innate sense to put on a condom, in their intoxicated states.

I open the front door, it creaks, I step out into the night. Again there’s the crickets. The sound of night. I breathe in the air, cold and dark. The stars twinkle in a semi-cloudy sky. The streetlamps blaze dully. The moon presents its face-looking sphere to me.

I drive home and sleep. I don’t check the message that’s blinking on my answering machine. Not yet.

VIII

In Laurice’s room we’re dancing, dancing, dancing, singing sweet music and in each other’s arms falling all over the place, here and there, letting our bodies move in random subtleties, letting our bodies rock and rack whichever way they want, and we feel free as free could ever possibly be, we have nothing on our minds and our bodies just moving at their own volition. No care, no worry, no issue no anything no nothing, fast-paced all over dancing, dancing, dancing, feet moving hands flying hither and thither, thighs going hither and hither, her breasts flinging around wildly in a rash of blurring movement uncatchable with my slow human movement.

In this endless twisting this endless sputter, this endless dancing, this endless endlessness of expending of energy, we’re making something more alive than alive is considered in this pointless, monochrome, urbane, affable existence. For once, we’re not living a lie, we’re not being actors, we’re just doing whatever the hell we’re doing, nothing’s controlling, and the music is being the catalyst.

There’s a huff huff from both of us and we’re out of breath, our hearts are trying to pump blood fast as they can to keep our bodies oxygenated, our muscles are trying to keep doing what they’re doing, they’re trying to keep us alive so we can keep being alive for a longer amount of time. I put my arms around her and grasp harshly her back and we’re still dancing, swooning all over the place, the music is still blaring playing on us making us jiving mad and alive with the power, with the endless animosity in the core of every human being.

This is catharsis, this is living, this is creating, this is above all alive, livid, vivacious.

I smooth in for a kiss, and her lips part around my lips and our tongues tangle and wrestle with each other like writhing bodies moshing all over the place, flying bloodily all around with no sense of anything but being. Her mouth tastes tinged with toothpaste, which she brushed them with before I came over. Her tongue is fluid and moving, stroking the upper reaches of my mouth inside, taming the new-found land. My tongue is in her mouth doing the same, we’re still dancing, although with more constraint since we’re kissing now, sweat is pouring from my shirt, I can feel the elastic band of her bra, sweaty, in my hand as I still hold her back, I can feel her harsh breaths, sputtering, desperate, passionate, I can feel the sensation of her lips on my lips, I can feel strands of her black hair strawing out at me, touching my face, my forearms.

Still dancing she tries to take off my blank white t-shirt I’m wearing but she’s having trouble kissing, dancing, all at once, but after a while she gets it off and I’m standing there without a shirt, and I go to rip off the tight violet shirt she’s wearing and then we’re standing there both shirtless, she’s in her black bra me in my pants and then we keep kissing and I run my hands through her hair and we’re still dancing, and we’re starting to feel pretty infirm, stampeding around about ready to fall over as if we cannot support what we’re doing anymore.

She goes to unbutton my pants hastily, with impatience, with lust, and I go at her jeans she’s wearing, and we fall and stumble on the floor trying to get each other’s pants off with a loud thud and look to the door, wondering if anyone in the house heard that even over the loud blare of the music playing endlessly, like a tightly-held entrance to a new world where we’re at right now.

We writhe with each other on the floor, we get our jeans off and we’re still trying to dance, we’re unrestrained, we’re not being held down by anything, we’re wild as any animal can be, we’re moving all over the place, not stopping, my legs are kicking like a horse, her breasts are pillowing all over the place with no stopping, her arms are fondling all over the air as she reaches over for me and pulls me closer, and we’re moving all over with just me in boring monochrome boxers her in black panties and a black bra. We’re sweating and we’re kissing and we’re touching each other all over and writing all over and moving and not stopping, and eventually I go to take her bra off, get it off, and I see her pretty nice breasts, small but nice, and she goes to take off my boxers, and there’s my penis erectile and firm, and then I take off her panties and there’s her vagina, there’s her pubic hair, a wild tangle just like us, tangling all over the place wildly, brashly, purposely but so alive.

I’m on the bottom she’s on top of me the music’s still blaring she rides me and stradles me and we go in and out in and out in and out, we open the door then leave it and enter it again and we pull open the window and go outside then go inside again and we heave and pulse and push and writhe and coalesce and lavish and writhe, and I’m touching her all over she’s touching me all over we’re naked on the floor still dancing however we can but interdicted from her having the be on top of me me having to be on the floor.

Sweating, pouring out from every pore, we keep going, then she makes a wild cry, her hair all over the place, me grabbing it, her taking the harshest breaths ever, me taking harsh breaths, the feel of my penis getting that hard to push back feeling, and then I explode into her, it’s like a heaven for a second and then the euphoric feeling disappears like it didn’t ever want to come.

She falls into my arms, I fall into hers, we lift each other up, struggle ourselves to her bed, and lie atop it, naked, and fall asleep in each other’s arms to the loud music sweaty, breathing harsh puff puffs of air, our stomachs going up and down, her hair all over the place.

IX
The loud music’s still playing when I wake up. She’s still sound asleep, lying there, naked. She looks beautiful. Her breasts. Her face. Her arms, her chest, the pubic hair lining her vagina, her legs. Her shut eyes. The way her body moves almost solemnly up and down, heaving light, as she’s asleep. I sit there, and just watch her, for a while.

Then I get my clothes on, and I hop out her window. It’s best her parents don’t see me. While I’m doing this, my thoughts are straining in my head. They’re brimming out.

I’m thinking women are so beautiful. Laurice is so beautiful.

I’m thinking women are like the new gods when god’s been dead for the longest time. They’re gods because they can create life. They can have children. And men can’t.

I get in my car. I drive home. The sun’s embedded with a large station of clouds. It’s still this ball of fire through all the clouds.

Last night was so good. It’s all I can think of as I step in my house, and get into the shower. I smell all sweaty. I feel all sticky.

The water washes away. Torrents.

X

Throughout the continuum of history, the question that’s always recurred in an endless abundance is that old whiner of, “Who am I?” It’s something that never ceases to keep coming up, and coming up, and coming up.

The answer is, you’re no one.

You’re nothing.

All you are is what everything else makes you. Every fragment chunk and piece of it combines together to create you. Because, you didn’t ever create yourself. What created you was your parents playing with their deck of cards – their genes – and these genes ruling out a predetermined set of traits and characteristics that are you. That’s only the nature part, though. There’s more.

What else shapes you is nurture. They teach this in psychology – that nature and nurture pool together to create who we are, at least on something of an equal kind of level.

Nurture is your parents. Nurture is your culture. Nurture is your habitat you live in.

If you take someone from a culture that’s a polar opposite of America’s culture, you’ll see a different set of values. A different set of who the self is.

You’ll see a different person.

In America, we’re snobs. We’re egocentric self-serving self-loathing pricks. We only care about ourselves. We care about others because this care in turn benefits us. We do everything independently. Everything away from the main group. We all want to be leaders. We want others to follow us. The brand of foods we eat. What we wear, it makes us different. When someone asks us for our opinion, we say it.

Our religion that’s mainstay is Catholicism. The main figure of the catholic, the bread and butter, the pop cultural phenomenon is Jesus Christ. He’s a guy who suffered, suffered, and suffered all for us. Got nailed and crucified on a cross.

It makes a nice metaphor for what being alive is. Suffering and suffering and suffering.

We all get crucified before we die.

To be an American, you really do have to be masochistic. You have to enjoy the pain. You have to go to work each and every day when the right age comes around, and work hard. Of course, it’s the same thing in any civilized civilization, as well. Unless they’re a different form of government. Which is becoming rarer and rarer, what with us going into Vietnam, Iraq. . .we’re just like the Catholics, spreading their religion. Only our religion – which might as well be a kind of religion in and of its self – is democracy.

It’s like a religion because it’s got all the makings of a religion. You’ve got your head figure, your figurehead. He’s the president. He’s god. Then there’s the lessers of him as you trickle down in the knit of power.

This cabinet – this set of “rulers” – all are part of the great machine of government. A system that adds order and structure and backbone to the world. Or so they say. It’s definitely not all it’s cracked up to be.

I don’t even trust my government at this point. They’ve made too many lies and are bound to do it again. And again. And again. It’s not like anyone’s stopping them from their lies, anyway.

Hopefully one day the depressed masses will rise as one and crush everything in a chaotic fling of deep-set passion and frustration. Until that day, I wait.

You figure, with six billion people, sooner or later some of that immense population has to go. The earth just can’t support all this life.

Especially considering that most of the life on this earth’s so pointless. Especially when we aren’t even ourselves. When we’ll never be.

Just face it. Who you are is in no part made from your own self. It’s all taken, all gleaned, all founded and melded and molded by other forces. Forces beyond your control. Things you have no say in that make you who you are. And when you do have the say in these things that make you who you are, it’s too late, you’ve already been assimilated long too far away.

I mean, you didn’t even ask to get born, let alone choose the type of person you are.

Some people are stupid. They’re mentally disabled. It’s not their fault. Their genes predetermined them to be that way. Somehow, they got messed up in the process of being created.

Some people are mediocre. They’re okay, but they’re not great, either. They didn’t choose to be this way. They didn’t have much say in the matter. They just’ve done the best with what they’ve got, like us all.

Then there’s those people who’re geniuses. Like me. We’re the people who are misunderstood. Who say what we’ve to say last. Who speak directly and seriously only when it’s necessary. All the rest of the time, we’re sarcastic, full of empty promises and empty dreams. Most people probably find us creepy. They mistake creepiness for genius.

Maybe if you give us some time and chance, you’d see it. See the genius.

Me, I’m a crazy bastard. I’m an egocentric egotistical pseudomasochistic prick. Just like every other American. And I’m this way because I’ve become what everything’s made me. Sure, one could argue some of what you are is what you made from yourself, but that’s stretching it.

I’m still just waiting until the day. When all oppressed peoples rise against the tyranny that’s happening in this world. When there’s chaos, disorder. Because, mark my words, it’ll happen.

Will it in my lifetime? Who knows.
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