Thursday, December 18, 2003

Here Comes the Rooster No He Ain't Gonna Die.

Today I feel short and sedated, so I don't think I have the strength to do some insanely long poem or post.

Lately I've been subdued on the internet and to it. Haven't been on it as much, nor as enthralled by it as much. And I guess that's the reality of everything.

This week I've felt a lot less of my "passionate" feeling I mentioned earlier--but I've felt it at times all the same. I feel it in a kind of meandering way right now, I felt it last night as I watched Lord of the Rings: Return of the King, and so on.

This week has also passed in some slow yet fast blur. I've wanted this week to be over with, and it's gone right along at a meticulous and tedium that is as fast as it is slow. So it's been a mixed week--as most weeks are.

I've felt sad. I've felt dead. I've felt alive, breathing, numb, wanting, high, down, up, everywhere, everything, there, that, this, and then yet another thing. But most of the week I've been brooding and melancholily comforted. It's hard to explain--but I find comfort in calamity, in death, in sadness, in reality. The comfort that this is the way it is--and this is the way it will be--and that there's nothing I can do and there is not really a point in my existence other than to deplete, reuse, destroy, all the time thinking I'm creating.

It's been a dark week. I've been alone to my own thoughts most of the time, just being what I have been for my life up to this point; that is, comforting myself with my own pain, and just living day-by-day.

It's funny too when reality hits you in the face. You're so carefree and happy and then it's like a shotgun has been pointed to your head and you can feel that trigger of that shotgun evermorely getting closer and closer to getting pulled, but still you see it regresses and goes back as the shotgun's holder gets tired in their arms and puts it down and just gives in to the realization that things are and be--and that you're awoken to reality.

Don't ask what that meant. I find it fun to mess with my mind and make some metaphor up and just expand and expand on it until I can't even understand where I'm taking it any longer.

But I did have a shotgun blast at me today--and it was shot in the air, thankfully missing.

As I was pulling out of the parking lot of my school, driving up and going into the turn that leads to the way out of school, the car in front of me turned, and so I went to turn. I put my feet on the breaks to slow down and better control the turn. Then, out of nowhere, just like some sigh, or just like some song you hear but don't, this car is right in my face, and I'm right in its face, and we're mere inches apart from crashing into each other as we pull to our stops. I just stared in disbelief, and a kind of sick happiness that I hadn't hit the person and they hadn't hit me. Another wreck on my car is the last thing I need. My insurance is already $90 a month, which my dad seemingly complains about never-endingly as if I'm an unchanging Peter Pan that needs to get a job when seemingly no place will hire me as much as I try, and also when my self esteem is so low to the point where I don't even care.

I thought maybe someone or something must've been smiling at me devilishly to make me almost get in a crash and then not get in one as if to slap my good mood at school being over away and bruised. Was it Fate? I don't think so. Coincidence? I don't think so. God? Certainly not. It was just pure the happening of things happening as they happen, that was what it was to me.

Just glad I didn't crash. Not just glad, thankful. I don't like being screamed at in incessance by my dad, nor do I want more damage on my already damaged and highly-priced insured car.

Today was mundane and urbane. It went about in its mannerisms and I was there, a mannequin to take its punchings and its useless bickerings. I went to my classes a shuffling, lifeless existential marionette. I talked to people as they sought fit to talk to me and bicker.

In Newspaper we played a trivia game. It was a waste of time. And I mentioned this, as well as it is more important to work on the paper. Yet still it was while playing that game and making ceaseless fun of one another that we were most moraled into senseless bondage.

It's funny how all work and no play make Jack a dull boy, but all work and all play seemingly make Jack an even duller boy. I think Jack should just get his named changed as it is--perhaps even die. Because Jack is a mundane, usual name. Perhaps if he has a name like Jack the Ripper then it isn't--but I know that that won't be. Unless of course I name my son that that I plan to never have.

This post is bickering. Might as well kill the monster that's just a yelping dog while I can.

I feel complexly simple at the moment. Like I need to use more words than needed to express the most simple things. And what is this simple thing?

That today was lame and boring and I hated it And loved it all at once. And also that tomorrow is finally Friday and I don't seem to care and am just the same as I am--I am somewhat content in the contention that I don't care about most things, and those I care about I feel much for.

Gym is a thing to note today though. Today we did the inanity that is the docility of "The Jitterbug." I could not do the twists and "styles" of this dance, so I was labored with just doing the three steps that encounter the basics of the dance--those being step left step right without even moving, then step back and tug whilst holding the hand of a fair maiden--who at my luck was a portly woman who was beautiful nonetheless, but that I had no sexual attraction nor affliction nor emblazon with.

So we stood there, listening to that stupid and decayed old, "Rock Round the Clock," song of yesteryear so many times I felt like I was watching Barney the Dinosaur sing in front of my eyes while I was being pissed on by an elephant that was being ridden by Richard Simmons instructing me that I am fat over and over again, while in fact Richard Simmons was wearing a Barney the Dinosaur t-shirt which was in fact the Barney the Dinosaur that was actually singing to me.

In realization of this, I felt like I was just going to die at that point in the stupidity that is "The Jitterbug."

Life, I think, is a lot like the Jitterbug.

At least I can learn that much.
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