Today is Saturday. You are a mammal AND a person.
2:20 PM
me: carlie and i were just hungover
and our toilet god
bhubbird: dear me
me: wasnt working well
bhubbird: i don’t want to hear about it
me: hahahaha
bhubbird: why would it matter?
it’s not like girls poop.
2:22 PM
me: nope
2:23 PM
me: the only things that come out of our butts are kittens and rainbows
and thats where kittens come from
the end
my end
bhubbird: hahaha
While you are at it, check out my good friend Carlie Leagjeld’s portfolio. She just finished up at American University in DC after two years and is finally back in the state she loves to find work and peace of mind! I’ve always thought her art intricate and otherworldly. Big ups Carlton.
I am always concerned about the well being of my mental state. Especially when I yawn and notice that the dogs at my work are all watching and yawning in unison. I asked my psychology teacher about this because she held up a wrinkled news article about yawning in her never-ending quest to confuse the class. I raised my hand and said, “So that’s why dogs yawn with me!” She seemed very excited at my fragmented sentence and the idea that I could maybe understand what she was getting at. The students near me just shook their heads in bewilderment. Little did they know that I was making psychological revelations of my own.
Today in math class we had a substitute instructor and she ruled. She explained word problems to us as if they were a Caribbean breeze, and Karen and I nailed all of the equations on our group exercise with plenty of time to spare. We were so pleased with ourselves that Karen exclaimed, “Lets eat a scramble!”, which we seriously considered, but then decided against since neither of us were actually hungry.
Two weeks ago was my parents’ 40th wedding anniversary. I’m glad I remembered it at all, but I didn’t remember until a few days late, so I sent them a card and a compact disc of oldies music that I thought my mom would really like. I haven’t heard from them. It is disappointing because for a while I told myself they were just on an elaborate vacation to celebrate a lifetime of wedded bliss, but enough time has passed that I have reached other conclusions. Either they are just too busy to reply currently, or they have stepped it up a notch in the Jehovah’s Witnesses brotherhood and gone into seclusion because the end of the world is nigh. When I was a kid, sitting in those damn flip down chairs that had been recycled from the Creswell Cinema and were now covered in red velvety upholstery, I would actually pay close attention to the talks Brother So-and-So was giving from the stage. He would warn of signs of impending doom and quote from the book of Revelations, forecasting that there would be an uprise in natural disasters around the world signaling our final days were fast approaching. This scared the shit out of me, which was the only reason I ever listened intently. My mom would talk about how in the final days, all of God’s people would most likely have to form smaller congregations than the ones we were used to, and essentially go into hiding. At that point, none of them would have much contact with “worldly people”, which is now you and I.
I hadn’t thought much about this concept until the past few weeks that I have been trying to get a hold of my dad. And to be honest, I don’t really think that’s whats going on. But what if it is? I picture my parents, with my sister and her children, living their lives in seclusion and patiently waiting for Armageddon. I can’t help but think that if that was the heightened level of faith they had reached, wouldn’t they want to speak to me for fear that The End could occur at any time, knowing that thereafter they would never have the chance to hear my voice or see my face again?
These are the thoughts I am thinking when I am walking around campus and brushing my teeth and trying to isolate X as the variable. Which is why I’m indefinitely concerned about the well being of my mental state. However, I reason with myself quite a bit about my family. The number one reason I have come up with is that I was never happy as a Jehovah’s Witness. Never. I always felt guilt and shame, even when I didn’t know exactly what I had done wrong. So I reason that I am better off now than I ever was, even without those family ties that most everyone has and frequently take for granted. I feel strong and I feel alive. I would rather feel this intense sense of awareness at all times, knowing that if the end of planet Earth as we know it is near, be it 2012 or sooner or later, I have allowed myself to be happy. Of course happiness is different circumstances for different living things at different times, but I have felt it, often and overwhelmingly. So what more could I really ask for? Besides a scramble.
We don’t carry the burden of curiosity,
because we know every shape of friendship.
sitting beside the only constant i’ve had in my life,
i cant lift my tired hand from her.
the heat rising from her body is enough to soothe my shaken will.
in our understanding, i know she has not forgotten me
she has not questioned my loyalty
she has not wavered in her affection.
this is where i come to find strength
and to believe in the goodness of stability
our experience is where my heart lies
and where i find the desire to continue.
we dream of the same open plains
and long for a painless freedom.
you think you know yourself, and then you go to a cabin in the woods, nestled between white mountains and glacier run off. you take a couple hits off a nicely rolled spliff complete with all the tender loving care that should go into one of those things, and you decide to find yourself. the cabin is too small for the things beneath your skin and the soaring of your thoughts so you lace up your boots and step outside, off the porch, onto the cold frozen ground.
the owner of the place is standing guard, his frosty old coat speckled with morning dew a thousand times over, but his gaze as strong as you remembered from the night before. he takes his time finding the perfect handshake, half buried in the pine needles at the base of any tree, and then gently carries it in his mouth to your grasp for throwing. you are obliged to do this for some amount of time, or at least until you notice there isn’t a single sound except for your breathing and his, and the occasional swish of a doe tail. he looks up at you, past you, toward the sky, and he knows that you are closer to the stars than you were before. you stare back at his weathered face and see that both of his eyes hold planets he keeps secret because if the trip lasted too long you may decide to stay.
then you keep moving, towards the water and the open spaces. there are many branches fallen around your feet and still falling, but they aren’t coming from the trees, they’re coming from your eyes. you decide that fallen log up ahead is the best place to rest, and write with these wooden sticks you have grown. you pull out your pad and your paper and set that jug of water you didn’t realize you had been carrying at your feet. there isn’t a thing around you can see that will bother you, and you begin. every so often a tiny boat on the shoreline rumbles, just a murmur, words of bait and cast. the only other sound is the one your mind makes, of the place you thought you belonged until you left it.
its funny how out there, surrounded by elk scat and tumbleweeds and howling wind, you are able to walk as tall as ever. the weight isn’t there anymore, it hasn’t been for at least 300 miles. later you’ll return to the cabin where your friends are, and you’ll jab at the roaring fire and laugh into it’s flames because none of you care about much of anything at all. but for now its just you, and the water, and the life thats living even though you can’t see it.
how do you see the world, Pearl?
from a soft, sticky, dark beginning.
an entrance toward the ending.
starting out as something
spectacular and worthy.
finalizing as a cold, pale trail of yourself
lining a lonely throat.
attending empty evenings
rising and falling with wine and breath
pausing on a sea of blue velvet
until the ballerina turns again.
The beast turns its back to her now empty plate, letting her gaze settle on the blue porcelain bird figurine that hasn’t moved from the porch for days. She cannot understand why it ignores her, even when she blatantly dares it to taunt her. I will ravage you, she silently vows, upon nightfall.
But for now, her thoughts return to the small salad plate near the screen door that brimmed with tuna juice just moments earlier. She scans the area for any remnants, wishing her Assistant would rise from the large soft rectangle and refill the dish.
Her tail twitches in delight to the rhythm of her heartbeat and the gentle gurgle of her full belly. She slowly licks her black lips, pausing to savor the last bits of fish stuck to her fur.
The flavor takes her back, unexpectedly, to a time of great satisfaction. She must squint to recall, that moment….what was it? Ah, yes. Salmon. The Assistant had helped Itself to her salmon supply in the white chamber, and she chose to take matters into her own paws, nomming the feast while It stared at the image box.
The beast understands the importance of morning and night, grooming and plentiful rest, rigor and self-discipline. She does not apologize for her actions, nor is she grateful. When dusk arrives, she will retire to the shadows with her diary, painstakingly detailing the day’s events in mice blood, for future generations.
I’ll never forget this thing I heard about Ecstasy once. I think it was a line from a movie, or maybe a book or off the TV but the guy said, “Each time you do E it’s like taking one ice cream scoop out of your brain.” I wondered if it was true? I still wonder. It seems possible. And the more I think about it, the more I’m certain it was from a movie and I’d probably be embarrassed to find out what movie it was I was watching but, why would they say something like that and not check the internet to make sure it was true first? Or perhaps that was the irony in it. What the fuck am I saying. Of course it’s not true. I’ve done E like five or six times and I still have all of my brain.
I bought Monopoly for nine dollars yesterday. I got it in my head that once I played it, all the fun I had as a kid being the dog or the top hat and loading Baltic Avenue up with those red plastic hotels would come rushing back. I haven’t gotten to find out yet.
Thursday I woke up at five am with a terrible feeling in my stomach. I sat up, touched the skin above my belly button and frowned. I know this feeling, I thought. I went to the bathroom and sat down to pee. I sat for a while, hoping the nausea would fade. I tried laying back down and then realized the sick feeling was indeed intensifying and oh god, don’t let this be what I think it is. I am going to throw up.
In fact, I threw up for eight hours from both ends of my body. The kind of cookie tossing that leaves your eyeballs pounding, clinging to your sockets for fear of breaching the contract they hold with your face. I was sweating and disoriented, and passed out on my bedroom floor because I couldn’t find the energy to move three feet in any direction.
Monday approached me. She clearly thought I had chosen to spend the day as her life-sized body pillow. She made a thousand biscuits along my back and then sniffed at my hair, grazing my cheek with her paw. Brrrraw? She cooed. “Uhhhhhnn,” I replied.
Thankfully, I have people in my life. People who’ll cover you with a second blanket and buy you more toilet paper and turn in your very first college paper that’s due at the exact same time you’re actually, dramatically, thinking it will be your last. Although now I wish I could have changed it’s title to something other than “Paws and Effect”.
IF IM ALREADY DEAD
THEN BREAK ALL MY MIRRORS
FOLLOW THE TRAIL OF INK
TO THE SUITCASE OF INSTANT RELATIVES
PRESS YOUR PAWS AGAINST THE GLASS
WHERE THE WATER YOUR HEAD PRODUCED LANDED.
I woke up scared today. Things are piling on top of each other and seeping into my dreams. The last three nights I’ve had insanely wild sleep, and I originally blamed it on the full moon. Then I blamed it on the stones I’d placed under my pillow. Now I think it’s just real life.
My last day of work is December 18th. This morning I witnessed a screaming match between my boss’ wife and our HR lady. Afterward she sped off in her Blazer, only to return 20 minutes later and whisper under her breath “I just slammed two bloody mary’s!” before starting a second fight with the boss. I was humored, but unnerved knowing the serious dysfunction of this place will continue long after I’m gone.
My health insurance is up at the end of this month if I don’t continue to pay for it through COBRA, which would be $300 a month. I am having a ‘procedure’ done next Thursday and depending on how that goes….I have a feeling. I have a feeling I am going to rack up a giant medical tab. But what is there to do? I’m not going to give up school and keep working this shit job just so I have health insurance.
I am imagining the knots of stress twisting in my chest. The dreams have left me with different sensations: disgust, fear, ambition, fascination. When I woke I was an hour late for work, and the morning light radiated a ginger color across my bedroom floor. I’m still scared.
