the day after yours, the day before mine. we met to toast the future, to kill our insecurities for just a bit and justify having problems that seemed lame in comparison to those around us. i'm sure we shared that feeling where we wished we had important drama and not this mundane, pointless shit.
fast forward a year and a few weeks. fast forward the drinks as well. sitting in the same bar with different company, though more solid in stature. slightly less drunk. a bottle as a gift is being thought up in my head, wrapped with slight spite, to be given to last year's laboring. card reading: "condolences. sorry to fuck over your friends and family, thanks for everything. Love, Matt". no, i think i'll change the card, for apologies and forbears mix to trite judgment.
rode back to the room in a cab. saw my father's face peer out the window at the tall buildings, and for a second saw him as a child. i feel this often still, helpless but exploring, and forget that we all feel it at times, even the best of us, no matter what. on the way up we passed a club. i remember peering at leather jackets and short skirts during adolescence and thinking, "wow, those people must know exactly what they want", being intimidated by their freedom, their smiles and deviations. now having been in that position, joining the ranks to compete for sex etc, i realize that nobody REALLY knows what the fuck they're doing. i mean, we DO, but then we have those moments that take out our earth from under us and leave us landing, like, "what the fuck". humbled, i walked up to the room. slept in swank with friend and family. went back to my own apartment the next night and realized i live in a vacation apartment, now and for the next week. it's a funny but nice feeling.
the blaring dawn is a white wall's only enemy.
Showing posts with label Vacation. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Vacation. Show all posts
Sunday, April 20, 2008
Saturday, September 29, 2007
(revisions)
and all significance aside: i should try to take my compliments in stride. but i still can't.
through the process, certain things have come to my attention. here is a list in paragraph form, meant to bombard, to abstract and obstruct as much as to inform. as much as to relieve and relive. i feel like individuals are mannequin billboards, passivity only reinforcing that. activity makes the advertisement real, makes it seem less like an advert, and creates the sexual experience. the glass shield of popular communication feigns interest. i've come to terms with the following: whether jobs or relationships, they are all out there. so why stress? there ARE employers who need work done, money to be made, they do in fact need YOU. a job will come. you will find means to live. on the same: there ARE people out there who love you, or at least want to. they WILL come, there's connection to be made, they do in fact need YOU. so why worry? i've come to believe in that about jobs, but not about relationships. which, upon realization, makes me quite a bit more open to the fact that i'm single in the city. and where everyone is beautiful, looks look like they matter less and less. situation, place, and timing are pretty much every determinant. it's all about how you market yourself, right?
so 4 short but busy weeks have taken me to the brink of new themes. who cares about jobs or girls or even clothes to wear or things to do? all of it will come, and we'll live it out, put it in the laundry once in a while, list it at moments and forget it at others. and as i come to another one of these hopefully empty, ecstatic, manic realizations, i plant myself backwards on a bus seat and watch north avenue die in 42 blocks...
i sit as the combustion engine works for me, my two dollars burned into lungs. our speed still controlled by thin rubber wheels, for it's the bikes who dictate the speed of the cars just before rush hour. during the hour, bikes kill cars for miles. i'd love to if mine wasn't flat at the moment. -------------------------------- i can only look left. i window shop the window shoppers and think i might need something more to fit in. or something less. just not anything i have now, which is the whole point of capitalism, right? change is money. and quite literally, the man who's expecting some as you come off the kennedy expressway and he's washing your window, giving you a paper, you spare a few coins. but he moves like a robot, dude's skin is like leather. he smiles as you pass, but don't expect that same smile when you see him in his own element. i like to hope that he'd crush my skull, he'd crush all of our skulls, if he had even half of what the 'haves' had. --------------------------------- i see an ideal house, everything, kitchen, office, living room, all within 10 blocks. it's exactly perfect, pristine, but behind think paned glass. store fronts. like oasis gold fronts. look but don't touch; buy it if you don't need it. fuck, those curtains alone could've housed a hundred of those street guys, kept 'em warm for years to come. but they only hang in effigy, symbols of the thinnest of our leaders. ----------- oh fuck, leave it to good music, an empty state of mind, and other important things to do. i almost missed my stop.
through the process, certain things have come to my attention. here is a list in paragraph form, meant to bombard, to abstract and obstruct as much as to inform. as much as to relieve and relive. i feel like individuals are mannequin billboards, passivity only reinforcing that. activity makes the advertisement real, makes it seem less like an advert, and creates the sexual experience. the glass shield of popular communication feigns interest. i've come to terms with the following: whether jobs or relationships, they are all out there. so why stress? there ARE employers who need work done, money to be made, they do in fact need YOU. a job will come. you will find means to live. on the same: there ARE people out there who love you, or at least want to. they WILL come, there's connection to be made, they do in fact need YOU. so why worry? i've come to believe in that about jobs, but not about relationships. which, upon realization, makes me quite a bit more open to the fact that i'm single in the city. and where everyone is beautiful, looks look like they matter less and less. situation, place, and timing are pretty much every determinant. it's all about how you market yourself, right?
so 4 short but busy weeks have taken me to the brink of new themes. who cares about jobs or girls or even clothes to wear or things to do? all of it will come, and we'll live it out, put it in the laundry once in a while, list it at moments and forget it at others. and as i come to another one of these hopefully empty, ecstatic, manic realizations, i plant myself backwards on a bus seat and watch north avenue die in 42 blocks...
i sit as the combustion engine works for me, my two dollars burned into lungs. our speed still controlled by thin rubber wheels, for it's the bikes who dictate the speed of the cars just before rush hour. during the hour, bikes kill cars for miles. i'd love to if mine wasn't flat at the moment. -------------------------------- i can only look left. i window shop the window shoppers and think i might need something more to fit in. or something less. just not anything i have now, which is the whole point of capitalism, right? change is money. and quite literally, the man who's expecting some as you come off the kennedy expressway and he's washing your window, giving you a paper, you spare a few coins. but he moves like a robot, dude's skin is like leather. he smiles as you pass, but don't expect that same smile when you see him in his own element. i like to hope that he'd crush my skull, he'd crush all of our skulls, if he had even half of what the 'haves' had. --------------------------------- i see an ideal house, everything, kitchen, office, living room, all within 10 blocks. it's exactly perfect, pristine, but behind think paned glass. store fronts. like oasis gold fronts. look but don't touch; buy it if you don't need it. fuck, those curtains alone could've housed a hundred of those street guys, kept 'em warm for years to come. but they only hang in effigy, symbols of the thinnest of our leaders. ----------- oh fuck, leave it to good music, an empty state of mind, and other important things to do. i almost missed my stop.
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