Saturday, March 18, 2006

I play coy with myself.

From the get go this morning I felt so heavy. Like my face is melting and my heart is a molten rock. Nothing new today. No reason, no. There is simply not a cell of happiness in my whole body today. The only thing that I can think of that gives me any sort of obscure satisfaction is the idea of being sewn to the earth by blue thread. Don't know why, it just keeps popping up in my head and gives me this momentary relief.

I have to back to set today. Finish my goddamned film. Fuck. I've been so excited all week to shoot this. Now, today, I just want to start walking, in any direction, and keep walking until I get somewhere that makes me stop, like an ocean or succumbing to heat exhaustion in the desert. Yes, I like that last one. It seems like that would be just what I want today. I want my hair in my eyes, sand in my mouth, and the likely hood of dying where it is warm. So I take it back, there are two things that are satisfying to think about today. But they both entail me being alone, which is not on the agenda.

I'm in a tangenty mood. On other days when I've had this sort of funk, I like to find a blanket to pull over my head and a beam of sunlight to bathe in. Oh man does that do the trick. Sometimes I like to pretend that I am someone else under the blanket and I am with me and we are in some sort of love. That would be the best. Like anybody else, love is something that sounds nice to me. So much comfort in that, comfort, comfort, comfort. But now a days, I really don’t want anyone else to love me. It’s just so much pressure. I know what about me to appreciate, and knowing that makes me feel good, like someone has complimented me. I make myself blush. I play coy with myself. Narcissism is a lovely gift. I don’t know how I acquired it but lovely it is. Obtaining comfort in ones self is the most solid comfort one can get.

I don't need you to love me. And the older I get, I'm not sure that I want you to either.

Monday, March 13, 2006

When Simon runs it is beautiful, like when people walk on the moon, only faster.

Simon runs. He runs for track and field. He has a problem with empathy. Simon gets pains in his side when he sees other people look helpless. When Simon was 5 his mother gave birth to his baby sister. Because of his empathy, Simon had to be treated for severe stomach cramps during his mother's labor and thusly missed the birth of his only sibling. He has always regretted this.

When he runs Simon doesn't feel empathy for anything. He likes running long enough to build a sweat, so as to feel the wind on his face more powerfully. Occasionally Simon cries when he runs, but only when it is too cold out to break out a sweat on his face. Simons favorite race is the relay. Mostly because he likes touching the fingers of the runner before him. The hairs on his neck always raise when this happens even after hundreds of races. He secretly believes that one can only truly run at their best when it is inherited from another runner, which can only be done through transference on the fingertips. But he would never tell anyone this, because he knows that it is silly and people would likely laugh at him. Being the sensitive boy that he is, he really does not like being laughed at.

The only thing that Simon is afraid of is Alligators. He once had a dream about alligators, the night after his mother died of breast cancer. The alligator was chasing him and he could not get away fast enough and it kept biting at his fingertips. He thought that this was very scary and he crawled into bed with his sister, even though she was only 6 years old and was really no good at running at all. Sometimes when Simon is not winning a race, he just thinks of the alligator and that makes him run much faster.

On his eighteenth birthday Simon's family had a birthday party for him. There was a cake with his name on it, that his sister had made for him. It was his favorite type of cake, which is carrot (although he does NOT eat carrots plain). After the cake was eaten and the presents opened and everyone left Simon felt very anxious, because at the party someone told Simon that he was a man now. It was very quiet in the house and the neon light in the kitchen was flickering and it bothered him. Simon ran from his house. On his way out, he grabbed a baton that he likes to keep by the door, in case he ever needs to run from something. Simon ran until he was very tired. He ran for so long that he fell over in the park. And when he fell he landed on his back and decided that he should stay there and rest for a while. It just seemed like the best thing to do at the time, considering that it was not dark out yet and it was okay to be by himself outside as long as it wasn't dark outside.

Upon awakening, Simon realized that he had been there for a very long time and that it was quite late in the night. He had not been to the park at night before, and he did not recognize it anymore. He was not afraid of the dark, so to speak, but rather that there might be an alligator in the dark places that he could not see. He has heard of this happening before.

Simone ran home. Sometimes, like that night for instance, Simon likes to close his eyes tight and hold his breath when it runs because it makes him dizzy which can be a very nice feeling that helps your forget when things are not so nice.

When Simon runs it is beautiful, like when people walk on the moon, only faster.

Saturday, March 04, 2006

Jump children, jump high enough and you might not come back.

When I hear or see the word suicide, I immediately think of trampolines. It is the first thing to enter my mind. It's been that way for as long as I can recall. I'm not really afraid of trampolines or anything, nor do I see them as dangerous (only to one's pride if a serious spill is taken). I just always see one when I hear that word.

I had this friend as a kid. His name was Tyler. Tyler's parents were wealthy and had the biggest, most glorified house in my neighborhood. A lot of the neighborhood kids didn't like Tyler at all, but would pretend to because he had this huge amazing trampoline next to the always-empty tennis court in the backyard. So Tyler was, after it was all said and done, quite terribly popular. He always had people over. I had a slight fancy on for Tyler. He was my age, but he always called me "kid" and "kiddo" which is something, to this day, I find charming in a man.

Tyler's family was catholic and Tyler had a lot of brothers and sisters. So many I couldn't even recall all of their names. I don't think Tyler was very close to his family. Even when 10 of the neighborhood kids were over bouncing and flying, giggling and squirming with delight, Tyler had this expression that never left his face, like he was a starving orphan.

Tyler's older brother killed himself when Tyler was 8. It was the first time I had ever heard of someone doing that. After that kids slowly stopped going over to Tyler's despite his array of fantastic toys. It was like the family was all infected and people were afraid that their children would be infected with the virus and might just make their last leap on that trampoline at Tyler's...

I was one of many who became too wary to go to Tyler's house. Afraid of the ghost on their backs. Afraid of what to say. So I stopped bouncing. When I would pass his house on my bike, I would look down, fearing that I might catch a glimpse of whatever pushed Tyler's brother off the roof.

The last time I saw Tyler's brother was on the trampoline. There were maybe 6 or 7 other kids on the trampoline with me. We were playing a game we called "making the piggy fly". I was the piggy and I was standing in the middle of the trampoline while the other kids jumped in unison, launching me so high that from time to time I was level with the tree house where Tyler's brother was sitting. He was smoking, as I recall, wearing a green military jacket and a turquoise sweatshirt with car decal looking graphics on it. He was watching me soar. And when I would hover, time slowed down and his brown eyes bored into me for the split seconds that I was up there.

Thursday, March 02, 2006

A tribute from the pumpkin shell.

Dear Sweet Pumpkin-Eater,

You have given me truth.
I have given you fiction, my dear.

Helvetica won't be the same without you . . .

I wait.

Love Always,
-The Wife You Couldn't Keep