Archive for the Uncategorized Category

aquarium syndrome

Posted in Uncategorized on June 7, 2010 by staticity

I was walking through the night streets not the day ones, looking at the houses when it happened. Aquarium Syndrome. Only does this happen in between time zones. Never normal hours. Never full hours with precise times and places to match. When it should be eleven, but maybe it’s more like four.   One step. Two steps. Car horn trumpets. Late night music illuminated by that weird glow I can see echoing down the pavement. Down and around the block. Just hanging out on a stretch of good intention that I could barely run with.  Not tonight.
The brightness just gets fainter. Eyes half mast and I’m starting to feel control. I could walk this walk all night. Looping around and around stray corners. I could walk through brick.
My shoes are crawling onto my eyelashes, pulling my lids further. Down and behind. I refuse to stop walking. I can’t stop now. Only one more stair to go. Stretching over my entire body. Only one more level until I see the sting rays. Peeling over the back of me. Who wants to see only  gold fish from the first level?
It’s dark inside. shapes and light flicker from the other side but their fuzzy. Thin air elevation.  I like this feelnig. I want to be in the wind when there’s no sky.
Buildings lean against each other, windows stuck up. Gwawking.  They wait, gap toothed with empty pains. Why are they screeching when the paint is still there? Cinder block eyes, lining cracks. I should be afraid of those buildings. They try to be houses. Posing. Sleepless and stuck gaping with stooped smiles.
Come on. Don’t you want to see the sharks? The second level is only sting rays- only one more stair until the next one. My feet keep walking.
2-3-4 in the morning. Sleep isn’t even a concern anymore. I’ve got to get past those buildings, they just keep coming.  I want to go. Fingers slightly splayed. Strayed. Stayed and stretching out from my hand into a curl. Hello buildings. They don’t say anything, they keep staring. The street light is still on- it’s okay. The building smiles. Don’t you want to see the top?
The top. That seems so familiar. Wracking empty corners of a poorly lit head for vague memories. I know what happens here- but what is it? A car goes by in the distance. I know this. There is a yellow line somewhere in the middle. I know this too.  It’s all a distraction from what’s really going on. I just need just a little more time to concentrate. Just a few more hours.
The top. Past the other fish. Up. Up. Up. The color is just blue, but it feels so much like white that I know it has to be. It is white. That is why I don’t like aqauariums. They lie about  the most basic of colors.  Plastered with the fish that can’t talk but have been there forever. Forever. They move slowly with clinging water molecules. Weighing. Down. Every. Little. Thing.  With the quiet of dark buildings. Staring through me. Past my eye lids and right into the back of my head.
Shit. I don’t want to go to the top of the aquarium.

weak

Posted in Uncategorized on October 21, 2009 by staticity

Do you ever feel just off? Not sick- just kind of blank, but not in the nice regular day to day, four o clock way.  Like you’ve run out of thoughts. Is that possible? Thought out. Completely. Nothing left but stupidity, but not even stupidity… just blank white. I hate white, nothing that bare can be that good.

Yup, it’s gone. Whoops- thought I had it, guess I missed it god damn it. I tried to get a thought in earlier, but it just wasn’t happening. Force field of skin block.    Not to say that you can’t feel things when you’re this blank. The feelings are there, but the mind is empty. So if the feelings are there, maybe that means feelings are disconnected from  your brain. So where do you feel it? My back. I feel it in my spine.  That’s probably why they give you shots in your spine, because it goes straight to your feelings and numbs them out. I don’t want that.

I think it’s definitely possible to over load on your imagination. I think most people over load when they’re a kid and then it slowly disappears over time. Then you’ve only got it on reserve- for when you ‘really need it.’  But need is a funny word, and you’ll end up perserving it forever if it’s only for emergencies.  Funny indeed. Yup- funny like a paper spine.

Finito

Posted in Uncategorized on August 29, 2009 by staticity

There once was a boy named Finito who lived in the grayest and coldest of cities. He lived in a palace of walls built from cardboard and wooden boxes. Each room had four sides and each side had another box until there were four boxes, one on top of the other. He hadn’t always lived in the boxes, he used to live out on the street with the rats, but he hated the rats.
They were mean, nasty, ferrol creatures with yellow teeth and smelly fur.  They stole to live and grew tough to survive, rats were no good to talk to. They stayed in packs which were more like swarms of furry diseases all piled together in dingy places underground. When it rained or at night when no one could see them, they would dash out into the street to loot what they could out of life only to bring it back to the hideaway which they lived in.

Finito liked mice. They were quiet, minded their own business, and generally didn’t cause any problems. People gave them a bad rep, but he knew they were alright. The mice buried themselves into simple living. Cracks in buildings, closet space in some unfortunate woman’s kitchen, and inside ventilation systems. Mice were crafty and could always stay dry, this is what first allured Finito to live with the mice.  They led him to the cardboard boxes in back of a supply store and he saw the sign immediately. Vacancy.

The living wasn’t nice, but it wasn’t bad. He liked the sturdiness of the boxes, somehow the four walls with their straight lines and their definite corners comforted him. Four equal squares. One line connected to the other and then to the other and then to the other. A square of boundaries so one could not easily waft away. Eventually he replaced the cardboard with wood and would stay inside the squares for most of the day. It was safe in there and if he wasn’t seen, he could block out the noise from the city.

One day, Finito was outside of his box collecting food when a man of circular proportion strolled up to him. Everything about this man was round. His belly was as fat as the moon, his eyes bulged with two, round, circles underneath, his hair was in round, thick, tufts that rolled off his circular face.  He had a giant half-circle grin which gleamed and stayed from ear to ear as he talked.

“Have we met before?” His eyebrows jumped off his face.
“Uh…” Finito’s body was young and angular. His spine stuck out of his back like an awkward clothes hanger and his legs and arms were bony and pointed.  “No, I don’t think so.”
The man wore a bright pink polo shirt with an alligator print sewed on the front. His shoes were expensive leather and stuck inside his grin was a fat, round, cigar that he puffed frequently.
“You look tired,” he observed.
Finito looked around, not knowing what to say. Conversation wasn’t his strong point.
“You poor thing,” the man said, sticking his head down against the boys, forcing him to see his eyes. The intrusive staring made Finito’s face burn against the cold and he squirmed, wanting to be left alone. “I’ll call you Alfred.”
“Excuse me?” Finito looked up at the man.
“Alfred’s my name too,” the man put his arm around Finito and led him down a different street. “I grew up a few streets from here myself, but I didn’t stay here. Oh no- the world had different plans for me and I think the world has different plans for you too.”
“What sort of plans?”
“The kind of plans that one takes to be wonderful. I live in a big house and have plenty of income, you can stay with me while we find you a nice job so you don’t have to stay out here in the street.”
“I don’t actually stay on the street…”
But Alfred wasn’t listening, he was directing the boy to his giant house several streets down. The house was one large circle. At first, Finito couldn’t believe such a thing was possible, the insulation would have to be terrible and the supports must not have been as good. Alfred opened the door to the house and instantly they were entrapped in a maze of small hallways that led off into different semi circular rooms.
“Neat, huh?”
Finito didn’t say anything, he felt oddly uncomfortable in this house. Alfred thrust himself into a large lounge chair and sighed loudly. “Gosh, I’m so tired, I’ve been working very hard today.”
Finito didn’t know what this man did, but clearly it must have been greatly important if he was able to afford such an odd yet distinguished home.  “I can’t possibly make dinner tonight, yet I have all the ingredients in the kitchen.”
Finito stared at the man, the man stared back. “Would you like me to make you dinner?” Finito finally asked.
“Oh yes! What a wonderful offer! You may have some too,” the man smiled proudly as he leaned further back into the chair.
Finito found the kitchen finally after bumping into several identical rooms with fancy furniture. The kitchen was bland, no art and no color and looked like it had hardly been touched. The closet however, was stacked to the gills with every kind of food imaginable. Finito could feel a strange pressure building inside his chest up to his throat and then branching into his smile. He was going to cook everything he could possibly imagine.
Dumpling soup. Organic salads. Spiced Chicken. A cake for desert. This was going to be a feast of all feasts.

The fat man appeared in the doorway after an hour to ask why it was taking so long. His sour expression quickly changed when he saw all the food prepared at the table. “Aha! You have found my food!”
At first, Finito thought the man would be angry at his extravagant use of his food. He averted his eyes from the ever pressing eyes of the man at the other end of the kitchen.  The man touched the solid jaw line of Finito’s face and stared at him again until the warmth curled back into Finito’s face.
“You poor boy, this is wonderful.”
Finito moved away quickly and started to eat part of the chicken. “No, no, we must eat in the dining room.” The man ushered him away from the kitchen.

So it went, every morning the fat man would get up and dress in flamboyant colors and go off to work. Finito did not know how to get a job or why he was there, but he stayed in the round house day after day.  As the week wore on, the cooking became his responsibility. On Friday nights several other fat men with round faces and cigars would sit in one of the rooms and roar with laughter and drinks.
Alfred would call for Finito to come in and serve drinks. Finito did obediently.
“Alfred! This is my son Alfred!” The man would say to the other fat people. Finito did not know why he would say this, but he never objected and soon it was as if he were his son. The other men would laugh uproariously at the jokes Alfred made and they would all compliment Finito heavily on his manners or dress.
The next week, Alfred bought Finito several pairs of expensive clothing to wear for these dinner occasions. The next Friday he would be seen as the miniature Alfred.

This went on for months until one day Finito did not want to pretend to be Alfred’s son any longer. “Alfred, how do I get a job?”
Alfred looked startled and hurt. He peered affectionately into Finito’s eyes again and the hot flash of shame brushed through Finito’s skin again. “You don’t like it here?”
“I want to get a job now. I don’t like staying here all day just to cook and entertain people you know.”
“You won’t be able to get a job. I didn’t want to tell you earlier because it’s just so sad- but you will never find work. You just aren’t smart enough to make it out there on your own. I figured if you could never have what I have, I could at least provide it for you.” Alfred’s large smile was still plastered on his face, but his eyes looked sympathetic and yet burning.

During the night, Finito left the round house to make his own future. He hated the fat man and his fancy clothing and his fake care.  Finito crept out of the kitchen window and hurried outside. He would find some place better and make sure Alfred knew about it.

So a few days later he applied for several jobs. He learned to laugh like the friends of Alfred and joke the way Alfred did. He wore his expensive clothes and smiled brightly even if he felt scared or even angry. He pleased people and complimented people and would do whatever he could to get people to like him. And they did! Much to Finito’s surprise and delight, he was offered a job in a hotel made of solid gold located right in the center of the city. He was to be the assistant to the manager. The manager of the hotel was another round man who was impressed with Finito’s modesty, innocence, and charm.

The manager would invite Finito to drink with him at night. They would sit at the top of the hotel and look out over the city while they sipped at their cocktails.
“Look how beautiful this place is.” The manager swept his hand over the city, it was all his.
“Yes.” Finito covered his mouth with the glass.

The next day, Alfred checked into the hotel for a meeting on the top floor. Finito stood in the doorway and smiled proudly.
Alfred did not recognize him so Finito didn’t say anything. His anger fumed inside his chest and while they rode the elevator to the top, Finito cursed him over and over again in his mind. Damn bubble. Filled with air. Doesn’t remember a thing.

By the end of the day, Finito longed to tell someone. The manager had dismissed him and was bored with conversation that wasn’t about him or the hotel. When Finito tried to tell him about Alfred, the manager only glazed over as if turning into a zombie. Finito quit that night and decided to go back to the boxes.

Lines and squares weren’t forgiving, they were statutes.  He thought of the mice, at least they wouldn’t say anything.
A month later when Finito was feeling more solid, he realized it wasn’t a problem to go out and mingle around with people in the city. It was easier to find food while living quietly and comfortably in his square life.   On one of his walks around the city, he bumped into Alfred standing at a nearby street. Finito watched with detached amusement.

“Do I know you?” The fat man walked up to Finito and squinted at him with sympathetic eyes.
Finito frowned instantly and waved his arms in front of him as if to dismiss this image from his very sight.
“No- I am Finito!”

Second Street

Posted in Uncategorized on August 1, 2009 by staticity

It’s ten a.m. exactly and I’m on the air mattress with dirty hair and a giant body (?) pillow that says Maryland Terapins on the front. From this angle I can see the yellow stucco building next to mine perfectly. I wonder if they scan see me from the window up there… Mom said to ‘make sure and pull your blinds, this isn’t….’ but she doesn’t have to say the rest. I get it.

IMG_1012
I had a dream last night that I woke up and decided to go downtown to have breakfast and a memosa. I woke up this morning and thought- that is entirely a possibility.

This is pretty nice, I must say. I feel like I’ve something from everything up until this point.  312. Basement. Philly. Mom’s. Dad’s. Nigeria. Tapestries have come from the basement parties eight years ago. The Maryland Terapins body pillow is Phil’s which I stole out of the living room so I can feel like I actually am sleeping with someone.  I’m listening to that song my partner in crime reintroduced me to ‘Deception’-Blackalicious.  The pink milk crates my Mom and I actually had to put together came new. I’ve got the little African table that was from Nigeria.  The blanket Dad gave me when I left for my first apartment. The jewlery box from my Grandmother.  My uncle’s pottery from before he stopped up short. And…I’ve got the wooden cat.

Beastie Boy: fight for right to live

Posted in Uncategorized on July 21, 2009 by staticity

Adam from the Beastie boys has cancer.

Morris vs. Shifflett

Posted in Uncategorized on July 8, 2009 by staticity

Alvin Lee Morris (who looks suspiciously like the guy who delivers my wood) has been convicted of murdering Robert Shifflett.  Supposedly there was a love triangle (as usual) between Mrs. Shifflett and Mr. Morris. It is suspected that Mr. Morris killed her husband (Robert Shifflett) to be with her. Mrs. Shifflett eventually married Alvin “butcher” Morris and will be sitting with him to show her support while he is in court.

butcher

Savage Sex

Posted in Uncategorized on June 1, 2009 by staticity

I’m listening to the Savage Love podcast (sex topic advice column including fetishes) and a caller called in to talk about in seventh grade he had a relationship with a neighbor girl and they had sex. That wasn’t weird. The girl’s family had this strong reputation for sexual abuse, so when the girl asked this guy (the caller) to slap her around and humiliate her and throw her out of the house naked, he said he wouldn’t do it because he thought it would be bad news to try and have rough sex after sexual trauma. Dan Savage brought up that the girl might have these fantasies to feel more in control (even if the fantasies weren’t ones where she was in control.) and that it might have been a way to heal herself from what happened. What do you think?

( it’s episode 27 in the link above)