S TREA M # 5 8

-
Ah. Low blood sugar. Or what feels like low blood sugar might feel like. Where were we? Ah: Contraction. Detachment. People fear such notions. But this was how the Chuckster got down to business. He fled the city, fled the noise, the distractions. That’s when he really got down to business. How he focused. That is, if memory serves. I should have it somewhere, that story. But I don’t feel like giving it up – rather, I don’t feel like DIGGING it up. The trick is to count my blessings. That’s one trick. To continue to count my blessings whenever the pangs of error strike. Exempli gratia, I have a roof over my head. I am healthy. I’ve sufficient funding and savings. And my credit? Pristine. Plus, I have one – perhaps two – good friends. I have peace and quiet – relatively speaking. No addictions – save for caffeine. And sugar. And TV. My stresses and worries, for the moment, the precious moment, the precarious moment, are few and far between. But I’ve covered all of this, previously, haven’t I? No. Don’t answer that. Thank you. Thank you for maintaining your silence. Really, it’s very kind of you, very mature of you. I’m just a touch bit dizzy, though. Light headed. It’s quite something, how it comes on so quickly. Fret not, I’ll eat just as soon as I’ve reached bottom, and bottom is near. Nearer. And since you mentioned it, no, I don’t believe in objectivity. Or, no, I believe in objectivity less and less – just like I believe in YOU less and less. Objectivity is absurd. It’s absurd on its face. Why? Because objectivity has no face! It’s an illusion. ALL is an ILLUSION. Heard that one before, haven’t you? I’d wager you have. I’d wager a small fortune. And I’d lose. I’m a piss poor gambler, if nothing else. But as for objectivity, who can truly remove oneself from one’s way of seeing things? No. Don’t answer that, either. I will continue to wait. That is my error to make. Yes, your view can change, but it is still YOUR view – different from the views of others. We are all capable of enjoying the same flick – that's the irony. The kicker. The ironic kicker. Nevertheless, I have been forgotten. Wait this out, and you, too, will be forgotten. That’s a promise. Bottom retched. 

7 August 2008

Popular posts from this blog

Ducks Rowed (More or Less)

-
Q: Hold down a job?  A: Check.  Q: Pay bills (on time)?  A: Check.  Q: Save money?  A: Check.  Q: Obey the Rules of the Road?  A: Check.  Or, mostly check.  Or, rather: Check -ish .  Q: Recycle?  A: Check.  Q: Observe common courtesy? (Exempli gratia, holding doors open for those who follow behind, allowing others to lead the way onto or off of an elevator, giving up a train seat to those who are less steady or heavily burdened, et cetera.)  A: Check. Q: Charitable?  A: Check.  Q: Keep in shape? A: Check.  Q: Avoid junk food?  A: Check.  Q: Find someone to love you back? A: ... Q: Find someone to love you back? A : Pass.  Q: Find someone—  A: Shut up. There’s always a rub. Exempli gratia: You’ll have love, but you won’t have money. Love, but your lover’s unfaithful. Love, but you’ll be sick with AIDS, MS, or cancer. Or, they’ll be sick with fill–in–the–blank. You’ll have love, but you’l...
Read more

The Paint Job

-
The wallpaper as you go up the stairs was fraying, so Pop called up Martin to pull it all off. Pop wanted new wallpaper, but he didn’t want to choose, so he told Martin to paint all the wallpaper-less walls “buff.” Martin and his wife did the job over two Saturdays. On these two days, unless you were Martin or Martin’s wife, you weren’t going up or down the stairs. The planked apparatus that Martin had rigged up made it possible to reach the highest parts of the walls that flank the staircase. Martin propped open the front door, which is several feet from the bottom of the stairs; he also opened the window several feet from the top of the stairs. He’d done it to let out the paint flumes. [Indeed, the flumes, if any, but especially the fumes .] But doing it also let in the horseflies. Or maybe they were only houseflies. Whichever sort they were, they were eager to pester me, all of these flies were. But just me. Martin painted nearly every room on the second floor of the house, save for...
Read more

Shut?

-
The concern for whether or not you’ve shut the refrigerator door completely, or whether you’ve completely shut the refrigerator door, always, always, always strikes once you’ve completed your climb up the stairs. So, then, you do what you’ve always, always, always done: You descend and you return to the kitchen and you press a hand against the refrigerator door. Sometimes, yes, it’s still a bit open by a little bit; sometimes it isn’t. No, MOST TIMES it isn’t. Most times, it’s shut. Really, if you really cared, you’d draw up a chart to chart the validity of this recurrent concern. But if you really, really, really cared THAT much, then your madness would be confirmed. Hencethus, you won’t be drawing up a chart for the aforementioned porpoise. Rather, PURPOSE. Why can’t you simply confirm the ceiling—rather, the SEALING—of the refrigerator door whilst (still) in the kitchen? Exactly what exactly prevents you? Why is it so difficult? What makes it such a challenge? But soft! Perhaps you ...
Read more