(no subject)
So, I wrote. Sort of a big deal for me since I haven't been able to in a hundred years. Not a short story or anything but a song.
So here go.
It must have started somewhere.
I tried not to put my head down for fear of actually endlessly flipping forward like I felt I aught, I tried to to close my eyes and not nod like a deranged sprinkler, and to my credit I succeeded for some time before I succumbed to the whiskey I had not succeeded in ridding myself of. Not that the god that played my attendant was a merciful one, one that would or should let me pass out, or die of hypothermia; I don't want to give that impression in the slightest. I merely rested my head upon that ice-slicked bike rack, nodding back and forth and pantomiming the 'dippy bird' that sat dangerous and unused on my mother's spice rack.
I pay you homage, dippy bird, I thought. Giggled, and fell, and smacked my head upon the sluiced concrete of a wheelchair ramp. My awareness needled to a pinpoint and I let go of that thread. I was no fool fish to be caught with such bait, not when cold dark waters such as these could stay my home.
Well, fuck it, then, I thought in sudden anger with snow penetrating denim, my ass is wet. I'm too drunk to keep putting on airs when these jeans are Diesel. I stood, wobbling, in a snow-globe shaken by a tyrant toddler; felt the back of my head, and knew she had dropped it and gasped to see it shatter on the floor.
I pulled out my cell phone and dialed 911.
"911, state your emergency."
I covered the receiver of the phone and cleared my throat, theatrically whimpered a bit. "Head...ugh, I'm bleeding...I fell..."
"Ma'am, what is your name?"
"I'm outside...so cold...high school..."
"Ma'am, you need to tell me your name and where you are."
"Brookline..." I hung up the phone. There's what, BHS and Maimonides as far as high schools go in Brookline, and why the fuck would I be chilling outside a baby kike zone? I lay down on the ground, so easy to slip into sleep with poison warmth inside me. They'd assume I knocked myself out or something.
Weird thoughts, slipping around loudly, for someone who didn't care. Can't I just float off? But, my right brain argued, ever creative, wondering...the compulsive lying...when did it start? With me? My problems? Before me?
The silent cry of help to everyone I snarled at, a lie of omission, maybe.
I cackled as I saw the ice, red and blue and wet red again. Bullshit. No depth. No knowing. Just here, now, nihilism. Why not? Everything lasting proved ineffectual.
To that, I saluted the cold waters and came home.
So here go.
It must have started somewhere.
I tried not to put my head down for fear of actually endlessly flipping forward like I felt I aught, I tried to to close my eyes and not nod like a deranged sprinkler, and to my credit I succeeded for some time before I succumbed to the whiskey I had not succeeded in ridding myself of. Not that the god that played my attendant was a merciful one, one that would or should let me pass out, or die of hypothermia; I don't want to give that impression in the slightest. I merely rested my head upon that ice-slicked bike rack, nodding back and forth and pantomiming the 'dippy bird' that sat dangerous and unused on my mother's spice rack.
I pay you homage, dippy bird, I thought. Giggled, and fell, and smacked my head upon the sluiced concrete of a wheelchair ramp. My awareness needled to a pinpoint and I let go of that thread. I was no fool fish to be caught with such bait, not when cold dark waters such as these could stay my home.
Well, fuck it, then, I thought in sudden anger with snow penetrating denim, my ass is wet. I'm too drunk to keep putting on airs when these jeans are Diesel. I stood, wobbling, in a snow-globe shaken by a tyrant toddler; felt the back of my head, and knew she had dropped it and gasped to see it shatter on the floor.
I pulled out my cell phone and dialed 911.
"911, state your emergency."
I covered the receiver of the phone and cleared my throat, theatrically whimpered a bit. "Head...ugh, I'm bleeding...I fell..."
"Ma'am, what is your name?"
"I'm outside...so cold...high school..."
"Ma'am, you need to tell me your name and where you are."
"Brookline..." I hung up the phone. There's what, BHS and Maimonides as far as high schools go in Brookline, and why the fuck would I be chilling outside a baby kike zone? I lay down on the ground, so easy to slip into sleep with poison warmth inside me. They'd assume I knocked myself out or something.
Weird thoughts, slipping around loudly, for someone who didn't care. Can't I just float off? But, my right brain argued, ever creative, wondering...the compulsive lying...when did it start? With me? My problems? Before me?
The silent cry of help to everyone I snarled at, a lie of omission, maybe.
I cackled as I saw the ice, red and blue and wet red again. Bullshit. No depth. No knowing. Just here, now, nihilism. Why not? Everything lasting proved ineffectual.
To that, I saluted the cold waters and came home.