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goddamn, it's quiet in here. grey. cold and damp (it's supposed to be May, fer Chrissakes!). absent of prospects (or, more correctly, so full of them that i can't decide where to start). i'd crawl back up in the bed, if i hadn't crawled out, just a while ago. the only sign of life is the cat, which is now prowling outside... after her transgression of claw-sharpening on the speakers... an attention-getting action which always results in my Frankenstein impression: the on e where he flails his arms and growls firecely just before the enraged townspeople set the windmill on fire. wrong button to press. Yoko is long gone. her bags were packed to leave for the weekend before i even got home from work, early Thursday morning. guess it's time to play The Last Man On Earth, or get Fucked Up Beyond All Recognition. the Lady or The Tiger? i've gotten past the first day. mowing (my one gesture of normalcy and respectability to my neighbors: Mildred. Thelma Gean. Hilda. Bernice. Daisy. i am not making up any of these names). making my dinner on the grill. watching EvangelionNeonGenesis episodes one-through-five from star-to-finish. getting stoned as a monkey. avoiding, temporarily, this whining. as is usually the scenario when the attitude is thus, the nagging coincidences are popping up, surreptitiously: a few weeks ago, i was recalling a dim memory of when i was in the chorus in elementary school. among the parent-pleasing selections was a hymn-type thing that had the lyrics, "God's in His Heaven, all's right with the world". when i opened the dvd case for Evangeli0n, into my lap dropped this little fake-parking-pass sticker for NERV... what would the arch of type at the bottom say? you guessed it. these past two weeks, i've been immersing myself in Please Kill Me, the story of Punk-glam-glitter rock of the seventies. basically, the soundtrack of my high-school youth, once i could afford to buy albums. when i cranked up the grill last night, instead of subjecting myself to the dreary feminist-singer-songwriter show on the station as background, i flipped on the XMradio on the truck, instead. first song? IggyPop's"Raw Power"... which i'd listened to about twenty-four hours before. WTF? actually, this book has been dredging up memories aplenty. i mean, when your mom is an unemployed alcoholic, and pals around with gay people, it was ironic that the music was the common denominator for their distain. when you shake up that subset, you know you're on to something. what i na�vely didn't realize at the time, was that all of the performers were fucking everybody else, regardless of gender or species. Jolly for them, except for the heroin thing... none of which i had any intention of emulating. they still infected me with overdriven guitars for all time, though. and, nobody will ever rock with more spite-frenzy-conviction than IggyPop. if i want to break something, there's no better soundtrack than "Shake Appeal". boom-crash-splinter-shatter. so, i've got to kiss up to Moms on Sunday. even after the last episode when i couldn't re-tile her floor after my "accident" with the erupting guts ... and she slammed down the phone while i was trying to explain. 'scuse me while i kiss up. cuz that's what MothersDay is for.. when you're out of relatives. time to shatter the quiet. |
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