Feb 13 2013

Rant, you beautiful cynic. let the words fall out of you like dominoes on a sloping hill, the ridiculous contraption, with extraneous steps to achieve a very simple goal, the human body is a large, gluttonous Rube Goldberg machine, one that stays up late giving champagne toasts to the mirror for the perpetuity of the species, or for late night cravings for 24 hour bungee jumping school or something crazier, and the body continues to grow and take on different shapes depending on the order or arbitrary motions the human conductor decides to accomplish, what is the goal and the body will react fitfully at first if the goal is physical independence or dexterity. The man behind the mind will always try to create the best outcome for the body, to receive the god given pleasure and reap the sow of the land and to grab handfuls of grapes from high forest trees, the tropical paradigm and the seasonal affective disorder, the body is amorphous, continually manipulating space to fill like a bubbling lava lamp or a poisonous yet edifying drug addiction, there are neurotransmitter that this machine gets hooked on and begins to jones for the same rush felt years back in dark garages, cold and illuminated with high ceiling black lights and lotion on the skin glows disgustingly or provocatively, there have been moments of sheer terror in there with the song of our hair growing out, lighting fireworks on the ground and falling into the drum set without inhibitions whatsoever, the ability to drink so much that you are unaware of who you are, dipping cigarettes in children's cough syrup, an epidemic of the epidermis, the epic internal struggle when you continually question what is going on around you, quiet in the corner, buckle in to the car seat and the others simply use your locality for a free high, maybe stealing a beer out of the fridge if it was a poker night, and the stars shine bright but we were never dumb enough to go too far outside, just sit stupidly in a garage and listen to loud music, missing the times we had the enormous PA system speakers that we would run both vocals and keys through back in the days of At Night. Some summer nights, bring the tv down, borrow and xbox and hook up that massive wall of speakers to war video games and at ridiculous volume. a war on the hill top in the woods, may as well have been an insane asylum, that description of fairy tale creatures and mythological stories to find written on tree trunks out there, years and dates and time capsules buried underneath the growling moss, the serpents beneath the willows, the fallen giants of trees, hollowed out and used to heat up and cook our drugs for us, we rape the earth here and live in the middle of a jungle the property value sky rocketing after 20+ years and the working man was able to provide something special for his family, despite shutting down and away into a tiny gold pipe and an old, dry, collection of thc. the daughter, the sister, perpetually high inside the building and the ceiling of her room now takes on the tarnished look of a blackened lung or liquor stained kidney, something impenetrable and the fat cells grow around the midsection of our bodies if we allow our vices to take over entirely. Sex is different. A healthy release and a work out to keep the spirit fresh and the hands from shaking with severance anxiety, with creaking beds and horrible approximations and the loose handle of friendships with others and no stupid jealousy, it was very simple then and I did not react as well as I'd thought I would and getting in the mood, the vibe of those girls, whoever they were, by god, they all showed up nicely scented and recently bathed (at least a few months prior), their clothes done up and the description of the house is one of haunted eyes and harrowing plot summaries, I wonder the words expressed for the freakish movements, the couch and television moments, the wondering aloud what to do and then the ultimate decisions to dust off the old punching bag and go to town, print off the face of a mutual enemy to dream of mutilating, or the old walk around the premises, the estate and the forest growth overtaking, the lack of embarrassment for a place impossible to have consistent upkeep, the lawn becomes a jungle and when we walk there is potential to step into dried up old dog shit from an animal who has been turned to ashed and released into the cool air atop of green mountain, he was a good friend but in a time of intense mental stress, something I couldn't love entirely, I was afraid of everything and his good-natured slobbering and squealing, and at the end the terrifying arthritic back legs and white around his old eyes, a good life, never yelled at aside from when he ate incredible amounts of chocolate cupcakes when I was a kid and mom had to force him to throw up every few hours for the rest of the day, I don't know if he ever forgave her for that, not understanding with bestial stupidity that it was her love for him and the desire for him to continue living in our huge complicated house, playing fetch and never understanding what kind of relationship a man can have with a dog, to be a god to a creature, I am responsible for your life and your well being and you look to me without discrimination unless we played rough one too many times, to make you bark and then to quiet you down and the beautiful breed of creature to feed and love and the human element removed from me, the cat was more reliably nice to me, always follow me up the stairs to sleep near me as I did whatever, typing on this same lap top probably, listening to the same quiet music, nothing too loud otherwise he would be afraid and run away, clawing at my heels as I walked by, coax me to follow him up or down the stairs in order to suddenly pull a reversal and be partially on his back, hooked around the ledge of the prior carpeted step, in order to have wonderful attack position, scars and claw marks but never felt the need to be mean, always pawing away at a pencil on the ground or a fallen leave, the unstable condition of the big play toy, feathers to scratch at, and the madly waving tail... poor creatures...