Monday, July 14, 2008

norman saturday

i woke up & the dog was dead.

it had been coming for awhile. she hadn't eaten for three days and was wheezing like a rusty gate. all through the night she had been moving from spot to spot to spot trying to get comfortable. her name was precious. she was a good dog.

one of the old farts at the bait shop was all by his lonesome slapping at flies. that's probably why he started talking to me. the conversation eventually led to how a good friend of his was black and how he was one of the nicest, smartest, richest men he knew and how he defied all the n-word stereotypes. n-word x 5 in one sentence.

i was driving away thinking, "racism is folklore.".

breakfast of chicken fried steak & biscuits & gravy at the diner. it was packed as usual. a young college couple were in a booth next to each other. both dorks. hallelujah. i read a few pages of bonfire of the vanities. waitress is the perfect fusion of madonna/whore. a member of the book club is there. we say hi in the way that people who have secrets do.

i'm on a friend's laptop organizing the gazillion files on her virtual desktop. i know that among the mob of jpgs are a lot of nude and bondage shots that she'd rather i not see. mission was accomplished except for one file. the lighting and the blur reminded me of those poloroids from the seventies.

i take this same friend's computer parts to the salvation army to donate. the old hard drive stayed behind to be smashed in a bunch of teeny bits. as i'm walking up to the thrift store another member of the book club drives up in a sporty red car. we shake hands - which is the custom - and say hey.
the temperature is around 90 degrees, i'm coated with sweat and i'm wearing my dead man boots on the outside of my jeans because i wasn't planning on being out. i look like a loser and my fellow book club member seems to enjoy that i do.

i hate that guy. i really do.

as i'm driving i see the dorky college couple in a rust-colored hatchback. hallelujah.

i buy a copy of "heartbreak soup" by los bros hernandez.

let me tell you about my absolutely last trip. the werewolf plopped a small package of mushrooms in my hand and said, "happy birthday" - which it wasn't. i wound up at the house that i was supposed to rent a room from feeling the cords of deep thrumming electricity coursing through my body. to get some relief from the sensation of being a wad of tinfoil in a giant's hand i went to the fridge to drink the sangria i had bought earlier. someone had drank it. someone drank my blood.

that's when i saw the dead girl. in a yearbook picture of a girl's basketball team a blonde girl in the back was dead, staring at me with a wicked glare. i close the book but that same face follows me in the pattern of the tiled floor, the woodgrain of the paneling, the reflections of a glass. alone in a strange house being pursued by the dead girl.

sitting in a chair in a small room off the main living room i went through an incredible transformation. the light above me blossomed into an angelic vision. the dead girl was dispelled. i was at peace.

that's when someone smashed in a window. in my fevered state of mind this black clad drunken lad - who had broken into this sanctuary i clung to - was the devil. he sat next to me and asked "how are you?" sensing that this was a chess game for my soul i asked. "how are YOU?"

pizza buffet, more bonfire. the x calls because i called because i could loan her $20. before she gets there an old acquaintance turns around and says, "it's aaron, isn't it?"
"brad."
"i'm nathan"
"i know."
he tells me about working in new orleans - about the devastation. i think that he turned out to be a handsome, well-adjusted, successful guy. the x gets there and he trips on his own face. the conversation veers into a dark, paranoid rant that gets progressively racist. the x starts to argue with him. i state that we need to drop the whole thing. he eventually leaves, mouth going a mile a minute predicting doom and pestilence.
after he leaves i ask her if she remembered my mushroom story.
"meet the devil." i say pointing in the direction of his exit.

a cup of starbucks. my dad walks in and the x walks out. i try to pay for his coffee but he isn't having it. he winds up buying mine.

i debate the merits of strippers vs porn. i come to the realization that it's just another obstacle i'm putting in the way of being vunderable with a woman, of opening myself up to the possibility of going through the same hell i've been through. i go for the porn. another day of purgatory.

i go home, work on gargoyles, watch strangers fuck and write this.

it's 10 minutes into sunday now.