stream of consciousness….a woman unloads
This is hard…it sounded like such a good idea when I was hanging out in the shower, letting the hot warm water pour down my bod…without a care in the world. Too much to care about, I think. I don’t have a job…perhaps this is why my brain is running on high gear. This is good — my brain has not done so in so long. There is something very cathartic about having a job — it destroys your brain’s ability to think outside the working world. Now I am left with only my thoughts. I wonder if this is the same process that all the unemployed people deal with. Or perhaps they’re only left to worry about not having a job. I wouldn’t necessarily say I’m worrying about it…the work is on its way….I’ve been thinking more about the concept of entitlement. Entitlement — which to me implies that someone has a right to something, as in a naturally given right. Well I say bollux. I’ve been thinking that any living thing doesn’t have the entitlement to live. Wow that’s morbid…and a rather strict declamation. Something that would take an anthology to write. I hate my generation…we’re all too wrapped up on a global scale. We’re not meant to know what happened 5000 miles away. Perhaps we’re not even meant to care. Our brains can’t handle it. How am I — with the brain capacity limited by the over sensation of media, sights, sounds, experiences, opportunities have the ability to care about what happened in Haiti? Or perhaps the plight of the polar bears? The fact that Africa is the cess pool of the world? How am I even supposed to comprehend that I played a part in the destruction? What am I supposed to do? I’ve been pounded for the past five years that I should basically live in a hut in the woods, never leaving and making sure that I don’t step on the tiniest of plants. What an individual I am. Am supposed to pity Precious or consider her a beast of society? Is Liza Minelli a tragic artist or a piece of crap. Why the hell am I even asking? People reach out for help too much. We’re so weak….we can’t even live without toilet paper. Boy that hut in the woods is sounding pretty good about now. Our way of life is in such a delicate balance and one hit could topple it over. Anarchy and chaos is only one major fuck up away. Just look at the airports. I need to be more self-sufficient. I need to stop caring when the xmas decorations are going to get finished. Amy Winehouse is a tragedy…not a good one either. My mother hates her body…plastic surgery is only a step away. I hate my zits…I don’t know where they came from. Each zit is a sign of my detachment from reality. People find it a life achievement to lose 100 lbs. I wish I could forty…fifty. I’m not unhappy. Just going along for the ride. I love the small things….doesn’t that make me petty? I need to start doing more yoga…that makes me happy. Fifties housewife, bright blue dress, not ironed no shoes wants to make a cake. Not because she wants to but because it makes her happy. I love to cook. But only when I follow a recipe. I love it when I take something written on a piece of paper and transform the words into food. I don’t care if it tastes bad. Is Steve Buscemi happy? Buscemi looks like a man that plays miserable men and then goes home and lives surburban lifestyle. Why is hard bad? Have I lived hard? Perhaps if I did the Biggest Loser perhaps I’d learn the meaning of hard. My conscience also adds I would know hard if I lived in the slums of India, South Africa, and of course Haiti. Why do people feel so trapped? Why not leave? Start another hardship somewhere else? I guess it’s not easy. Phil called tonight. He’s trapped in his job. Birdwatching….people have a fascination watching things that is not their own life. Do squirrels watch us? Do the birds? What about the antarctic penguins? They don’t know our world…but do they dream of other places as they languish in their embattled herds against the cold and windy? So many questions. I think only in questions. I was going to add to that but I hesitated. I need to talk more. Talking is becoming more and more forced. Perhaps because talking is becoming more and more pointless. But on that point this writing thing I like to do is just as pointless. Cowardice…..I like to keep my room clean now…as if that is the only thing I have control over. I love nicotine lozenges more than cigarettes. I like that rush of euphoria every time I suck on one. That with a cup of coffee. Every time I hear a horn play I think of BHouse. I wonder when that’ll stop. I wonder when the next great idea will come on. For a story. My brain thinks in stories. I’ve heard so many…and love them all. I want to tell stories……
