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friends of P
Not in a good place, in a good way, not in any way. I was feeling what could best be described as "elated" that my friend K started responding to my emails and sending emails to me that were not just a direct response to something I'd said. Then 24 hours later the thoughts in my head weighed me down so much I was flirting with death since he wears such a kick ass hoodie. Trying to be funny. Always trying to be funny. I know I'm not funny, but it was programmed into me. My family always was trying to make jokes to make life seem better than the horrorshow it is. This morning was fairly quiet, was able to sleep and dream and even rub one out and then the caretakers of the abandoned property across the street that decimated the trees and plants all day yesterday shows back up and starts running a trimmer for hours, noise and air pollution. I freak out. PTSD of waking up every single morning for years to sounds of leaf blowers and chainsaws. I finally grab the LP of Chain Gang Songs I inherited from my parents and have never gotten around to hearing and blast it on my stereo. We have 4 speakers and they are very efficient. So, everyone gets to hear some old school blues on a Sunday. Well, the dude was singing about Jesus and whitey killing his family and things like that, so it was appropriate. Then the kid across the street starts swinging on their swing set. I have never seen them use that thing the whole time we've been here and I'm glad the kid finally is playing outside like kids should. But then it starts screaming. The record is over by now, the trimmer is gone, but the kid is just screaming at the top of its lungs. I start organizing our LPS and CDs because I am not doing so great, been meaning to do this for months, and I just snap and yell, "Yeah kid, scream! Scream because our lives are void and meaningless and futile and we are all doomed!" And I'm in my house, and not really screaming, but raising my voice, but maybe the kid heard me because it shuts up just like that. My husband is standing there staring at me totally freaked out, but he's shaking and sweating through his clothes like he does every morning after he takes his meds so he has to go lie down. I keep organizing the music and it's quiet for a short time until shithead across the street breaks out his shitty lawn mower and rides it around for a few hours. I have to close all my windows because it's so loud and it immediately reeks of gasoline fumes. Even with the windows closed it sounds like they are open, this POS mower is so loud. My husband feels better so he makes me some coffee and we listen to a Milt Jackson LP and now finally that shithead neighbor stopped mowing and I'm a little jittery from the espresso and I'm going to try to maybe do an art shirt or a collage or something. I don't know. Something artsy fartsy. I'll get out my Ipod and try to ride out this bi-polar roller coaster trip that I didn't want to go on. My friend K really aggravates my mental illness. I should probably just let it go.
I am a vulnerable person, and I have to take care of myself. I'm a marshmallow. I'm a care bear. I'm scary bear. I think I'm going to do a painting of that. Dub it a self-portrait.
I found a quote the other day while trying to find another quote. I didn't find the one I was looking for, but I found one that led me to finally finish a poem that I had been working and sitting on for some time now. The quote was:
"When you stop doing things for fun, you might as well be dead."
-E.Hemingway
So I named the poem after him, but most of it was written already.
I know how much people hate P(oetry). But I'll post it anyway.
"Ernest Hemingway"
Please
don't tell me I'm
doing the right thing
doing what is right
is a trap
a clickity click trap
like these keys
on the board
rarely ever see real paper
money it's always
zeros and ones
bouncing through
the spaces between
into one account
strings of numbers
into another
low vibe
virtual vibration
virtual currency
on a live-wire current
connected to every spy-net
in the world
spied a bag-lady
counting pennies
to buy a loaf of bread
at the dollar store
smelling like intoxicants
and aqua-net
used up
also known as
spent
but they all want
people like her
quote unquote
to give just
a little bit more
be better
try harder
feed an ego
starve a whore
tomorrow afternoon
about half past noon
I've made some plans
to chew through
my left hand that
got jammed in those
righteous steel jaws
the trap of charity
the last straw
landed about twenty-four
hours ago
broken back
filter-less sand horse
cashed like a check
and really gone
doing better now
bloody and broken
but better by some
sub-standard
subjectively
better now
and still I want some
more
you're happy and you do it
you're anxious and you do it
you do it therefore
you do it
around like an abandoned carousel
that the caretaker left running
when they closed
the theme park down
no more fun
give me fun or give me
death
no more
that's the right thing
everyone tells me
so I pass it on
Ernest Hemingway
had it half right
then he had
his mind blown.
1:35 PM - Sunday, May. 30, 2021
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