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this is not what I intended to write about, but it is what came out
I know my behavior is often dangerous and demented. My head is full of unicorns and dark flora. What else is there in life except to feel good. For every moment of pleasure in life, you have to purchase an equal amount of pain. When I walked into the funeral home for my Mom's service, the first thing I saw was some long haired guy sitting in an office to my right. He was the music director for the funeral home, but we went to high school together. It was weird seeing this guy in a suit, since the last time I saw him he was 16 years old and a year behind me in school. But he was very kind considering my mom had just died. For some reason, he gave me his number. Networking. Since I have a recording studio back home. I don't think he really expected me to get in touch. The day after the service I called him up. I intended to just get a coffee and check out the old hometown. Get driven around like some rich person and take a tour of all things awful. Slumming. On every block in my old neighborhood there are boarded up houses. Businesses too, are abandoned and boarded up. Homeless people squat in them and cause chaos for the few remaining neighbors of my youth, who are by now elderly and frail. Cops, as usual, don't do shit. The college down the street from my childhood home is now a University, complete with dormitories and skyways. Mr. Music Director drove me around and we talked about what a shithole the East side of Des Moines has turned into in two decades. It was nice to remember simpler times, when things were not so difficult for everyone. Yet it was so sad that I so totally have a type. That this guy was totally spot on. Dark hair, starry eyes, a lover of music, and an obvious hard on under his khaki pants. His apartment was in one of those suburban crack stack multi-plexes with a pool and tennis courts in the middle. I live in a house that is 108 years old. His place smelled like eucalyptus and fortified cereal. I think my house smells like Nag champa, marijuana, and possibly garlic. He said he had a crush on me back when we were both assigned the same driver's ed instructor and I said that his driving was improved since he didn't go down a one way street the wrong way this time. Which wasn't entirely true, if you take everything as a metaphor. He wasn't the music director for my dad's service. There was some old man in charge of the music that time. It's too bad for many reasons, but mostly because that old guy did a horrible job. The songs didn't start on time, the levels were way off from song to song, and he didn't stop them in time so the next song started up inappropriately. I know all about being inappropriate. Being inappropriate tastes like sarsaparilla and cold sweat.
2:40 PM - Thursday, Feb. 22, 2018
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