You would worry when I started talkin’ about culture. I would be sad, when you were tellin’ me about the future. We would worry , at the bottom of some grave just above sea level, just outside New Orleans. At the top of some skyscraper, in Chicago. Short days getting shorter, as winter came on. Worries becoming more defined, less complicated as time went on. Less akin to fear. More real. And I could still talk to you and you, me, but neither of us could talk to anybody else. Sometimes. Lots of unintentional broken promises in the world. But why? Was it something about all the air traffic competing for attention, packets and waves? Digital signals. Analog overtones. Low def signals. High def undertones?
Anyway, I didn’t expect to be put on trial in Judge So-and-So’s court, either. Who plans out their court appearances, precisely, like bottle-ship builders? So why were we there? Public scrutiny over our could give a damn about our in-laws presentation? To be backhanded for being attracted like mothra to roman candle, to our favorite chosen outlaws? For our multiple citations for by-law window breakage of some corporate glass house? Ya. I guess we’re gonna get black for our wool designation. I never asked to be anything. An icon. A nobody. A sentimentalist. A freak. A mentor. A bleeding heart. An outlaw. A witness. I never asked to be an witness. Did you? I just was one.
I never wanted to dig up dirt on anyone. You never wanted to unearth the once savory bones of goodwill gone bad in an microcosmic corner of a lemon-mustard seed culture, sitting between continents like a refrozen sorbet on dragon roll rotation. But when called, one must avoid perjury. We have a strong defense at the ready. Your honor, please, let me call the most dysfunctional family in the greater regional area, to the stand. Ya, they can all fit in the witness box. They speak in unison. No questions, your honor. Just let them knock around up there for a minute. Their presence alone tells volumes. We rest our case.
We are certainly not guilty of crimes against humanity, ourselves included. It’s not my fault my dna bleeds german. Objection! It wasn’t your preoccupation to study the figures on automaton optimization protocol. I was born in the seventies, man! In the usa. My job was to be free to be me! Not some blueprint come to life on any sale of the century showcase! You were not conceived c-section after a long night of difficult breakbeat breathing, just to end up hanging on some arm or olive branch, for an hour every week! Were you? I was not born an accoutrement! To help sell fine sports cars, toys of the nouveau riche! No! We’re not going at a discount in a dollar store anymore, to someone who looks the part. A good study for consumption! I am no notch in the belt or raggedy rag in the hair, anymore. Trying so hard to protect them from some sun.
We must have early stage alzheimers, you and me and them. Its those iron pots. We gotta get rid of those iron pots…the studies have shown. How many times have we told us? This is where the real crime occurred. In the kitchen. Heavy metal. Its no good for our soft shell brain cells. Shit! Have we all been frying our eggs in it, again? Goodness gracious! Almost forgot to admit that into evidence. Who signed off on iron, in the first place? Was a backroom deal, I bet. Steel got edged out by some caucasian’s half-baked sales pitch, on some back-nine golf game. Before aluminum and Tiger Woods.
That’s how it must have gone down. We may not remember when, exactly, but we were brainwashed by the nine iron lobby. That should shut the door on the case. Now who gets life served up behind steel bars? Whose gonna iron this out? For driving me and you (insane)?
A spark. An ignition. A fire. The beginning is always so very clear, in your face and hard to turn from. Before love arrives you are restless. You hope for love, but your past is checkered. Failed love. Heated love. Passionate love. Unrequited love. Serial monogamy. Bisexuality. Gender expression somewhat fluid. You are a creative type. You always have your heart set in your words, whether involved in a committed relationship or not. You are more and more dedicated to your sense of humor, since it has bailed you out of so much pain. Anyway, it has been awhile, a few years actually, longer than usual. You’re working. Going about life. You are on edge. Not fully content. Missing something maybe. Maybe just too focused on work. You work hard. People notice. Suddenly someone’s seeing you and you are seeing them. There’s romance. There’s magic. This is exciting though frightening. You are tempted to get involved. Your personal life is bizarre, a bit stale, not exactly fulfilling. The relationships are scarce. Friendships? A few. One night stands? Infrequent. Someone falls for you every now and then, but often it doesn’t feel like a mutual life. This time its different. You see someone who likes you, and you really like them, too. You get together after a month long romance. The world is spinning. It is an incredible time. Getting to know one another. You show some love. You get scared. You get overwhelmed. You push away. Its subconscious. You feel hurt. You’re stuck in a pattern.You break their heart. Simultaneously, however, You’ve now finally fallen in love. Its subconscious. They push away. They are hurt from before. They are scared to open their heart to you. You keep trying. You fall down again and again. Loud fights. Great upset. The desperate kinda love will not let up. They disappear. Someone hurt them. Not you. You worry for months. Someone hurts you. You get mugged. You get assaulted. You have ptsd. The winter is the worst of your life. You are so sad. Lonely and alone. Still in love. Waiting. They are healing. They finally contact you. They want to see you and come to see you. You have a great time together. Its a new year. You are inspired and in love. You reach out for help. You get help. You start to heal. You are really vulnerable. But you take a risk and follow your heart. You couple up. In Sacramento. All seems wonderful. For a minute. The weight of the past lies heavy and hard. The past won’t stay in the past. Keeps boiling up to the surface. You both effort to stay present. But the fights are as painful, although much less frequent. They are doutbtful. They have family around. You are new to the area. They have resources. You have obligations. You move in together. Sharing is going well. Trust is still intact. But theres a personal boundary violation. A cell phone turns to dust. Some trust is lost. Theres a crack in the foundation. There is fatigue and fear. And some comfort between you. But then the truth is concealed from you, behind a facade, behind a lie. You are so hurt. You realize you are in love with someone whose not in love with you. Who is building a life, and leaving you out of it. But acting like they stand with you. Your feelings are so intense. You are living vulnerable, but real. You are trying so hard to heal. The pain is intense. You feel like the only thing to do is leave. So you pack your shit up and leave. Quickly. Without fighting. Just a few words. No malice. Just sorrow. The end.The end? The end. The end! The end? The end. The end! The end. The end?