A Sunday
Houses are too comfortable. Too safe.
And mine’s too quiet. I’m thinking, thinking alot. But, I bet if I was out in the freezing cold I wouldn’t be thinking. I’d be surviving.
And if I didn’t even have a cell phone! Then I wouldn’t wonder when she was gonna call. Ah yes, see, simplify. I need to simplify. I’ve had it too good for too long.
Some may say I need a job or something, just something to keep my brain steady and and and focused. Well that’s why I write, see. I’m starting to write so I level out, get calm, get sane. And I can write out there, in the cold. I won’t ever have to think, thought comes in and goes out onto the paper, no time to set and rest and fuck up all the furniture, in and out and on with surviving.
But I couldn’t just set a sleeping bag in the middle of a cul-de-sac, no, no. I need to get out of suburbia, that’s it. Where houses look different, or where there aren’t houses at all, and there’s just grass, and everything breathes, the ground and the trees and the air flows with a million cold breaths that smell.
Well everything’s dead anyway right. I go from gray walls to gray bushes in a step and I’m right back where I started, with my brain and the cell phone and the fear and the computer.
I try to blast it out, with dynamite. Get in my car and turn the music up so loud that it sounds like God is tearing through my skull in an American made car, leaving tread marks on my cerebellum, and I don’t know what that is, and I still don’t have a job.
So it doesn’t help, really. Talking helps. Talking clears it. But as soon as I’m done talking it starts again. And even now, my fingers don’t move fast enough to say the nothing that I’m saying, and she still hasn’t called, and nothing moves fast enough.
Constant stimulus. Never ending, never subsiding noise. That’s what it takes.
But this helped. So I’m going to do it again at some point, when I need it.
But for now, I’m going to look at a couple more bright and shiny screens, open the window, breathe the biting dark, and freeze those thoughts right up.
Eventually laying them on a pillow that is never quite comfortable enough.
And right before I’m gone, my eyes will open and I’ll wonder if I was too honest.
