I was thinking that you all would probably like to read a little bit about who this guy is, so you'd be able to pick him out of a line-up or recognize him on the street corner.
Now I understand that time and distance and everything tends to suspend itself and become all convoluted when I’m tripping but I trusted Kevin’s judgment that a huge deer was four feet from us.
“Does it have antlers?” I ask. See I can’t see anything at this point and I am under the impression that I have gone blind and that I will not be able to see ever again. This realization does not startle me but rather I feel relieved that I won’t have to ever set sights on Fern shaking her utterly perfect ass at the bar we both like to go to. It is hard to see that, and sometimes while at the bar I’ve caught myself reaching for the straws in a feeble attempt to grab an instrument with which I can pry my eyeballs from their sockets. Sometimes I think that the shot glasses they use at the cheepster college bar we like to go to would do a better job. If I used one of those I’d simply insert it into my eye socket, apply pressure and turn and pronto – my eyeball would pop out.
I wasn’t permanently blind from that trip with Kevin. I was however significantly altered and I kept wondering what Fern was doing and who she was doing it with. I know that those sorts of thoughts are pointless especially when I’m the one who ended it with her, and the reasons I cited happen to be the drugs and the friends which I want to dedicate more of my time and energy towards than her. Most of the time I don’t care about her anymore but when I start really thinking I realize that she was, for the longest time, all I wanted to do and be and to not have her was to lose that portion of me. Whenever I’m not alright with that all I have to do is take a huge bong rip and hope that my lungs catch up with me before my brain does. Then and only then, while I’m heaving in the fetal position, do I realize that this is now and I exist in this time and space and all that I can do is be. That’s pretty deep shit for a 20 year-old to think about. I have always been precocious, I’ve been told, and more often than not I simply have the curiosity that is required for a person to truly observe the world. There was once this man named Henry James and he said that we all should strive to be “the person upon whom nothing is lost.” I’d say that even being as observant as I am; I still lose about 60 percent of what I should be getting out of all of my daily interactions with my surroundings. That means that for the typical person that number has to be much much higher and the percent of the world they do perceive is likely insignificant and mainly pertaining to carnal concerns i.e. food, shelter, handbags and such.
I really don’t mean to be cynical; it is just how I am. My parents said that I should try to be less serious. I never quite understood what they meant in saying that. It seemed that all throughout my life matters were serious. My father’s parents were dying most of my childhood and arrangements had to be made while they were alive. Arrangements for the loads of money and stock shares my grandfather had in both his and my grandmother’s name. The other matter that had to be settled before they died was who was to take care of Louisa, my father’s kid-sister who has Down’s syndrome. My parents ended up getting custody of her transferred to them and she was placed in a great group home where she’s learned how to perform simple household tasks and I’m told she feels now as though she has a purpose. I wish sometimes that my purpose was as straightforward and recognizable as Louisa’s ability to sort through table settings is.
Other matters in my life cropped up then and they crop up now and they all seem to be of a serious nature. Breaking my arm in a random state that didn’t understand the brand of health coverage I carried, being fired the following week from a long standing job for having had a broken arm, my father being a complete dick to me, because so one stupid mistake. All of these things seem serious, and many other things like being pulled over for a busted exhaust valve in the parking lot of my own apartment complex, finding out that my girl friend cheated on me with some dude I hate, getting indigestion from the Taco Bell I decided I was hungry for, seem utterly world altering at the time of their occurrences. This is why acid is such a powerful drug. See acid takes all of that mumble-jumble and makes it into a straightforward table chart, complete with bar graph and annotated table of contents. It lays out all of the shit that’s perpetually spinning in my brain and makes it stand at attention. It threatens that if the shit in my life isn’t going to act serious than the drug will and does.
Showing posts with label Will's Wild. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Will's Wild. Show all posts
Wednesday, November 4, 2009
I don't know if you're all patient enough to keep reading
Well those excerpts I just posted are not in chronological order. Now I give to you the beginning of my story, let me know if it reels you all in.
Getting a drink thrown in my face has been my biggest wakeup call to date. I was just standing at this bar when some girl walks up to me and I just tell her that she’s got some love handles. I was just trying to give her a wordup. Better me telling her, than some gy pulling on them later that night and making her feel like complete shit. So this girl reacts as follows:
She raises her cranberry vodka drink, splashes it in my eyes and yells “fuck you, you skinny mother fucker.”
At that point I just retreat to my frineds. They always stand near the corner of the bar when they aren’t playing pool or ordering Miller High Life bottles from the one waitress Kristen, the one whose’s got the asymetrical red haircut, the one I tried to make out with once in a drunken rampage, the one who won’t stop texting me once a day.
So after the crazy bitch tries to blind me with pure berry ethenol, I retreat to the smoke balcony. Now the thing with smoking is—I love to hate it. I mean deep down I wish I’d never started up again. I treated a lot of people differently (including my mom, Sherrie) when I started up again but didn’t feel like telling them. It’s hard for me to admit that I do things that I don’t necessarily wish I did.
So I head out to the smoking area, which so happens to be the fire escape for the bar, and there I see this waif of a girl. I mean it seems to me that most girls have problems, most girls I know have either thrown up a meal or snorted a line, but this girl was a tad bit more pathetic, this girl just so happened to also be a smoker. So I’m out on there and this girl, she says her name’s Kellie—“ie at the end.” She seems alright, she seems different. At this point I just want to shake one pointless year of dating and have a one-night-stand or whatever. I mean I figured that this nypmpfy- fairy girl would offer me at least one entertaining nightso I went up and asked for a light.
She fumbled around for a bit in her purse. She had long curly blonde hair and a nose that that more character than beauty. The sort of nose that distroys an otherwise beautiful face, but is refered to as being “interesing” and “ethnic.” I couldn’t tell at the time but upon closer inspection I could tell that her nose had a tiny stud peirced into it.
“It’s alright if you don’t have it,” I said as I leaned down, my Marboro still pursed between my lips. Just then my buddy Reagan came out onto the escape. He said that he wanted to move to some other bar, he suggested a place down the way that served two dollar pitchers.
“Yeah that sounds alright,” I said, my face still close to the nape of Kellie’s neck.
“How about we meet you over there in ten minutes once we’re done here?” Kellie said.
“That’s fine,” Reagan nodded in my direction. He headed out leaving Kellie and I alone.
“What kind of cigs do you smoke?” I ask. I can tell that I’m younger than her. I’m not sure how exaclty I sensed it at the time, but some how I knew that she was at least a year my senior.
“They’re Newport Lights, I know, It’s sort of girly, but I’m a girl.”
“And a very pretty one at that.”
“What?” she asks.
“I said you’re a pretty girl.”
“That’s sweet.”
“Where are you headed to after this bar?” I asked her.
“I don’t really know, my friends tend to leave while I’m out smoking, they figure that I’ve already left.”
“that’s not very kind of your friends.”
“Girls just aren’t too kind.” That was the statement that made me think that Kellie was like Fern. I thought she was enlightened and atune with masculine ideologies and ideols, hell Fern had pinups plastered all over her apartment wall. She used to say that she appreciated beauty, I have to say though that the girl never really let on to be bi-sexual, besides the time I caught her makingout with her girlfriend at the bar, but that was because they were wasted and Sarah doesn’t know when to layoff. Well Kellie and I never made it over to meet up with Reagan, but he underrstood once I told him the next day about what’d happened.
“I played it like you taught me man. I said, ‘hey have you eatten yet’ and she said ‘yeah I ate but it’s pretty late and I can eat again.
Getting a drink thrown in my face has been my biggest wakeup call to date. I was just standing at this bar when some girl walks up to me and I just tell her that she’s got some love handles. I was just trying to give her a wordup. Better me telling her, than some gy pulling on them later that night and making her feel like complete shit. So this girl reacts as follows:
She raises her cranberry vodka drink, splashes it in my eyes and yells “fuck you, you skinny mother fucker.”
At that point I just retreat to my frineds. They always stand near the corner of the bar when they aren’t playing pool or ordering Miller High Life bottles from the one waitress Kristen, the one whose’s got the asymetrical red haircut, the one I tried to make out with once in a drunken rampage, the one who won’t stop texting me once a day.
So after the crazy bitch tries to blind me with pure berry ethenol, I retreat to the smoke balcony. Now the thing with smoking is—I love to hate it. I mean deep down I wish I’d never started up again. I treated a lot of people differently (including my mom, Sherrie) when I started up again but didn’t feel like telling them. It’s hard for me to admit that I do things that I don’t necessarily wish I did.
So I head out to the smoking area, which so happens to be the fire escape for the bar, and there I see this waif of a girl. I mean it seems to me that most girls have problems, most girls I know have either thrown up a meal or snorted a line, but this girl was a tad bit more pathetic, this girl just so happened to also be a smoker. So I’m out on there and this girl, she says her name’s Kellie—“ie at the end.” She seems alright, she seems different. At this point I just want to shake one pointless year of dating and have a one-night-stand or whatever. I mean I figured that this nypmpfy- fairy girl would offer me at least one entertaining nightso I went up and asked for a light.
She fumbled around for a bit in her purse. She had long curly blonde hair and a nose that that more character than beauty. The sort of nose that distroys an otherwise beautiful face, but is refered to as being “interesing” and “ethnic.” I couldn’t tell at the time but upon closer inspection I could tell that her nose had a tiny stud peirced into it.
“It’s alright if you don’t have it,” I said as I leaned down, my Marboro still pursed between my lips. Just then my buddy Reagan came out onto the escape. He said that he wanted to move to some other bar, he suggested a place down the way that served two dollar pitchers.
“Yeah that sounds alright,” I said, my face still close to the nape of Kellie’s neck.
“How about we meet you over there in ten minutes once we’re done here?” Kellie said.
“That’s fine,” Reagan nodded in my direction. He headed out leaving Kellie and I alone.
“What kind of cigs do you smoke?” I ask. I can tell that I’m younger than her. I’m not sure how exaclty I sensed it at the time, but some how I knew that she was at least a year my senior.
“They’re Newport Lights, I know, It’s sort of girly, but I’m a girl.”
“And a very pretty one at that.”
“What?” she asks.
“I said you’re a pretty girl.”
“That’s sweet.”
“Where are you headed to after this bar?” I asked her.
“I don’t really know, my friends tend to leave while I’m out smoking, they figure that I’ve already left.”
“that’s not very kind of your friends.”
“Girls just aren’t too kind.” That was the statement that made me think that Kellie was like Fern. I thought she was enlightened and atune with masculine ideologies and ideols, hell Fern had pinups plastered all over her apartment wall. She used to say that she appreciated beauty, I have to say though that the girl never really let on to be bi-sexual, besides the time I caught her makingout with her girlfriend at the bar, but that was because they were wasted and Sarah doesn’t know when to layoff. Well Kellie and I never made it over to meet up with Reagan, but he underrstood once I told him the next day about what’d happened.
“I played it like you taught me man. I said, ‘hey have you eatten yet’ and she said ‘yeah I ate but it’s pretty late and I can eat again.
I am having trouble inserting text
Every time I attempt to cut and paste from my original word document I have to go into the HTML coding because the normal composition page doesn't let me cut and paste normally. So please excuse the lack of indentation, I don't know why I am having so much trouble, I am not particularly savvy with technology.
So what I was trying to do in the last excerpt was set up for you all the basic idea behind my story, so in review there is a main character who works uptown theoretically, or in some somewhat nice restaurant as a line cook essentially. He has begun to delve into the worlds of the fellow line chefs who work with him.
in this next excerpt the main character explains a bit about himself and the way he sees his world:
In order to fully understand me a year ago though, I really have backtrack and talk about two years ago, or the year I started college and entered my first true bout with depression. I understand that people overuse the word depression but I think that even if I can’t call what I went through depression, it was by far the lowest point I’ve ever felt in my life. I believe only an individual can assess his or her own mental state because only the individual can assess what it was like inside their mind at any given time. See my parents were mad at me because I had driven home drunk and been caught, not to make light of the situation (and believe me it is not something I’d ever want to repeat) but as most research indicates, I am not alone in admitting that the time I was arrested for Driving Under the Influence was only one of may times I’d been out driving on the road while drunk.
It wasn’t that I didn’t figure I’d get caught, it was that my under developed frontal lobe (the part of the brain responsible for controlling decision making abilities) was not fully developed, and it is probably severely traumatized after all of the chemicals I’ve bombarded it with this past year any way. There is no real excuse that is what, I guess, I’m trying to say. And I do realize now to some degree that I am the soul person responsible for my decisions and therefore my shortcomings. It took me a great deal of time to realize that though, and sometimes even now I don’t like to think that I play as big a role in my own life as I really do. At least some times I try to pretend like I don’t have as much stake in my own life as I really do.
See most of my family has gotten to where they are by having kids early in life. My mom had my sister when she was 19 years-old, and my sister had her daughter when she was 24 and unmarried. My step-brother had his kid when he was 20 and ever since then he’s been working his same dead-end jobs around the town we both grew up in and he’ll likely never leave. So by me moving four hours away I was the one destined for success out of anyone in my family. My mom told me that it’s always the kids that are doing the best that the parents worry about the least. I guess that explains why my mom doesn’t do much for me anymore and why she’s constantly offering my sister aide and housing and food.
HAHA-- now it is letting me paste normally, excuse my prior frustration and enjoy the somewhat traditional indentation.
So what I was trying to do in the last excerpt was set up for you all the basic idea behind my story, so in review there is a main character who works uptown theoretically, or in some somewhat nice restaurant as a line cook essentially. He has begun to delve into the worlds of the fellow line chefs who work with him.
in this next excerpt the main character explains a bit about himself and the way he sees his world:
In order to fully understand me a year ago though, I really have backtrack and talk about two years ago, or the year I started college and entered my first true bout with depression. I understand that people overuse the word depression but I think that even if I can’t call what I went through depression, it was by far the lowest point I’ve ever felt in my life. I believe only an individual can assess his or her own mental state because only the individual can assess what it was like inside their mind at any given time. See my parents were mad at me because I had driven home drunk and been caught, not to make light of the situation (and believe me it is not something I’d ever want to repeat) but as most research indicates, I am not alone in admitting that the time I was arrested for Driving Under the Influence was only one of may times I’d been out driving on the road while drunk.
It wasn’t that I didn’t figure I’d get caught, it was that my under developed frontal lobe (the part of the brain responsible for controlling decision making abilities) was not fully developed, and it is probably severely traumatized after all of the chemicals I’ve bombarded it with this past year any way. There is no real excuse that is what, I guess, I’m trying to say. And I do realize now to some degree that I am the soul person responsible for my decisions and therefore my shortcomings. It took me a great deal of time to realize that though, and sometimes even now I don’t like to think that I play as big a role in my own life as I really do. At least some times I try to pretend like I don’t have as much stake in my own life as I really do.
See most of my family has gotten to where they are by having kids early in life. My mom had my sister when she was 19 years-old, and my sister had her daughter when she was 24 and unmarried. My step-brother had his kid when he was 20 and ever since then he’s been working his same dead-end jobs around the town we both grew up in and he’ll likely never leave. So by me moving four hours away I was the one destined for success out of anyone in my family. My mom told me that it’s always the kids that are doing the best that the parents worry about the least. I guess that explains why my mom doesn’t do much for me anymore and why she’s constantly offering my sister aide and housing and food.
HAHA-- now it is letting me paste normally, excuse my prior frustration and enjoy the somewhat traditional indentation.
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