2001-10-12 - 3:04 a.m. - football
tonight is a hollywood film complete with rainstorms and chase scenes. that van came out of nowhere. gasp in awe as the camera pans across the room and then tracks forward, through a thin veil of smoke that we have already consumed and expelled back into the air. a tracking shot that follows the next drag of a cigarette into our lungs, into our blood stream, through our veins, and finally through our bones. traces the curviture of our spinal cords, thick and twisted with scoliosis, through our brains, all the parts we never use and never even attempt to think about, and out of our eyes, and then back into each others eyes. tracing the flow of conversation that slips between our lips and into each others ears to brain through eyes to mouth to ears to brain to eyes...and forever and ever. mixing with oxygen served at room temperature. mingling gentley creating a solution sweeter than wine coolers and kool aid. a tracking shot far more sophisticated and anything Alfred hitchcock did in "Rope" or Robert Altman payed homage with in "The Player."And still the roads outside are paved over with rain. slicked like sweat slicks the skin of sex and lust. and still we drive faster. we drive faster than we have ever driven before. faster than all the days before. running and hiding. ducking and doging. mother fucking choking on the ashes from our own cigarettes. vomiting. falling down naked in a heap at the base of the stairs. then getting back up and starting the process from its beginning, repeating it in its entirety, exact to the detail. only faster. make the mother fucking merry go round go faster. fucking faster.
and as we go faster we hang out hands out of windows fingers wrapped around cigarettes tighter that we hold on to our own life, tighter than legs wrapped around waists, tighter than tournaquets, and dreams about claustrophobia. we hold on tightly afraid that everything is going to dissappear, slip away. kiss us goodbye on the way out. and really maybe we don't have to worry as much about everything else falling apart as we do ourselves. baby we are the fucking glue that holds this city, this state, this motherfucker of a country together. baby without us this place is nothing. nowhere. squaresville. we are the duct tape and wire and rubber cement that winds all the bones of everyone we know--and don't know--keeping them from turning to dust and blowing away in a wind storm angier than mothers who find out there sons are made fun of at school for being fat.
i told you about the time i stuck the screw driver in the typewriter while it was plugged in right? how blue sparks showered the floor and for a moment i glowed with the ridiculous boldness of youth? the sexual joy and risk of trial and error? the boldness of children. and about how now everytime i talk to friends, real friends--the kind that never leave and are constant like interstates--how i feel that spark trace its way through my body. trace through my veins like that motherfucker of a cinematographer. like tonight you folded newsprint into a triangle and we called it a football. we decided to play that game where you flick the triangle across the table surface and try to get it to hang over the edge. if it is hanging over the edge without falling off than it is a touchdown and you get two points. after a touchdown, of course, comes the extra point attempt--the foolish and masochistic part of this foolishly-though-of-as-innocent game--the opponent of the person who just scored presses their thumbs together and hold their fingers up forming a "U," a set of uprights for their opponent to "kick" the "football" through. Of course because of the logistics of sitting in a booth in a doughnut shop and playing this game, it is inevitable that the goal post is the only thing between the soon to be "kicked" "foot ball" and the other person's face. So we played football and told me about telling someone to leave and not come back.
(you position the football on the edge of the table and flick it)
"and then i walked into the street and was almost hit by a car but i just kept walking to my car. didn't even slow down..."
(the football lands in the middle of the table, i flick it back in the direction from whence it came)
"wow...thats fucking unbelievable...like a fucking movie...i've been thinking about this onw girl alot lately...sweet kid...i dunno"
(the football lands a mere inches away from your side of the table. you flick it back toward me. you then proceed to wrap my scarf, the dirty gold one, around yr head.)
"I hate this color...you want to know why?"
"are you knocking my scarf?"
"no seriously do you want to know why?..ive always hated that color..."
(the football lands a centimeter away from the edge of the table. so close i have to measure it by pressing a pack of cigarettes to the table edge to see if the triangle's point touches the cigarettes.)
"man, you left me a bad lay"
"sorry"
"its cool, yr mom told me you were good at that..."
"she'd know..."
"tell me why you hate my scarf now?
"okay..."
(i flick the football it only moves a about an inch toward your side of the table.)
"Fuck!"
"so when i was little...i puked up popcorn and orange juice...and so i've always hated this color"
(you flick the football and it lands hanging over the edge of the table)
"motherfucker"
"Hey what can i say...make the uprights"
(i press my thumbs together and form the "U")
"sorry about this...its a game of punishment"
(you flick the football through my extended index fingers. it ricochets off my forehead and lands on the floor next to the trashcan.)
"motherfucker"
"heh heh heh"
and then we smoked some more cigarettes and left. information exchanged. truths shared. hearts exposed. friendships tried and true. born brighter than stars and lasting longer.
this is such a beautiful fucking city. what a beautiful fucking country, man! And only because of us. because of all of us who love each other and break bones to hold hands. we are all the goddam glue that holds this world together. sniff us and you will get high. eat us and you will be sent to the principles office.
im thinking of you. and how i really kind of miss you and how strange that is. but at the same time i am coated in wax of brilliant blue by all these beautiful people i haven't seen in a long time.
peace.
xoxo
listen to: bob dylan.
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