2001-11-13 - 4:44 a.m. - goddam, red bull makes me crazier than alcohol ever will.
the wedding was pumped twice and measured in calibers; nobody asked why. everyone knew by the bulge beneath her off white dress exactly what was going on. everybody knew from the off white dress. she just blushed, brushed her hair off of her forehead-not tangled in a labrynth of curls and hair spray but piled neatly and pinned-and rolled her eyes in frustration at every woman who wore the virginal white gowns despite years of handjobs, blowjobs, fucking and, maybe the occasional, love making. at least she was honest. no old and sullen maker of gowns would ever take that away from her. but still all those liars made her look horrifically immoral; a color photograph in a black and white world; a television set owned by an Amish family.Pride. What a disgusting idea pride is. Who teaches who pride. It isn't really any different than joy. She had thought this over many times. Imagined the day her child would bring home all A's on his or her (they still didn't know, passing on the ultrasound to embrace their love of surprises) report card; the day that the child would win a sporting event in a dramatic moment; the day their child would win the pulitzer prize. These were all prideless exercises. When each of these events happened, because they most certainly would, there would be no mention of pride. No "honey-i'm-so-proud-of-yous" or "you-are-my-pride-and-joys," because pride is nothing more than a construct of people who think that being happy, and making other people happy just isn't enough. Instead of pride there will be "I-am-so-happy-for-yous" and "you-make-me-so-happys." The difference is obtuse at best. She wrestled with the importance of the diferrence for hours, daily. What difference does it really make; happiness versus pride? What difference does it really make; if windows are made of glass or opaqe plastic?
This is what the woman realized everyday, and then subsequently forgot and had to begin thinking of again on each following day: if astronauts were to remove one star from the sky, not the sky, from space, when we say sky the scope is far too narrow, before that star was ready to be removed the entire universe would become a ball of yarn with one end stapled to a wall while the ball rolls down a staircase. And suddenly images from old Ray Bradbury short stories collect in the concious thought process and she promises to never step on another butterfly. Better, step on every butterfly and second guess nature. But then hesitate and change your mind because you are triple guessing fate but what isn't realized is that fate can out guess you times 1.23 to the 89 power. Its all useless really. It is. And there lies the contradiction of everything. She thinks so hard everyday to the point where she can almost feel her skull expanding with the pressure of new knowledge. Ultimately and growth is subverted into pain, migraines are born like schools of fish swimming up stream. Whoever heard of migraines being born out of two strains of contradictry thought as they occur simultaneously in one brain; control over one's destiny and fate; matter and anti-matter.
The headaches have mocked her fragile temples since she got pregnant. Something to do with stress. Something to do with fear. Nobody every noticed how she was always trying to solve every puzzle ever known to man. She was the best. She could solve them all if they would allow themselves to be solved. Strangely enough though, she could not solve the most obvious and painful puzzle of all. She wondered: How could I have become pregnant if my lover was sterile. She believed in honesty. He believed in naivete. Or maybe that is all wrong. Maybe A miracle occured here. Maybe fate determined that the offspring of this man and this woman would grow to reshape the geometry of the earth in such a manner that this man could be sterile no longer. Maybe the child is not the offspring of this man but instead the second coming of God himself. This pregnant bride was a beautiful woman, perhaps one of the most beautiful to ever grace the presence of this courthouse, so pure and innocent, what better chocie for god than to knock up a pale, beautiful, virgin without her even realizing it was the creator of, well, everything who was moving in and out of her. And perhaps she needn't be wearing of white at all. Yes, she is a liar just like every woman who wears the white wedding gown. But she is a liar because she HASN'T had sex, not because she had. A person would think they'd remember something like their first time. No, the doctors checked her out, the hyman was intact and she had never had sex. And finally, standing in front of the judge and a room full of loved ones, everything made sense; every color from every wall, face and book drained itself from its home and turned into puddles of memory on the ground. The puddles swirled and crept across the floor, the way that only puddles can creep, until he odd liquid arrived at the brides feet. The liquid slowly began to absorb beneath her skin and into her veins. yes, everything became clear indeed. and nothing matters, ever.
xoxo
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