Sunday, June 15, 2008

dead on the wall

It's taken me 33 years to come to this; to taste the truth. I know there is nothing we can do to rub the stains out, to prevent it from going to rot. I have to force myself to look at it, trust it, and let it be. Somewhere in there, between the mess of conception and a pile of dirt, there are moments so magnificent you couldn't possibly dream them up let alone devise them; harness them at best, but this kind of thing can never be contrived. Once you try to pin it down it ceases to exist. It is literally a specimen, dead on the wall. And that, my friends, is what has happened to me.

All of this can be summed up nicely by a quote from The Princess Bride.

"Life is pain, Highness. Anyone who says differently is selling something".

It was either going to be that or my favourite, "My name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die", but I couldn't figure out how to make that one fit.

I can't be sure I will survive this. Actually, the one thing I can be sure of is that I won't. And neither will you. I guess it is just a question of time. To see it for what it is is painful in and of itself, but I was always a soft hearted kid. At least that's what my father used to tell me on drives home from his apartment Sunday evenings as I choked back sobs. He would say that and I would stare out the window trying to imagine what a soft heart looked like. I already knew what it felt like; a pain in my chest that never really went away.

Tuesday, June 03, 2008

big red dog

We cut between two buildings to get to St. Clair. There was this slightly frothy puddle in the ally.

"Careful, don't walk in that", he said, a gentlemen-like warning. "Looks like someone took a leak".

"I don't know why, but I was thinking it was a drool puddle."

He looked at me, like what?

"I know. I don't get it either. I was picturing Clifford the Big Red Dog or something." I shrugged.

He laughed like he got it. I wondered how.


Just now as I was writing, I heard this sound from somewhere down on the street. At first I thought it was a woman, or women plural, screaming. It was agony, I was sure of it. I got a glimpse of it and it was bad...until it wasn't.

In a millisecond I knew it was music blaring from a passing car. That's all. But it could have gone either way; about as likely as a big red dog drool puddle.

Nothing's impossible. We should all know that by now.