You met me at a very strange time in my life.
Thursday, June 4th, 2009 | LIFE
The first rule of Fight Club is: you do not talk about Fight Club.
It is a very strange time, is it not?
I received an email today. A very philosophical email about the universe and its unfolding and refolding. I get many philosophical and spiritual and religious emails. I just don’t read them. If only I could get the universe to fold that laundry that has been sitting in baskets for 2 weeks now. But I digress…
I ran across this line: Because I cannot control the universe and attempting to will kill me.
What I read:
Because I cannot control the universe attempting to kill me.
Is that is what is happening? How many times can I use an Infinitive > Irregular Verb (To be) in a sentence? Why do I even *know* that “is” is an irregular verb? Isn’t it? I can barely remember why I had to learn that. It had to do with diagnostic linguistics and American Sign Language. I am TRYING desperately to FORGET why I learned American Sign Language.
And there is the theme of my life: THINGS ARE OK – SOMETHING STUPID HAPPENS – TRY TO FORGET AND PRETEND IT’S OK AGAIN
Why do I sit at work and just stare out the window? I can’t even see above my desk – I have to stare at a haze of gray blue that is the sky between broken blinds. Why is it the mega church can’t buy new blinds for these windows? I can see the top of one parking lot light and a rectangular cinder block column. I’m in a pit of black lacquer and technology looking past cinder blocks. If I stretch, I can see the top of a satellite dish. We use that to broadcast prayers heavenward. Wouldn’t it be a bitch if God didn’t have cable?
Why have I been daydreaming a lot? The phone just rang and scared the shit outta me. They may find me one day soon curled up under this black lacquer desk dead of a heart attack because of this damned phone. Then the people in charge of stripping me down for the coroner will have a chuckle at my giant granny panties. I’ll go out with people looking at my tattoos and laughing. Please cover my feet though. They are always cold. Of course, where I am headed, that might not be a problem.
Hire a crier for my funeral too. I want to at least give the illusion someone actually loved me. And I want balloons. Red ones. Filled with helium and tied to my crotch. It’s cinematic symbolism. Look it up. I have already requested the giant phallus as my grave marker. It’s Freudian. Look it up. Write ANIMA on the phallus. It’s Jungian. Look it up.
Lady of the Wild Things never did have a happy ending but she gave quite a few.
O… I like that. It’s Goddess symbolism. Look it up.