Discontent (139 hits)
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Submitted by Lungfish (View user info) at 2009-08-22 04:23:57 EDT
Just back from a week-long trek in the woods. Smelled like funk a short bit ago. Smell much like Speedstick now. Some thoughts while communing with...I don't know...something:
So...I'm sitting at my desk a week ago, trying to work a full 12-hour day so I can take my girl to the beach. The TV is usually on in the office in order to drown out the noise from the TV in the living room, which is usually blaring American Idol or the Amazing Race or some other inane thing. I flip channels periodically. I watch Hannity be a smarmy cunt, then I watch Olbermann be a smarmy cunt, then I watch O'Reilly be a smarmy cunt, then I watch Maddow be a smarmy cunt, then I watch Cooper and wonder why the fuck CNN is still talking about Michael Jackson.
Then I go to the bathroom where sometimes I smoke even though I know you shouldn't but I do anyway because Dad always smoked around me and I always thought Dad was cool and he smoked four packs a day and still doesn't have lung cancer and he just turned 77 and damn, I'm a massive dickhead because I didn't call him on his birthday but at least I had Desdemona send him a picture of our new puppy. Dad always loved dogs.
And in the bathroom I have a radio. I turn it on and Michael Savage is on because I was listening to Coast to Coast AM last night because I had to pee at 3:30 in the morning and what else was I going to listen to? ESPN? I think not. Not at 3:30 in the morning. And why is the best player on the D'backs an Australian when they play rugby over there, not baseball, and we all know rugby is a real man's sport and all Australians make fun of the sissified nature of American football. Padding. Jesus. Then I think of the rugby player who had a scalp infection and went to his wonderfully socialist doctor who found some other guy's teeth embedded under the scalp-skin from some match a few weeks ago. And I chuckle.
And Michael Savage is talking as insanely as ever but I finish my smoke anyway without turning around to turn on ESPN because I did that once and threw out my ridiculous back, and it sucked.
Then, I return to my office and look at my microscope and wonder how much longer I can stand to do what I do and I wonder why would anybody care and decide that no one should care and convince myself that Jefferson was right and we should have all been farmers, because, seriously, what most of us do is just retarded.
So I log onto some silly semi-public web forum which I used to enjoy because I was stuck in a motel room for most of last year and since I was alone I could drink whiskey every night but not too much because I had to work the next day and I am the boss and people depend on me and I remember how Dad drank every night and never missed a day of work and even had lunch with Senator McCain once and I am sure they had drinks and Dad even liked him. But that was a different time. A weirdly different era. I can't imagine Dad liking McCain anymore. For some reason, that's sad.
And then I see morons on TV suggest politically motivated acts of violence.
And three days have passed, and I still don't know how Tim died and why don't I find out where the funeral is to be held. And I feel ashamed.
And I wonder why things are so ugly and how I got so cold.
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And then I wonder when I was most at peace. And I remember living in the woods. Why is not important. All of a sudden, I am removed from myself.
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You remember a gentle breeze and a crackling fire. You remember the whiskey-burn in my empty gut - my favorite feeling. You remember the getting a chill, and getting close to the fire. You lay down you Tao Te Ching, and decide to write your lady-love. You tell her you miss her, and that you are sad you may never see her again and you curse the allure of Italy, but you also tell her how perfect the moment is. Alone, in the forest.
You stop writing. You stop writing...just to feel. You feel one with something...nature, maybe, and undefined love, and some hopeful kind of divine presence. And you close your eyes and you know that at that moment you are ... utterly ... immovable.
And then you wonder again how things got so ugly.
Something like that.
User Reviews
Submitted by darkwulffe (user info) at 2009-08-22 04:31:25 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
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