25.Feb.2003
you to me
--
oh what you do to me
No one knows.
--
"What are you doing?" she asked, motioning toward my thrashing hips and frenzied, anti-pop-diva hair.
"I'm. Doing. Something. That. Makes. Me. Happy." I responded through my teeth, clenched and braced while I'm pumping blood through my arteries as quickly as possible, circumspect to maintain speed with the split second before my bronchial tubes slam infection through my esophagus and ruin the lyrics erupting from my throat.
--
We get these pills to swallow.
--
Afterwards, she stood in the kitchen, eyes transfixed on my disheveled visage.
"What are we doing," I said.
"We're staring at one another," she said, teetering ever-so-gently on the threshold of vacuousness.
"And why is that," I said. My questions are never questions anymore.
"We don't know," she said.
--
I realize you're mine.
Indeed a fool am I.
--
We were liars but were never proud of it. She rinses the previous nights' culinary abortions while I facilitate her muddled tragedies in the only manner that's non-abrasive: through music.
"I want you to know I'm going to leave you," I said.
"I know."
"I don't think you can change my mind."
"You were always stubborn," she sighed.
"I can't do this anymore," I said, looking toward the East at snow-covered, suburban reveries.
"How are you going to manage?" and she poses her questions with an accent trilling thick with all that is foreign to me.
"Sans nicotine," I said simply.
--
I've made it a point to omit political details from this journal at all costs, but I see and hear about people attending peace rallies organized by Communists. The sheer oxy-moronic stance of this overwhelms me. I am by no means a pacifist. The Europeans are endeavoring to choke the Americans with history and then flippantly dismiss them in a way best described as "now children, do settle down, oh, look at them scurry." and the Americans are defiantly pointing East while commanding those who oppose their view-points to curtly fuck themselves.
Evidently, force will bring the only resolution.
--
"What are you doing?" she asked.
"I'm getting my shit geared up to live my dreams before it's no longer an option," I said. All the while I am devouring every classified advert the city of Oklahoma has to offer, wielding the circle-crazy red-pen, callousing the number-dialing right-thumb and singing to the moribund distance, "Oh what you do to me ..."
No one knows.
--
time & machine