Tuesday, October 24, 2006

Writing Exercise: Seeing.

Moderation. When we die our shoes will be cast into the fire and convereted to ash so our dead ancestors can talk about iron snakes, stone rivers, and spider webs covering the Earth. All the while the dead will shout to kill and be killed again. All the while the cornerstones of our tradition (one is a meteor) will be bowled at the wickets of respectable discourse. All the while the dead grin like escaped mental patients cutting out the dead tongues of those they understand. All the while the dead scream "I believe you." All the while the dead flock to Angkor Wat trampling each other until until their blood forms a river that has its revenge on New Orleans, whose people will scream "Pontchartrain was right" as they seethe and twitch in blind flooding agony. All the while the dead say that Faulkner was wrong in predicting a levantine sentence structure that reminds us of the red nights on darkened urban streets in paranoia-inflicted garbage disposals. All the while the dead insist they're alive. All the while the dead ruin every Halloween and New Year's for all of us. All the while the dead married quintroons on gospel plantations and screamed pitiously for the chemical effects of alcohol on the brain to be widely released to the public, for the public was dumb and dreamed of high school football and remaining seventeen forever; they read our minds and they discovered our desire to fuck underaged virgins forever and ever the same way that religious fundamentalists still do in the far reaches of that greatly ignored democratic choice called a monarchy, one that we disregard as fantasy all the while we teach our children to dream of Barbie the princess and Ken the prince who will someday ascend to be king in some non-existant land where monarchs are somehow gallant and lead the troops into battle screaming "for kingdom! for kingdom!" and bravely slaughter the infidels. All the while the dead form the division of European history into three traditional ages (one being the dark ages where religion stopped us from researching medicine) because the natives were turned red as punishment for not believing in Jesus. All the while the dead refused to declare the loves of their lives the third temple, screaming from Mount Sinai that God is our one love, screaming from the Ka'aba that God is the greatest, screaming from pre-colonial Ontario that God is in the trees and the sand and the rivers of stone and the spider webs that cover the land, and then wondered why the modern man has a fear of commitment. All the while the dead filibustered misleading arabesques from divisional apertures and societal oubliettes and then wondered why modern man cannot speak for modern virtue. All the while the dead tap us on the shoulder and remind us that each dead man or woman is someone's dead mother or father and then Freud informs us that we will become our parents. All the while the dead inform us that boys do not cry and women are supposed to be strong as if weakness meant men will not love women and women will not love men because the barbarian Goths will invade our Roman villages and wax maraudic and devastate our crops, salting and burning, emitting nonstop swear words as they desecrate our temples, fuck our young boys, convert our religious leaders by force, wail screams of tortured conquests from Mount Sinai and deny our messiah his righteous coming. All the while the dead tell us the messiah is a man. All the while the dead remind us the messiah is not a fairy tale. All the while the dead remind us to be fearful of technology, of sexual freedom, of the future, of modern music, of making friends with those of other faiths, of contradicting our religious texts, of criticizing Islam, of boys crying, of not listening to our elders, of cheering for the Expos, of not praying enough, of not believing enough, of daring to believe that that our dead remind us to be fearful of technology, of sexual freedom, of the future, of modern music, of making friends with those of other faiths, of contradicting our religious texts, of criticizing Islam, of boys crying, of not listening to our elders, of cheering for the Expos, of not praying enough, of not believing enough. All the while our dead remind to take our shoes off when we come indoors, to keep our shoes on when we die.

Friday, October 13, 2006

Diary Entry.

so here i am crying over my mom again. it came from thinking something about the anniversary being in two weeks and, oddly enough, i think what did it was realizing that both halloween and new years are more or less ruined for me, not just for now but for the rest of my life (she died on october 29th and her birthday was january 1st). i had one bad night over the summer but i really thought i was done with this for awhile. apparently not, but i don't want to cry because now i don't have any friends to cry to. nobody wants to listen, i don't even want to listen. i've been doing this for two fucking years, and it brings back that one memory of two summers ago when i was in my apartment on shaw street looking for websites about suicidal mothers and came upon this one that was dedicated to a (paraphrasing) "really wonderful woman, my mother, who decided to take her own life 29 years ago" and i was like "TWENTY NINE YEARS???" and then i worried i'd be like this forever. and i know that to some degree i will be. and i don't want it anymore. jesus christ i'm crying now. it's only been two years nad i don't want it anymore. how am i going to feel in five? ten? i don't have anyone anymore. i can't evnn leave my room because my roommates will know i've been crying. so i'm stuck here, alone, crying, unable to study or focus on anything else but ym own issues and WHY DO I AHVE TO BE ALONE RIGHT NOW? WHY ISN'T THER EANYONE TO CALL? WHY WHY WHY? I WANTED TOT MAKE PEOPLE LAUGH. other people have to deal wtih so much and i can't even deal with this. i don't know how i can face this alone and it should have ALREADY BEEN DEALT WITH.

i wonder what laurie's up to. i'm weak-willed and unable to meet my commitments to those around me. i am going to turn out like my mother.