when i smile you should ask why…

From The Diary of Sir Marshmellow Trowell

What started as an interminable morning was easily exchanged for a more pleasant internal psychosis. I didn’t bother to shave, but brushing and flossing and sledgehammering the face smoothed out the rough edges well enough. To get through the next 24.5 hours, it was going to take every last bit of fortitude to push everyone else into the future, then drag my own fucked up form along with them. No gun or knife will be of any use; what we need here is to arm ourselves with the usual cagey luck that shows up only when a true fucker cries out in desperation. That and some great big brass balls to keep the whole movement on the right path. I don’t know what I would do if we somehow strayed and woke up all together yesterday. “Don’t like that sir,” to paraphrase the fat man, or, as you might recall him, Mr. Greenstreet.

After fixing my head and straightening my eyes, I found some music floating right where it had been thoughtfully left to be found as needed. A mango for my growling stomach, a sharp knife for the mango. All this junk in my blood mixes so easily with everything else, I’m wearing my easiest smile, ready to embrace the hours of the day when my more adventurous side splits off and leaves the coward to deal. Until that happens (roughly 18 hours from now if my math is close to correct) I’m pretty sure everything can be managed. Didn’t Lehman say those exact words? Ha! Fuck them, they don’t have my adaptability.

Having slavishly moved through the last four days, I’m ready for freedom. Every time I slither through this maze, the payments get harder to pay. I wish I could explain my willingness to play the game and pay the costs of business despite the giant chunks of flesh required, but all I can say is that I’ve got just enough reasons to tip the scale towards buy now, pay later. The rest of it is just maneuvering myself through the wreckage. Nothing that can’t be shared with the rest of the species. (Keep telling yourself that. Someday, you might even believe it.)

A few more flakes in the bowl to soak up the rest of the milk and a diced mango are fuel to burn up in the course of proving to myself some semblance of normality. You might question why someone like myself would need any part of that insipid game, but we’re all curious about that which we cannot possess. Same goes here. Watching all the weddings and newborns squirting out at an alarming rate makes me queasy. We can only hope they know what they are doing. I don’t, so I stay out of the whole thing on what might be generously termed “epistemological” grounds. Laughter still comes as easy as heartache, but that’s no reason to give up on either.

Maybe it is the same as an indecipherable language long dead. Fragments still exist to puzzle over, but the master key is lost to history and time. Now, that presents a problem to understanding, but an opportunity to ask as many questions as you want without limiting them with answers or those dreadful dualistic judgments. My questions all have to do with celestial navigation during the day or tolerance for pain. Plenty of time to seek out the answers, assuming of course that they exist. There are questions that have no answers, and they scare the shit out of most people. No time for that now.

Nor is it time for false-fronts of any other such clam-bake bravery. I hate dressing up, and for most people, I wouldn’t entertain the thought. (Always some connection between statements and language. Like meme is not the root of mimetic, yet in some ways, it could be. Get me?) Not long now. Mangoes, music, minor miracles considering the geography and poverty of this particular situation. GIGO, right? Perish the thought. It’ll work ’cause that is how these things always seem to go down to the wire. When push comes to shove, step aside. Let some other asshole go down with the ship. Tomorrow we just might be on top of the world. I’d hate to miss it, especially over some tenacious urge to follow protocol. Dumb fucks…. some people never learn. Don’t be one of them.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: