Every day, I wake up from the same dream. I'm staring down into a chasm, with my reflection staring back at me. I'm terrified of emptiness, petrified by this abyss, choking like an arid fish and incidentally, I insist, I long to cease and to desist. So in the open moment when I rub these sleepy eyes, it's repeatedly the same surprise to find my skin ain't dry.
I still taste the tobacco in my mouth, mixed with the less tenacious flavor of frozen grapes. Wedged into my ears are white earbud headphones, and I am listening to some very unorthodox, almost abstract european electronica. Now my girlfriend is ready to go. It's been a long day of restlessness, of waiting, of reluctant, miserable patience, and now, the moment I begin doing something that succeeds in holding my attention, she is ready to go to the party. It never fails.
- Current Music:Silent Shout by The Knife
"You're so cute," she told me. She'd somehow mastered the art of being both condescending and flattering, soothing my bruised ego as she stomped it further into the dirt.
"It's true, though," I said. "I'm acting out my entire life in front of an invisible audience. Every moment of my life is a performance." I took another drag of my cigarette. We were outside, sitting on the patio and just talking. Just the two of us. It felt good to talk. To have someone there to listen. Someone who would be there to notice if I suddenly blew off the face of the earth.
"You're like a seventeen year old kid." It's true. I am a victim of my own personal fable.
Flashback to childhood. When I was young, superheroes were the coolest thing. The idea of having these powers that could set you apart from the rest of humanity was too delicious not to fantasize about. To be put up on a pedestal by society and loved for something that just came natural, and to be able to change the world and have everyone look at you with so much admiration, that was even better. It's something I remember thinking a lot about back then.
"What would you want your power to be?" I asked my brother.
Casey looked up into the sky. The sun shone down over his forehead and illuminated all the lines of his skinny, gaunt face. He held the football into his chest, folding his arms over it as if he cradled his own dying child. He towered over me, blocking out the sunlight and casting my short, eight year old body into his endless, bounding shadow.
"I'd want to be able to fly," he said.
I thought about that, and what it would be like. To be able to soar up into the clouds and never look back. I saw myself with elegant, feathery white angel wings. Then I could leave everyone and everything behind forever. To be one with the sky, and just completely disappear into endless blue. "That seems pretty good." The truth is, I couldn't imagine myself ever going anywhere. Sometimes, when I'm dreaming, I realize I'm dreaming, and the first thing I do is start trying to grow wings like that. I can usually get the wings, but so help me, I can never lift my damn feet off of the ground.
"What about you? What would be your superpower?" Casey finally looked down at me. It was a tough question. There were so many different super powers to consider. The possibilities of fiction were staggering. There were a lot of different things I could be, but what would be the best thing?
"I'd want to be a shapeshifter. So I could change, whenever I wanted. Then I could be anything." To be able to change my shape and appearance, to imitate anyone at any time with perfect ease, or to create something all new of my own special design. To have the whole world in the palm of my hand; all the endless possibilities. I could change anything, at any time.
"That's gay," Casey said.
"I'm glad you're here," I told Stacy. "It's nice to have someone. Just to feel loved."
"It's true, though," I said. "I'm acting out my entire life in front of an invisible audience. Every moment of my life is a performance." I took another drag of my cigarette. We were outside, sitting on the patio and just talking. Just the two of us. It felt good to talk. To have someone there to listen. Someone who would be there to notice if I suddenly blew off the face of the earth.
"You're like a seventeen year old kid." It's true. I am a victim of my own personal fable.
Flashback to childhood. When I was young, superheroes were the coolest thing. The idea of having these powers that could set you apart from the rest of humanity was too delicious not to fantasize about. To be put up on a pedestal by society and loved for something that just came natural, and to be able to change the world and have everyone look at you with so much admiration, that was even better. It's something I remember thinking a lot about back then.
"What would you want your power to be?" I asked my brother.
Casey looked up into the sky. The sun shone down over his forehead and illuminated all the lines of his skinny, gaunt face. He held the football into his chest, folding his arms over it as if he cradled his own dying child. He towered over me, blocking out the sunlight and casting my short, eight year old body into his endless, bounding shadow.
"I'd want to be able to fly," he said.
I thought about that, and what it would be like. To be able to soar up into the clouds and never look back. I saw myself with elegant, feathery white angel wings. Then I could leave everyone and everything behind forever. To be one with the sky, and just completely disappear into endless blue. "That seems pretty good." The truth is, I couldn't imagine myself ever going anywhere. Sometimes, when I'm dreaming, I realize I'm dreaming, and the first thing I do is start trying to grow wings like that. I can usually get the wings, but so help me, I can never lift my damn feet off of the ground.
"What about you? What would be your superpower?" Casey finally looked down at me. It was a tough question. There were so many different super powers to consider. The possibilities of fiction were staggering. There were a lot of different things I could be, but what would be the best thing?
"I'd want to be a shapeshifter. So I could change, whenever I wanted. Then I could be anything." To be able to change my shape and appearance, to imitate anyone at any time with perfect ease, or to create something all new of my own special design. To have the whole world in the palm of my hand; all the endless possibilities. I could change anything, at any time.
"That's gay," Casey said.
"I'm glad you're here," I told Stacy. "It's nice to have someone. Just to feel loved."
I stared up into his eyes, and I felt the warm saliva dripping down the length of my chin. There was no mercy in those cold black corneas. I tried to reach around to feel my shoulder blades, to caress my soft white wings, those that I already knew were broken from the impact of the fall. To my shock and amazement, he hesitated to sink his fangs into my vulnerable chest. With his two back legs, he placed a cigarette in my mouth. His front left and right fang worked the mechanism of the lighter, and the smoke filled my lungs. One last cigarette, I am thinking to myself. And then, Romance will suck the blood and guts from my every organ until I have taken my last breath. This is how it always happens. I'll never, ever. EVER. Be an exception.
There is a lady who lives down the hall, and I call her Old Yeller. I call her Old Yeller because she yells a lot, and by the sound of her voice I am guessing she is above 40. I presume there is someone else living with her in that little studio apartment, mostly out of some optimistic faith within myself that exists only to stop me from making the assumption that she is indeed completely insane and constantly yelling at her kitchen silverware. These are the neighbors that you find in studio living. It's kind of like a trailer park, except you have less space to move around, no outside to play in, and people you've never seen on the other side of the wall.
It is 1:15 AM, and I am all alone.
I can't stand it when I'm in line at Cumberland Farms and there is some jackass in front of me picking out a bunch of lotto tickets. Not only does it hold everything up, but it makes me sad to see something so pathetic. Go home loser, life doesn't just shower you with riches. The odds of winning the lottery are so bleak that statistically, it's impossible. There's a reason why they put the lottery tickets right next to the cigarettes in all convenience stores- it's a tax on being impoverished.
I have never seen Old Yeller. I don't know how old she is, or what she looks like, or who it is she's living with. But I can imagine what she looks like, standing in line at the gas station and picking out her lottery tickets, "Oh, and number twenty-two. Oh, and sixteen." I can envision her cheap red lipstick, staining the butt of her Marlboro Red, but she'll cackle in a heavy, leathery tone and call it a "cowboy killer." I can see her rubber flip flops, and baggy white t-shirt that hangs over those thrift store denim shorts while she scratches her baggy ass at the gas pump.
Here I am in Chicopee. Home sweet home.
It is 1:15 AM, and I am all alone.
I can't stand it when I'm in line at Cumberland Farms and there is some jackass in front of me picking out a bunch of lotto tickets. Not only does it hold everything up, but it makes me sad to see something so pathetic. Go home loser, life doesn't just shower you with riches. The odds of winning the lottery are so bleak that statistically, it's impossible. There's a reason why they put the lottery tickets right next to the cigarettes in all convenience stores- it's a tax on being impoverished.
I have never seen Old Yeller. I don't know how old she is, or what she looks like, or who it is she's living with. But I can imagine what she looks like, standing in line at the gas station and picking out her lottery tickets, "Oh, and number twenty-two. Oh, and sixteen." I can envision her cheap red lipstick, staining the butt of her Marlboro Red, but she'll cackle in a heavy, leathery tone and call it a "cowboy killer." I can see her rubber flip flops, and baggy white t-shirt that hangs over those thrift store denim shorts while she scratches her baggy ass at the gas pump.
Here I am in Chicopee. Home sweet home.
Welcome to Earth! We're all mad here, and those of use who fail to hide it well, we have our places for them. We think in terms of want, not have. We focus not on good, but bad, and inwardly we cry, not laugh. But outside, yes; we laugh.
Many of us (most, indeed!) try in great success to convince ourselves that we are ruled by the messenger of the mighty Dollar Sign. He is a promoter of all things we hold dear, and few of us realize he works beneath the King of Fear. And those of us who know, we sometimes live to tell the tale, though never live to hear it told; we fail!
The contamination of our notions is inescapable; our King is omnipresent, and we worship Him. And he who came to change our King, we killed him and his word we changed. We use this symbol of his murder and we love it, and we speak for him, and we relish this power, and we use his death as the key and his contorted, battered image to serve our King.
And though we laugh and smile, yes, on the inside we all cry! We live but never truly live, and all the while refuse to die. It is this faith that yes, we can laugh and live forever, that binds us to our King. We choose the other for damnation, in service to Him, yes, we sing: "Long live fear, Hallelujah! Long live the King."
Many of us (most, indeed!) try in great success to convince ourselves that we are ruled by the messenger of the mighty Dollar Sign. He is a promoter of all things we hold dear, and few of us realize he works beneath the King of Fear. And those of us who know, we sometimes live to tell the tale, though never live to hear it told; we fail!
The contamination of our notions is inescapable; our King is omnipresent, and we worship Him. And he who came to change our King, we killed him and his word we changed. We use this symbol of his murder and we love it, and we speak for him, and we relish this power, and we use his death as the key and his contorted, battered image to serve our King.
And though we laugh and smile, yes, on the inside we all cry! We live but never truly live, and all the while refuse to die. It is this faith that yes, we can laugh and live forever, that binds us to our King. We choose the other for damnation, in service to Him, yes, we sing: "Long live fear, Hallelujah! Long live the King."
Monday morning can't come soon enough.
If only I could sleep in this Hell cocoon I've spun.
I tried to make a shell where I could slumber,
but it appears I've made this spider his web.
Hello spider, care to join us?
Maybe you can tell which of us is the most trapped.
You circle 'round and taunt us with your venom,
and each time I'm fooled into thinking you'll put me to rest.
Monday morning can't consume enough.
I only want to die in these arms of darkness.
If I should sleep before I die,
then spider, let me die before I wake.
If only I could sleep in this Hell cocoon I've spun.
I tried to make a shell where I could slumber,
but it appears I've made this spider his web.
Hello spider, care to join us?
Maybe you can tell which of us is the most trapped.
You circle 'round and taunt us with your venom,
and each time I'm fooled into thinking you'll put me to rest.
Monday morning can't consume enough.
I only want to die in these arms of darkness.
If I should sleep before I die,
then spider, let me die before I wake.
My girlfriend plays Animal Crossing, and I find it absolutely adorable. In other news, I woke up over two hours before class today in an effort to actually get there on time for once. Now here I am, on the internet. I suppose I am hopeless.
I'm trying really hard to start writing on wordpress. It's hard, because I feel more obligated to type legitimate entries there, and in the several months that I have had my blog on that site, I've only been able to think of a couple things to write about. But recently I've decided to start making more of an effort to make things happen there, so keep on eye on it! And go read my entry about U.S. politics! It's a complete and total rant, but these things happen, right?
Here is a link!: http://christrubac.wordpress.com/
I'm trying really hard to start writing on wordpress. It's hard, because I feel more obligated to type legitimate entries there, and in the several months that I have had my blog on that site, I've only been able to think of a couple things to write about. But recently I've decided to start making more of an effort to make things happen there, so keep on eye on it! And go read my entry about U.S. politics! It's a complete and total rant, but these things happen, right?
Here is a link!: http://christrubac.wordpress.com/
Working at Hollister has caused me to really hate people. Ok, hate is a strong word. And I'm not taking it back. How hard is it to put a pair of sweatpants back on the table you got them from? How hard is it to put some fucking clothes back in a closet, instead of leaving them on the floor in the fitting room? Or instead of coming over to me, at the register, and saying, "I don't want this stuff, what do I do with it?" Are you fucking stupid? Put it back where you found it, you fucking moron! You think I have nothing better to do than put away clothes after you decided to unfold them, on impulse, just so you could look at them for six seconds and peel off the size sticker? And don't get me started on those size stickers. Why do you feel the urge to stick them on the walls of my fitting rooms? You callous, uncaring, thoughtless bastards. And do you understand that our clearance closets are filled with tops that are literally folded IN HALF? That's it. HALF-FOLDED! HOW FUCKING DIFFICULT IS THAT FOR YOU TO COMPREHEND? FOLD THINGS WHEN YOU PUT THEM BACK! PICK UP AFTER YOURSELVES! WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU PEOPLE?
I realize that I work in retail and that my job is to deal with all this stuff. I understand that, and yeah, I understand that I'm getting paid to do what I do. I'm only complaining because people take advantage of that fact to a point that is all too often completely intolerable. People constantly prove themselves as being not only lazy, but ultimately disrespectful to the order and organization that we try to maintain in our store. We do have other responsibilities, we're not there simply to work as servants to our obnoxiously inconsiderate customers. It's hard enough just to stop fifteen year old high school drop-outs with sticky fingers and uncontrollable greed from stealing our perfume and cologne testers, let alone open fitting rooms, refold every stack of clothes in the store in five minute intervals, and cash people out while we do it. Seriously people, grow the fuck up. Unless you're six years old or younger, I should not have to babysit you while you shop.
Sorry for cussin'.
I realize that I work in retail and that my job is to deal with all this stuff. I understand that, and yeah, I understand that I'm getting paid to do what I do. I'm only complaining because people take advantage of that fact to a point that is all too often completely intolerable. People constantly prove themselves as being not only lazy, but ultimately disrespectful to the order and organization that we try to maintain in our store. We do have other responsibilities, we're not there simply to work as servants to our obnoxiously inconsiderate customers. It's hard enough just to stop fifteen year old high school drop-outs with sticky fingers and uncontrollable greed from stealing our perfume and cologne testers, let alone open fitting rooms, refold every stack of clothes in the store in five minute intervals, and cash people out while we do it. Seriously people, grow the fuck up. Unless you're six years old or younger, I should not have to babysit you while you shop.
Sorry for cussin'.
For those of you who don't know, I have a private journal that I devote solely to collecting my prayers. Although I don't exactly maintain it as well as I often think I should, I've found it both therapeutic and useful for helping me sort out my thoughts and connect with what I like to think of as God. However, today I feel that the things I want to pray for do not need to be kept private, and may be seen as useful or perhaps (at best), inspiring. So I've decided to type up my prayer here, and share it with anyone who is interested. If God or religion or peace or unity are not your cup of tea, this might not be your thing either. In any case, here goes:
Heavenly Father,
I just want to thank you first of all for seeing that Samantha and I were able to travel safely to and from Michigan this holiday season. I am thankful that all went according to plan with our flight schedules and that there were no serious delays or problems. More importantly, I'm grateful that we were able to spend Christmas and Sam's Birthday/New Years Eve/Day with my family and friends. I am thankful for their health, for Samantha's health, and for my own. Just as well, I am thankful for the health and well-being of Samantha's family, and for all the other families and less fortunate people around the world.
I want to thank you for giving me such a wonderful year. 2009 was filled with its ups and downs, but over all I feel that I have made great progress in my life and I have come a lot closer to reaching all of my goals. I know that I would not have been able to do this without your blessings, and the strength that you give to me each and every day.
I want to ask that you simply continue to watch over my family, friends, the friends of my family, and the family of my friends. I want to ask simply that you provide for all of us, help us meet our most basic needs as only you know what they are, and to let us all have another wonderful year. I have been so blessed in the past, so I feel that to ask for anything more would be selfish. You are already giving me everything that I need; I simply request that you continue to do so. Thank you very much for everything you do, not just for me, but for everyone.
Amen
Heavenly Father,
I just want to thank you first of all for seeing that Samantha and I were able to travel safely to and from Michigan this holiday season. I am thankful that all went according to plan with our flight schedules and that there were no serious delays or problems. More importantly, I'm grateful that we were able to spend Christmas and Sam's Birthday/New Years Eve/Day with my family and friends. I am thankful for their health, for Samantha's health, and for my own. Just as well, I am thankful for the health and well-being of Samantha's family, and for all the other families and less fortunate people around the world.
I want to thank you for giving me such a wonderful year. 2009 was filled with its ups and downs, but over all I feel that I have made great progress in my life and I have come a lot closer to reaching all of my goals. I know that I would not have been able to do this without your blessings, and the strength that you give to me each and every day.
I want to ask that you simply continue to watch over my family, friends, the friends of my family, and the family of my friends. I want to ask simply that you provide for all of us, help us meet our most basic needs as only you know what they are, and to let us all have another wonderful year. I have been so blessed in the past, so I feel that to ask for anything more would be selfish. You are already giving me everything that I need; I simply request that you continue to do so. Thank you very much for everything you do, not just for me, but for everyone.
Amen
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hello_spider- Caught within a web of lies.
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