Rudra has just yacked majorly onto Casey’s new suitcase in the front room, all into the zippers and everything. happened just a few minutes ago. he did a major job of the front room. now he is running about like a nine year old kitten, like it never happened.
this somehow reminds me of being in the 5th grade and turning that elementary school upside down the day I fell out sick like that. I decided I was starting to feel better so got up and left the nurses office without saying a word, sort of snuck out and headed back. I passed a classmate in the hall, saying hello. very surreal. being upright like that, evil was beginning to make a reappearance. I entered the class trembling and unsure of myself. a full classroom audience all eyes on me. standing there in the doorway, everything started to move very slowly and as I put my hands up to my mouth, evil. screams in the air. the entire class, including the teacher, shot the hell out – just in time for lunch. my mom drove down, picked me up while everyone was at recess and the janitor was there with his mop. remembering crying in the sink at the back of the room waiting for her. couldn’t wait to go home. what a day. king for a day.
two days later I was back in the building, and to my surprise hardly anyone said a single word about it. they were just like, Glenn, are you feeling better now? how important it is to heal from embarrassment. how lucky Rudra has it. no complicated human social life to deal with.
it is good to be and feel a little older, wise enough to better handle situations though self conscious as ever. strange how it all works. a writer tries to make sense of it. a writer decides to make a mess of it. vomit up emotions. self indulge a bit. just a tad. a hair.
commit an hour’s time finger tapping your native alphabet to see what happens. imagine the audience not as elementary school classmates with a bloodlust for your downfall. imagine something else and you just might get it.
. . .
wordpad USA. it is green this day with envy and skies grey, so tip 15% your local staff, and tip well. the head hurts and swells like in a vice, mafia wanting its answers from you. no big deal. it’s all about what you make them believe, what you can conceal. words flag down the USA along the highway and see if it will pick you up on your long journey, if it will be kind or crawl over pick your bones like vultures and move on. corporations claim new territory and ingest the old. what gets sold in a yard sale, is it of value? it is up to you. just a rambling in the late of night. rumbling of stomach. tumbling of what does not go right.
bed. bed.
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