September 1, 2007

Raw, huh? Is that the goal? Well I'm going to need a fix if raw's what you want. A little fix because without one I'm just a two-ton brick tied to a giant neon sign and some bended metal harness, plunging into the East River from one of the Manhattan bridge girders. One more time, way up on one of those giant metal substructures. The next time it rains...darlin.' Twenty-four, ninety-five. Start timer.

But now that the two-ton brick's been discussed. Let's talk about some of the literature I've been fascinated with lately. Moving on, we can discuss some of the work projects that have piqued my interests lately. Next, we can have a sweet talk about all the great humans I've been interacting with lately. Great, so now I'll fill you in on being such a lucky son of a gun here on the Lower East Side in my own place that I rent. Do you still have time? Ok great, now let's talk about my plans for the future and the evolution of the roadmap I devised back in college. I'm kind of bored, let's chat about my rigorous exercise regimen. Next, we'll discuss all of the really adventurous things I've done and the repercussions of some shady actions that I've had to deal with. Snap, snap, snap, ok let's talk about all the times I've stood up for something I care about. Wait no, first I'll talk about everything I care about. Ok, now let's talk about all the times I've stood up for that. Whew! What a whirlwind. I'm sure you're ears are ringing, so you better get to that. Maybe next time we meet up you can tell me about yourself. End timer.

Timer results: 45.320 seconds. Nice! It must have been all the transition sentences that caused the spike above 40 seconds. A shame a wicked shame. A repulsive, ugly, disgusting, horrible face. A grotesque, greasy supply of fat. Three of the latest and greatest, gratifying me for $24.95 a month for this month. A sweet, sincere face and stretched audio cables. What do you recommend for my headphones? What do you think of these? What can I say you ask?

Radio. RADIO. RADIO. RADIO. Oh, the radio. THE FUCKING RADIO.

I just found what I was looking for. I tuned things a bit. Let's talk about the three vixens of the apocalypse. First there's the hellfire cat of the raging metropolis, the one with the pretty blue eyes. A little chub...not gonna lie. I'm down with that because I'm a little chub. She rides in a pink sports car and when she glides down the highway you realize that some of her hair is naturally brown — almost all of it. Sweet thing. I know why I started with her. It's because she's my favorite. First first. Not like the bleak city I once sort of read about sitting in a state of forced nature. I never got any questions I never asked myself why. I never asked myself what the fuck I was doing. No one asked me anything pride was nothing. I am five years astray. I am seventeen. Someone put this thing in reverse.

That's the wrong approach, ya see!? Can't you see, I can see nothing but the second hellangel lust object Halloween-haired young woman. She swoops in from the West, across the Pitt and back again, above Houston. I want some dough. I need some dough to match the doughiness factor she gives me from her carousel. Mmmm the vicious breadmaking. The ferocious breadwinning. The carnivalesque lighting and the old fashioned light bulbs and the caressing and the focused brutality and all the competition and the plans. The plans! I have no plans I haven't had any plans. Should I thank you you fucking wretch or should I slap your indistinguishably attractive face. At this point people close to me would urge me not to put it in reverse but to forge ahead. I'm not seventeen, they'd say. She said, a hundred (thousand) times. Just charge on further down the road.

Out of the brush came the yellow-haired, third pet of Satan on whom I'm allocating funding for this month. She told me about the true path to salvation. She told me about how I can regain the path to boundless glory. To rolling meadows of gratification where the grass is short and we can play with each other all day long when I get home from work. She said that I should keep going forward, only...not on the path, go offroad until I come to the path I should've been on. I mean actually she didn't say that she just said, "Let's go offroad, baby." But I knew what she meant, or at least, I'm intelligent enough to realize that if I went offroad, while still going forward, I would at least be headed towards the road that I should've actually been traveling on all this time. See, but that's the thing, even if I go offroad with her, the other two hellcat angels will bring me back to the wrong road, the one I'm currently on and I'll drive off a bridge at this rate.

And that's where I am right now. Driving down the wrong road and being fully aware of it. I know the right road, and it's off to the left, through the brush, and the insects, and the grime and wastewater. At this point it would take quite a bit of squint-based driving to ever make it to the right road. There would be leaps of faith involved, because the way I see it there are only four choices at this point. I can go on ahead and see where exactly the path of least resistance leads. I can turn around and go all the way back (not really an option). I can wait for the next rest stop and then reevaluate. Or I can turn left, get offroad, turn the windshield wipers on hope that nothing heavy pierces my transmission.

The last choice isn't really an option either because I'm an unadventurous coward at heart.

Oooh, a feather.