Wednesday, April 28, 2010

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It was loud in the cafe, ceaseless from all corners, louder voices, chairs grinding across on the wood floor, the door opened to street noise which clubbed the room, the glasses being put away behind the bar were like crashing cymbals, the lady with the cackle stuck in her throat, the table of 4 drag queens, the coked up host arguing with the manager about missing monies, the table of female softballers, the pecking chatter between the two bar backs from El Salvador. Constant. I wasn't there. I checked out. I wanted to be home in my one bedroom watching the rest of Video Drome. I wanted to get on the phone and crawl into her baby talk. I wanted more to drink. I needed to get away from my cousins who were from out of town, dressed like they were from out of town.

This tall brunette with perfect eyeliner poked me. I turned and could smell her, she was all done up and well out of place.

"My friend and I have a disagreement and we'd like you to decide who is right."

I immediately fall in love with her. I'll have the answer, whatever it is. I'm quick on my feet and hold a bachelor of arts in something from somewhere. I will be her answer man and save her from the droll troll she is chained next to.

I take a peek at him. Dreary dolt.

She says it has to do with animal groups, "Is it a battery of barracudas or a colony?" She thinks it's battery. Her follow up question, the key question, the question of my fate is, "Do you think there is any moral impediment to women becoming rabbis?"

She had me at barracudas.

She lost me at impediment.

I had no clear answer. My cousins come alive and begin to chime in excitedly. This is their first New York conversation, besides the one with our waitress from Ohio. The cousins give complete opposite opinions. I decide not to say anything. The chatter subsides and we all go our separate ways.


About 8 months later I'm on lunch break...sitting on a bench in Bryant park. I am reading White Noise, which is to say, I am re-reading White Noise, some of his riffs give my mind the hiccups.

"Do you hate women?" She asks with game-playing familiarity.

I look up.

"Goodbye Columbus." I think to myself.

"From the Orlin, downtown... a few weeks ago." She says. "DeLillo huh?"

We deny ourselves nothing. We carry on for weeks... months. Two years go by in a blink. On and off, we answer each other, meet, share in this life...all while living other lives. We can't help ourselves. We have lost control. We decide we're French and we're allowed. We indulge and forgive each other but never ourselves.

One day, she calls crying. We meet. She tells me that she has been diagnosed with leukemia. She's been told to get her affairs in order. I ask her what she wants to do. She asks me what I'm referring to. I say, "about us." She says she doesn't know. I suppose I don't know either. What do I want? What did I ever want?

Tuesday, April 27, 2010

He was clever but seemed to be malfunctioning

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"Whaddya got- more puppets?!"

He was in my face. There were 7 people from Germany in the audience and he was armed for battle, somehow consumed with what I might do. Why so abrasive? Why was he threatened by lil' ol' me? This was like fifth grade all over again. Oh, right...we're in showbiz. Everyone is socially retarded...forever. There's no growing up, no getting out of it.

We became pals.

He lived on 2nd and A, just below. If he wasn't a junkie he lived like one. A studio apartment, shit everywhere, mattress on the floor, books, coffee mugs, Klipsch speakers that he cranked up. I was in high school again. He thought fast and talked faster. Engaging, challenging, self pitying, angry, always in pain or searching for it.

"Here, read this!"

I took a book he handed me.

"Let's go eat something!"

Monday, April 26, 2010

my life has taken on a palindromic quality.

“I seek misery.”

She did not actually know this though.

She was trying hard to remove thoughts and feelings of fevered pitch. Trying to reverse that trend. She was unaware. She was ignorant that she, was her own worst enemy. -Had no idea how to spot it. She just filled her pain with more pain or clothing or trinkets or witty, hurtful emails or characters she would put on over the phone or food she wouldn’t allow herself to eat or rigorous exercise or breathy acoustic music with the faint whisps of a harp or xylophone or travel or reading or some sort of distraction.

Her hair was straight, the skin on her face was clean, but there was a bomb inside her brain.