A Black Feather, A poison pen... ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- my hands are hurtin' here it is, early saturday evening and i am still working, though this will not be the case next weekend when i decide to hit the Art Detour as i have done almost consistently without fail for the last ten years. i can wander about in what i perceive to be my element in the form of the city streets and peruse the various artworks on display throughout the show. my hearing is fuzzy but otherwise everything else associated with the loosely orchestrated joke i know as my physical health is back in some semblance of order. i keep forgetting to phone in my refill for insulin needles and in a fit of piqued despair i have been unable to leave the M&M's alone all week. i walk more, i've otherwise been eating less this past week, trying not to gain back anymore of the weight i lost last year when that nice steady systematic decline began some dumbass in the Safeway last night running around knocking into things, messing with other shoppers... decides he wants to (albeit lightly) palm-smack my eight-year-old nephew on the back of the head, to the consternation of not only me, but the woman accompanying him. Just as he's about to do it to some other kid i pull up from a few paces behind and ask him what his problem is, already feeling fairly cross over a few other things and still riding the effects of a brutally strong pot of coffee i did a good job of remaining calm. He looked like he wanted to step to me until i did that thing whose sound unnerves most prospective fights... i grabbed my own head, one hand under my chin and one on the crown of my skull and twisted it in just such a way as to produce a loudly audible series of cracks. As if the sudden nervous look that flashed over his eyes after the sound of my vertebrae being slightly rearranged wasn't enjoyable enough, his lady friend elbowed him in the gut, put the pacifier back in their baby's mouth and said "see, i told you you were gonna get in trouble if you didn't knock that shit off" she made him wait outside and then five minutes later it started to rain. by the time i got into the produce section i couldn't help but laugh out loud. and it was nice that at least someone understood the extremity of my reaction to something seeming to understand my motivation, just as i would have understood and expected that same woman to bounce a can of enchilada sauce off of my head if i had started pounding the guy to a bloody pulp right there in the canned goods aisle. The worst i can say for my reaction to what i read earlier this week is that it was apparently misguided. But i'm damned if i am going to make any apology for being willing to rush off and defend (violently if necessary) someone i care about. I don't expect to be thanked or patted on the back, but i would have thought that at the very least it wouldn't get me called stupid in so many creative terms. and if you don't like that i said it here, well i'm sorry but this time that's just too damn bad. i have been either literally or figuratively having to fight someone or something since the day i walked into kindergarten, whether it was fistfights on the playground against kids who thought i was a fun target when i was younger and smaller or when i was a band-geek or some other form of outcast, wars of words with teachers or authority figures i disagreed with. and some of thosee fights --both among the physical and the verbal -- i have gotten into have been in the process of defending, protecting, or, when necessary, avenging people who are/were of some significance to me. if that makes me "pretty dumb" than so be it. 7:53 p.m. - 2003-03-01 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
||||||
|
||||||