i have become inconsequential in my marriage to the absurd.
i am a walking carcass, once home to a person.
starting tomorrow i will walk only backwards until i find me yesterday.
there once was a something where i oft feel it's lack.
who do i pay? what is their fee? what's the going rate for the whozeemawhatsit i'm looking for? my credit's no good, but i've got a shitty job doing nothing i care about day after day and that damn well better count for something more than rent and $3.799/gallon.
i spend all my dollars dreaming and i spend my dreams sleeping.
lend me a knife and i'll cut off my thumbs, no more aspiring, just be the best monkey i know how to be with the monkey tools i've been given.
in a drop of a dime heartbeat, if only, if only, imagine if only, i could stand naked on the 405, shielded from the oncoming traffic by some handy dandy $.99 iphone app, and shed my limited human potential transforming into a 300 foot pacifist monkey robot ruler. oh, dear god, if only.
i've done it again. there i go, mocking myself and everything around me. where does this gluttonous appetite for absurdity come from? is it a guilty conscience for 1st world privilege? poor me. no matter how hard i try to fail, i will live out my days in relative comfort and ease. fuck.
in my experience, the worst pain is accompanied by laughter. true pain, of the visceral sort, no matter the source, brings laughter. kind of a "that's it? fuck off! that's the worst? i'm still breathing and that's it? time to break some bread and show me to the farmer's daughter because i just made pain my sissy bitch! HA HA HA HA HAAAAAAAA! ouchy." sort of a feeling.
pleasure/pain... i hate cliches, mostly because someone besides me came up with that shit ...they stimulate that part of aliveness that magnifies the experience.
ehh... no longer interested at this time. i'll delve deeper into my 300 foot pacifist monkey robot ruler aspirations at a later date. for now, i guess i am just another monkey with thumbs. i'd rather be a monkey who could suck his own penis.
the last 3 people to notice first things about me said the following:
-"laurence? wow! are those your...? are those your nuts in my pants? my goodness! everything else about you is completely unsuspecting, but you have the most magnificently large pair of testicles."
-"i can't believe this is the first time i'm quite so affected, laurence, but you are so strikingly handsome that i believe i am going to vomit. damn youuuhhaahh..."
-"yer a short fucker, eh?"
aaaand i imagine tom robbins, chucky bukowski, kurt vonnegut, woody allen and most artists i admire (musical, culinary and suchwhat) have each enjoyed a healthy quantity of self coital activity in their time.
-i think my penis is quite clever and rather enjoy it's company.
-i'm very serious about my sense of humor, so...2.
-boobs, i suppose, but not even, like, actual boobs themselves. i mean more, just, the general concept of boobs; as in something to reach for. i am nothing without the pursuit of a dream. men aspire to tangible reward. it is in our nature; welded to the foundation of the survival instinct. boobs are man's carrot on a stick. they will lead us to mars.
-i suspect that every month or two for the rest of my life, i will likely devour a box of sugar cereal 2 bowls at a time (maybe i'll beat this one. time will tell.)
-a hopeful willingness to try and find a way to be of service to someone or something besides myself (especially when i feel like shit!) sometimes.
you are conscious and awake at this point in your life and have chosen to be a part of the evolution of the human spirit via collective, creative means and not simply have a day job and drink your nights away...by all means, get in touch with me, beautiful woman!