Tuesday, July 18, 2006

spitting up all over myself

since i'm supposed to be looking for a job, it is only natural that i am instead reading stuff on my computer that i wrote back in the day. this is an excerpt from a file called 'mr doubleton' that i don't remember writing at all:

The street is beautiful, underneath the drama of an impending thunderstorm. There are still puddles from the last shower, and it is still raining under the trees as the branches drip dry. I can’t help but smile, even as I ignore the men asking for my change. Nothing, no one, can touch me today. I am more free than I have ever been, and it’s all because of Kent. I owe him everything today.

and this is from when i was 17 and my grandpa died:

so it goes on revolving without a pattern or reason but the revolutions in themselves are a reason and pattern aren't they? when it starts as a plaintive
murmur and degenerates into a pointless wondering all the credibility is squandered in the ensuing limelight. what have the great ones and the small
ones done to provide themselves with a supporting system of recklessness? when the tales involve great feats of majesty the listeners are filled with a sense of underachievement unmatched by the tellers themselves. as the rain rises to meet the sidewalks in the barrios everyone grins and becomes the epitome of glee with a outer face of pain. when we idolize those in favor they become out of favor immediately almost like the salamander does when the mistress coos to him in the dawning light of the night. the strapping young manager plasters happiness to the wall looking for a significant return on his investment in the great wonderous sedans of borneo. when keypads sway in the theatre with the idealism of old maids all becomes wasted and yet recycled with all the satisfaction of the coffee addict. although the packard holds an almost immune position in the rivers and streams of consciousness its bell has no toll whatsoever in the modern world. when it peals there is no one within the distance required for the execution of a spy. when will the light shine?


Blogger Jonny said...

When I was little (8?) I wrote something by hand in a little notebook. I found it when I was in highschool, and was amazed. My theory is I transcribed it from somewhere.

I was going to try and recreate it, but I'd fail miserably. It was basically the prologue to the teenage mutant ninja turtle's story.

7:03 AM  

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