There is real magic. I really think there is. You can say it's shit. But, even if you disagree with me, well, that doesn't mean that I'm wrong. Really, I don't care if people believe anything that I know to be a truth. I'm not in the game of convincing anyone.
The word, with it's strange combinations of letters that don't seem to go together in any other word - even that demonstrates what can be seen or smelled, or touched, or imagined....all those things. That word doesn't even seem real, like some kind of strange intangible state that we'd all like to be apart of. Yeah, I haven't seen much of it lately. That's really the fucking pisser in life, when you haven't been seeing any magic lately. And I'm not talking about that fake-ass Las Vegas with Tigers and Shiny Short Dressed Ladies kind of shit. I mean real fucking magic!
I shared a new dirty word with a friend today. That was a little bit of magic. Where I came to learn the word from, that was a little bit of magic? Through oceans and lands - through cables and electronics - through brains - through me - I connected two friends with the dirty word. Oh, we could dissect the whole thing, the whole event, right down to the God Particle...but, how shitty would that feel. I can imagine them having a drink and laughing together.
The dirty word conversation led me to thinking. For some reason, I remembered one summer meeting this really hot, blond guy, at the park. He was tan, tall, hand bangs that fell in front of his eyes that I wanted so much to look into mine. It the small town I lived in, there wasn't too much to do. So, walking to the park was an evening highlight. I would take my Walkman, listen to The Cars, feel the heat and the wind, the full ten blocks to the park. With the lip gloss and sweat, a lot of walking and imagining there was some place else that I could be walking. I was listening to The Cars when I saw him. Teenagers don't even have to talk. In fact, they don't just talk well. Well, unless you were a cool kid, and even then, as we all know now, that they sounded like shit, too. With teenagers, it's all done by passing hormone beams. Yes, special hormone beams. Me and this guy made out, that happened pretty quickly. Then on a different day, I went into his house, and his mother came home early, and I had to climb out the back window, with my bra unfastened. Like I had any boobs to hold in anyway. I loved anything that involved climbing out of something, hiding, making up an excuse for, etc. Still rather like all that stuff. All in good fun.
Maybe I remembered because the dirty word sharing joggled the idea that I didn't used to sit on the sidelines like I have been doing. And it's okay, really okay to share a dirty word and maybe get into something I need to climb through a back window to get out of.
Right now, I'm sitting in my dirty pj's, smoking, and drinking cold coffee. The dog just alerted me that she needs to go outside and take a piss. Not a great start, but maybe I'll paint my nails for the pending shots-fired at the start line.
End Transmission.
No comments:
Post a Comment