I sometimes feel alone...overwhelmed, maybe that's a better word. Overwhelmed by the masses of things that I probably shouldn't record, but, that's my talent, the observation of it all. Yes, the observation and recording; without the power to control or change. Well, what the good in that?I have never figured that out...it just is. I am not also without that addiction to self inflicting pain to regain some sense of feeling and control. I didn't cut my body or force my fingers down my throat. I ate too many sugar cookies...so many my stomach hurt, and this morning I took at giant, fully constipated shit in the cat's bathroom. They all came in, and usually they would make a fuss, but not today. Today, as though they had sympathy for me, they each, one at a time, passed by my straining legs to rub their heads on me. Sympathy or quiet scenting me to remind me gently it is still their bathroom.
The older I get and the more my own Multiple Sclerosis rages on, the less important I think most things are. And on the other hand, the vastly more important some things become. The giant spider web in my yard is not unlike the one we all live on. And ours doesn't seem sometimes to be growing outward, but filling up with crowded wrapped up bodies awaiting the spider to suck us all dry...flaky, braking carcasses left to the wind. We all try to climb over each other, as though we're going to get somewhere. That's the joke, we're all stuck on strings...even if you manage to hop strings...you're still on a fucking string. Go ahead, hop a body or two, right? Okay, it will be our own bodies being hopped over soon enough.
My elderly neighbor has taken care of her own mother for years. Her mother has Alzheimer's. My neighbor dutifully went every day to visit with her mother. Sometimes we would speak of it, on her porch. My neighbor is a lovely woman, who raised her own children, who now have their own children. She has stories of the old days, and loves her plants. Her back yard is overgrown because she is getting to old herself to do it all. That growth makes the neighbor's next to her angry, but they never offer to help. And those neighbors never realize that she rides her lawnmower over the empty lot that's not hers. She does that quietly, well not that quietly because of the mower, for all of us. I told them once, and still they complain and refuse to help. I don't talk to them anymore.
My sweet elderly neighbor, I think is also a hoarder. I've never been invited into her house, but I did catch glimpse of it once. And her children do not visit her; she visits them. We have all seen the glorification of the hoarders on television. Something happened to make her hoard. And I'm no longer strong enough to help. So, she and I sometimes sit on her porch and talk. She doesn't judge me, and I don't judge her either.
She called last night. Her mother passed away. It was peaceful. And she was there. The whole family was there. I could hear how tired she was. And I'll watch her house and pick up the paper, of course. I wanted to make that better for her, but you can't really. We talked about how those moments are when you are most naked, birth and death. And I told her that I thought there wasn't anything more brave and valiant than being at those moments of another human. How much I respected her for that. I will be there when she gets back to sit on her porch with her. And I wonder sometimes what was so complicated for her - What was her stories that made her pile up the gems that I'm sure are in piles in her house.
*****
My friend broke up with her love and had to move. I can hear it. Her sadness, her emptiness, her broken parts. I can't make that better for her either. I know her life had to change due to circumstances that only me winning the lottery could have helped with. And I would have done so freely.
But, had I been able to do that, would I have fucked up her path then? Maybe. This friend is very complicated. Not a run of the mill human. Her body gives her troubles, but her mind is vast and processes at lightening speed. She has been able to make money to live in the best, most inventive ways. She's not greedy, not money hungry. She has made her own money through ideas of her own. I have a deep respect for that - probably more than my words could tell her.
But, she had to move. She had to move where she wanted to stay. And that is a real bitch. I can hear her thoughts about it. I can feel her thoughts about it. That grinding of her soul against making the much needed grown-up decision. She takes photographs. She recorded a walk she took the other day; but with words, not photographs. I could hear the photographs in the words. I wanted to see the photographs that I know she can take.
I see the lesson for her. Where she was before the beauty came easily. Well, how convenient for the beauty to be right there. And she got more that most people get of that easy beauty. Now, she has to work at little more for that beauty. And sometimes beauty is not that beautiful. Her photographs can translate the most ordinary and mundane thing into something we need to see...we need to me made aware of. I can see her lesson, but it's not for me to instruct her on. I can only see it, and right now, I miss my friend and her brain working for all of us. My poor soul tired friend. I await her rise again. Her eyes are the window to all of our souls.You should be waiting, too.
*****
A man asked to speak to me. We met and talked for a bit. In the end, I told him, I didn't think he could be my friend. I was not saying that to be mean. It just was what it was. I am open about almost everything in my life. I don't carry secrets anymore, I gave up that burden years ago. I don't differentiate between anything public vs. private. I just don't care about that anymore. I recognize that those things are so important to a lot of humans, but not me. I can keep secrets to some degree, but I don't really like it. Secrets burn my insides.
I listed once to someone talk about keeping your name clean and the importance of that. My name wasn't clean to begin with, and it's never going to be that for me. I have understood that for myself. And yet, I still have people who love me. There might be an alternative lesson in that.
He called again. I repeated what I had said before. He, kind of, went off. I couldn't really get a word in edgewise. I had to ask several times if I could talk and explain. He wasn't able to allow me that. His life is very fast paced. I didn't think we had very much to talk about. I really didn't get it, why someone would bother.
During the conversation, he said he didn't need to impress me, he had friends already. I wasn't really needing someone to impress me, I thought, as first. But, then I thought, well, you do need to impress me, actually. I have some of the very best humans around me already. And there are billions upon billions of humans on the planet. I see tons of humans all the time, and don't have life-force to intake them all. And, frankly, I take in too much already. Actually, you do need to impress me, or at least catch my attention. Otherwise, your just background noise. I didn't say that out loud, but I knew this was not going to end with him reaching whatever goal he had in mind.
He mentioned more that once that his parents were part of the Black Panther movement. It was important to him. I thought that was very important, too. I couldn't relate though, I know very little of my own family history, and cannot imagine that any of my own people did anything particularly great in history. Maybe personal history, yes, but probably nothing of interest to him.
I also learned from that conversation that I didn't want my own child quoting my accomplishments and my own history. I profoundly wanted my child to stand on his own history. My life would not be so grand that he would have that need. I didn't want that. I wanted only for my child to have his own desire to go over me and above me. I have always felt the protons and electrons of personal history to be more important and eye catching. The grand history is subject to opinions and conjecture and lies, depending on who's recording it...I have no interest or time - mostly.
He thought I couldn't make it through the bad parts of Detroit. He stated that opinion without knowing my own abilities to climb out of plenty of horror and violence in my own life, before. And I have long given up trying to prove myself or my experience to others. There's nothing of value in that.
I got bored and was busy. I told him I would talk to him later. I called him Monkey. I call everyone Monkey. I love monkeys. Monkeys make me happy. Maybe I wish to come back as a monkey in the wild. Anyone who knows me, knows that I have always had a deep love for the monkeys.
He got mad. He said that I should never call a black man a monkey. He was yelling through the phone, and telling me that I didn't even know him like that. Well, I can see you don't know me like that either. I call everyone Monkey. And why would anyone take offense to that? Monkeys are awesome. Monkeys are brilliant and fast, and funny and vicious. And not all monkeys are black, you stupid man. You should feel good that I called you Monkey, good because I tried to be inclusive. He completely missed the idea that it wasn't about him. How about that! It wasn't about you. I take it back. I will not apologize for using a word...Not when calling someone Monkey hurts their misguided, damaged feelings. Because not everyone is good enough to be called Monkey.
Call me names back, I don't care. I do not care about words like that, and I can't be around others who do. It wastes our time. I don't care about the color of someone's skin. When will be see the lack of importance in that? I don't care about someone religion either or weight or height or scars or wealth or anything outside. What a complete waste of time. I know what some monkeys throw their poo. It is funny and a great release of tension. I'm so sorry we gave that up, and I know there are some people are throwing their shit right now, either because they like poop or are considered to be mentally not all there, but I secretly celebrate them in times of need, like this one. Throw you shit!!!! Throw you shit!!!! Be free and throw you shit!!! I will not judge you, I will celebrate you!!!!
I told him, that I was right, he couldn't be my friend. And that was okay. I told him he was too much work and to loose my number, and I hung up. Jesus f'n Christ! I'm sorry my precious monkeys, I didn't know.
And the people in Government kept their jobs and their money while punishing everyone else. I got bored with that, too. But, life didn't stop for them. Life continued around them. I wondered if that was an understanding that they got during their tantrum. Life just went on. Yes, we all know that you ran the money scheme on us. You took our money and did nothing for it. Just took the money and did nothing. We know what you did. There was no fooling us. We understand about the greater world too and what was going on. I would not want to do that to others. It was just sad to see happening. And while it was going on, the woman who crashed gates and died, and the young man who killed himself in the school yard, and the young girls who were raped by connected football players, and the economic struggles of the sex workers in Thailand, all happened.Yes, while the market was low and they stood in their suits, the rich got richer and the poor got poorer, and there were people who went on to live and went on to die.
*****
There is more to recall, much more, but I have stuff to do that calls me even as I type.
*****
It rained. And I stood in my rain boots and watched. We needed the rain. We need the rain more than the music festival...no matter what people thought. I stood in my rain boots and ate an entire box of cookies until my stomach hurt. Someday all the rabbit warrens will be empty, and the ant hills closed for business. I think that some solitude and desolation may be what I need to quiet the voices in my life. The voices on the stings that I record and cannot control.
And today, I shit in the cat's bathroom.
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