#spiled

I’m going outside to die a little, does anyone need anything while I’m out? was said to no one in particular, just the room, and no one said anything back, well actually, no, someone coughed. So, cough back. No cough back to the cough back. Okay, tough crowd in the coffee shop tonight, yikes, dammit, stand there and look around. It’s healthy to be social, the lady on TV said, try small talk. That was just a bunk first attempt, try: push hair behind ear, yeah, that’s an awesome confident look. Ready, take a chance, say: How many grandparents do you have left? Does anyone here like a nice long hard stare at the wall? ...A passionate fuck on a sand dune? Art? ...No? What an uncultured crowd! Okay, that’s better than boring open-ended questions like What do you like to do in your free time? I hope it’s not waste time, because this question is wasting my time, let’s skip that part, let me riddle you this: Fire or water? Which is the worse way to die? Fun fact: we die a little more every moment. Anyone care to come die with me outside for a second and have coffee on the patio together? ...Okay, what do you like to do in your free time? No one says anything back, not even a cough, just the sound of a ceiling fan pushing silence around.

The decision: die alone instead. Do not let anyone love you. Make life a solo activity, prove independence. Break away. Feel sorry for yourself a little, that’s allowed. Then the sound of a door opening, then retracing steps, “wait, could I have something to-go?” then the sound of a door opening and then heavy wood shaking around a click click of metal. Bye-bye.

Outside, there’s the view of a terribly average looking pedestrian man standing across the street with a cell phone, and see, he’s even daring enough to be talking on that cell phone. There’s nothing very special about him at all, so, that has got to be one big sad drag of a conversation. The other person on the line myst be very brave. The pedestrian man does the whole chirp chirping away thing, chit chat, “he said she said." Nice cell phone, that’s a real cool big boy device. What a thing, what a gadget. Think: where does someone so average learn to make friends? An elevator? A hospital waiting room? In line at the 2001 idiot convention? Who’s he paying?

Someone must have been forced into that one, yikes!

Okay. Get a hobby, fucker. Leave this vicinity, pal. Dying won’t be done in the shared interest of anyone else and especially not with such a painfully average looking pedestrian man. He just exists just to take up space, surely. Such an assumingly unassuming pedestrian man he is, a real prick. Leave that someone alone, have some decency. Give her privacy. She’s chosen to review her feigning existence all on her own now. The decision: everyone else can fuck off, thanks.

The lady on the TV would say, The world just isn’t ready for you yet, but don’t worry, friends are right around the corner! Try being social, she’d say, you wouldn’t don’t want to die alone, would you? She’s never said that Everyone needs to die alone sometimes, at least for a little bit. No one says that. Right now: not a favorable time to be social. Today’s already been messed up, it’s been defiled, and now that pedestrian man across the street is intruding in on this attempt at privacy. How terribly intrusive of him. Don’t wave, now, that’d be too intrusive of you and two wrongs don’t make a right. No, don’t look at him either, that’s way too confrontational. He’s not used to being looked at, obviously, judging by how very average he is, a little too average. He’s so average that he could not possibly catch anyone’s eye; it’d be awfully rude as to even catch a glimpse, he’s not used to that, so, especially don’t look at him: this white T-shirt logo ill-fit blue jean key jingle balding man, off-brand Ray Bans razor burn man. “In it to win it” T-shirt logo man, nothing special. He’s so conventionally conventional that he’s made a statement: there’s no need to look at me, there’s nothing here. Oh, what an unassuming prick.

For even this common typed girl-at-the-supermarket-who-buys-into-the-marketing-schemes-used-by-corporate-companies-who-type-their-food-products-as-“organic”-in-a-way-that-they-have-only-been-clearly-marked-in-big-green-letters-as-**organic**-in-so-that-they-appeal-to-those-who-would-like-to-feel-better-about-where-their-food-comes-“from”-because-that’s-progressive kind of girl to notice a painfully average someone him would have him wondering like Why did she look at me? or Do I say something? Is this a mistake? or How could I have gotten her attention? Is this love? when he realistically couldn’t have gotten her attention in any other way other than talking very loudly on a cellphone right across the street from her. Not exactly a “don’t look, honey” kind of man, but rather a “could I get a pack of Marlboro golds, special blend, no, go up one, the gold pack right there to the left” kind of man. “Just asking, but do these here gas station sexual enhancement pill things really work? Not gonna buy them though, just kinda curious.” He doesn’t say it, but he sure does think it. So, please, don’t look at him. This pedestrian man is just so sadly average that it’d make him question how average he wasn’t being, as if he was doing something weird or bad. A failure on his part, he is very definitely neither.

Don’t look honey.

Okay, I won’t.

Maybe if I hold my breath, I will appear as a statue. Find a steady position to hold; quietly: sit down in patio chair, scoot close to patio table, lace fingers, cross legs. Look up at the traffic light on the corner. It’s the color that makes the cars stop.

Oh, dammit, he’s such a disease. Hey fucker, are you lost? Just build a home and raise a family of likewise fuckers in that patch of sidewalk over there. Oh, the audacity! The statue rolls her eyes. The pedestrian man puts his free-hand-not-cell-phone-hand on his hip and stands there looking like the lost fucker he is, mumbling more than talking, but yelling more than mumbling, and heckling the other person on the line more than anything at all. Oh, my god.

Hey! Robert, what’s up, my good guy friend! Yeah, I didn’t mean to embarrass myself so badly last night, tell me, how bad was I? And don’t even begin to tell me it wasn’t bad, I know it was. I just get so silly... just totally let myself go! Did Carol see? Were there pictures? Please erase the pictures, please don’t show them to me, don’t show anyone. You hear me, don’t show anyone those fucking pictures, Robert. Especially not Carol, how late did she stay? Tell her I’m not that kind of guy, I mean, what kind of guy does a somersault in the living room unprovoked, I’m actually very shy and normal. Oh, Robert, please, don’t tell me I tried to get into the hot tub, no! At least, did anyone come in with me? No? I cried? About what? Hold on, Robert, I think we have an eavesdropper, oh, How intrusive of her! okay, now, look away. Scoff. The traffic light turned the color that made the cars go; the statue blinked. It gave her away.

The pedestrian man stomped on the ground, oh my, what a statement! Okay, sorry. Robert? Robert, are you there? No one can hear us, no worries. Were you worried someone could hear? I sure wasn’t. Were you sure to talk to Carol about my behavior at the party last night? Have you told her that I am indeed actually a shy normal guy and could not be any other kind of guy? No? Well, why the hell not? You work with that beautiful bitch, what do you do, just sit in silence at your goddamn desk in your stupid fucking office all day, not even talking to anyone you work with? Not a goddamn good morning? Good afternoon? Fuck you. I am not a circus animal here for your entertainment! I am human, Robert. I am not something to laugh at, and all you can kiss my a-s-s, especially Carol. It was alright knowing you. Alright, okay, I am done. That’s enough out of me. I’ll talk to you later, have fun in Key West, I’ll be over here in Key East far as f-word away from you; alright, Bye, Fuck you, goodbye. Then the sound of Oh my God I really fucked this one up big time! The wind starts crying. Oh, I give up on Carol, I give up on love. You beautiful bitch! Then the sound a cellphone makes when it crashes on pavement. Find a steady position to hold: the pedestrian man covers his face and the statue dies alone for a moment.

Oh, she was something. I wanted to take her out and hold her hand in public, I wanted people to see us holding hands and I wanted them to wonder about us; I wanted them to see us together and think about us, all because we looked so special together, so perfect, so good, we’d be so happy together that people would look at us and wonder what the secret to love was. Sometimes, I sweat a lot, but I would learn to control it. Discipline myself, buy expensive cologne, start taking B-12 vitamins, start smoking American Spirits, practice crying in a way that does not make me look sad but instead handsomely emotional, maybe start frequenting a bar and getting to know one of the bartenders because that’s probably impressive. I used to look at couples holding hands and think that what they had just wasn’t meant for a sadly average unassuming pedestrian man like me.

It’d be like: Look at us, her and I, having love. To say that I did that with someone. I want to do Love with that beautiful bitch, Love with a capital L. I want to change her car’s oil and buy her a Valentine thing like a cool boyfriend guy. I don’t want to just look at love any more, I want love to be something that looks like me. She made me feel like I could figure all that out. It made me feel so fucking disgusting for just looking at her.

The traffic light turned the color that made the cars stop; the statue blinked.

It gave him away.

It was at that moment he decided that he’d move on, find another very beautiful bitch like Carol, a girl who was even more beautiful and more bitchy but in a good way: like she’d kicked doors open with her foot instead of pushing it open with her hands and spit on the ground sometimes. Carol was kind of homely but very hot at the same time which did confuse him, especially because she always said very strange unusual things like Dying alone is the most romantic thing, I can’t possibly let anyone love me, ever! Maybe I’ll go to more parties and on a few dates and get fucked spontaneously in a home improvement store, hopefully Home Depot, in the screw section because that’s funny; lead some very nice guy on because that sounds powerful and dump him even though we had a chance and he’d be the only boy who ever understood my obsession with Bonsai tree gardening and he’d even gone out and bought a chainsaw for me, just because I love the sound a chainsaw makes, and he’d even rev it up for me when I got all sad. The lady on the TV says it’s healthy to be social, but she never said that could probably be substituted for organic food and making friends with the northeast corner of my room. Sigh. I’m one dreamy bitch.

From across the street: Carol? ...! Is that you over there, saying those very unusual things that turn me on very much? says the wind.

Across from across the street: I’m sorry, did someone very sadly average just say something to me? Sorry, not up for a conversation, I’m trying to die alone right now. Actually, I’ll cut to the chase. Please, shut the fuck up over there.

Carol, hold on, calm it down! Don’t you remember me? Probably not because no one ever remembers me, but I was the guy from that party last night, we were both there, I was that pedestrian man who let himself get all silly, which was out of character for him because he’s actually very shy and normal? I really hope you had a good time.

Hello, oh. I didn’t really have a good time.

Well, apparently, neither was I, being that painfully average looking man crying in the hot tub. But I was just really letting myself go, sometimes, you just have to do it.

Oh. That crying guy alone at the party, that was you.

           Crying about what, do you happen to know why?

           Crying about what? Or why were you crying? Those are two different questions.

           Do you have either answer?

           Why? No reason. About what? Something. But for no real reason. And you should be aware that Robert took a lot of pictures.

           Fuck!

Carol was at that party last night looking for one of those very cool stylish Berlin boys that could only found in the dance clubs in Europe who do lines of blow off the floor and also off her ass if she’s lucky; someone with very awesome expensive cool guy glasses that she could throw off in a moment of passionate love-making in her uncle’s bathroom at family Christmas, not an average guy who’s idea of a good time was holding hands at a public park, promising her Las Vegas someday when she knew he didn’t have the money. The later was too realistic. People really let themselves do that, they really let themselves get that close to someone. There’s something really terrifying about that, she couldn’t figure out why.

Write down: What does it mean to be close to someone? Walking home together after a night out? And holding hands? Then running ahead of and doing a little twirl in the 2am streetlight because I want to impress them? And they’d be there, just watching, being so impressed by me for doing something so simple as that, so impressed that I just exist in front of them doing a simple little thing? For them to be so impressed by my simplicity, is that what it’s like to be close to someone? What’s so terrifying about that? And why does it make me feel so disgusting for wanting to know what that’s like?

She didn’t expect to find a pedestrian man crying alone in the hot tub last night. It felt really wrong to look at him. It made her want to go home, so, she did. Why? For no real reason.

Oh, look at that poor pedestrian man, crying for no real reason! everyone said. I’m going home, no one said. Carol left without saying bye.

That crying girl alone in her room, that was her. She lets go sometimes, too. Wondering why she won’t let anyone love her, right? Why won’t I let anyone love me? Little sad alone girl hoping Bonsai tree would listen. It always did. Thank you so much for listening. Thank you.

The lady on TV never listens.

She makes me feel really bad.

Look, I hope you die alone if that’s what you really want.

And I hope you die in love if that’s what you really want.

I hope you die alone starving in a hole and no one loves you, you beautiful bitch.

And I hope you die before the person you love so you don’t die alone, you painfully average pedestrian man.

The traffic light turned the color that made the cars go.

This may be your only chance, pedestrian man. Dash in. Do a somersault. Turn the street the color that looks like love.

Die before the person you love so you don’t die alone.

http://perseuphony.tumblr.com/