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There Aint No Justice 063
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| There Ain't No Justice |
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| #63 |
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- Going Crazy in the Suburbs 06: Changing Values -
by Hairy Leech
so i was sitting there, looking at my homely little terminal program, the
thing that automatically booted every time i turned my computer on, and i
was bored.
first, first you see, first i went for the programs.
then, then you realize, then i went for the chatting.
now, now you understand, now i want neither.
so i was sitting there, looking at my homely little terminal program, the
thing that automatically booted every time i turned my computer on, and i
was a thinking that my values, they be changing once more.
first, first you see, first i loved all kinds of theft. then, then you
realize, then i was caught, but that had little effect. now, now you
understand, now i feel as if it's wrong, so i no longer do it.
not that that has anything to do with any of this, mind you.
so i was sitting there, looking at my homely little terminal program, the
thing that automatically booted every time i turned my computer on, and i
was realizing i was no longer a child.
i've done enough so far to know what i like.
i like to write, but that has definate draw backs. only a handfull of
people eventually read whatever it is that i write, so i have a very small
amount of feedback on it, whatever it is, if any at all.
and out of that handfull of people, only perhaps one or two or, dare i
imagine, three, take any single bit of it seriously and think about what
i'm trying to say.
and out of those one or two or, dare i imagine, three people, i'd say
perhaps only one actually somewhat, to the smallest extent possible,
understands what it is that i am saying.
and that one person, of course, is me.
well, i imagine so.
i mean, i don't really sit down and say, "i want to say this this and
this." not at all. so who knows what i'm trying to say. surely i don't. or
do i? hmmm. points to ponder.
i like to read, but that has definate draw backs. books cost money, you
see, and that happens to be the one large thing that i am lacking.
and of course there is the library, the place that i never get to, due to
lack of time.
and of course there is no time to read a book anyway, due to lack of time,
see above.
i like to paint, but that has definate draw backs. i refuse to use a brush,
because, well, i don't like brushes, and that leads, of course, to finger
painting. and that leads, of course, to fingers full of paint. and that
leads, of course, to that annoying and dull sensation you get when your
fingers are covered with multiple coats of paint.
and anyway, i don't paint pictures, heavens no, i paint.. things. things
that i don't understand. and that always leads to lots of annoying
questions.
well, actually, come to think of it and all, it dosen't. no one seems to
give a flying tuna cassarole about what my paintings mean. and that's quite
distressing.
well, i like to sit and mumble the secret inner-workings of my mind to one
person in particular, but that comes with it's own set of limitations. you
see, i like to do all that in the rain, in the nice pouring down rain, at
night, by the perfectly horrible lakewood lake.
to be in a nice somber mood, you see, talking about all of my little quirks
calmly, quietly, with someone who loves me, with someone who i love, while
watching the rain fall, watching it make the little explosions in the
water, like tiny bombs of water falling.. shockwaves streching out in all
directions, only to be struck by more miniature bombs.. it's quite
spiritual, if i do say so.
and this is all fine and good, but it has it's definate draw backs. for
instance, it has to be in the late spring or summer, so that it is actually
bareable to be sitting outside in the rain.
and, well, anyway.. my mind is a mess and not a good place to reside.
but i'm getting better.
with each passing day.
better and better.
i like my job, but you realize, that's a foolish thing to like.
while i sit and examine myself as i often do, as i'm doing now, in fact, i
think that i must make a horrible boyfriend. look at me the way i see
myself, if you please.
my life has been spent in quiet darkness, alone for 16 years.
my mood changes constantly for no apparant reason.
i can't quite say what it is that i want to say, even though, as we have
already established, i have no more of an idea what i want to say than you
do.
i can be soft, and gentle, and caring, and kind, and tender, and loving.
i can sit and share fragile parts of myself with people, giving them a
little bit of me to carry around and toy with, examine.
i can calm and sooth when there is call for calming and soothing.
i can cradle a sweet, beautiful young woman when she has to cry, clutch,
hold on to something.
i can tell her it's all going to be ok, even though i may doubt it myself
most of the time.
i can think up reasons for her to be happy and cheerful, even though the
same reasons constantly escape me when i need them.
i can be the kindest, sweetest person you've ever met.
but i can't be fun.
i don't know how to have fun.
i can make you laugh by insulting myself.
but i don't know how to have fun.
i blame my childhood. my formitive years. the years spent in darkness,
boredom. devoid of human contact save my family. the family i no longer
know.
i like to write, but people always decide to call me at 12:26 in the
morning and spoil whatever chain of thought i once had.
i was never able to tell anyone about personal problems while growing up. i
could never tell my father anything, because he never answered. anyone. i
could never tell my mother anything, i don't know why. she was.. is.. close
to me, closer than i'd like to think at times. but she isn't nearly close
enough. i could never tell anyone that i was scared of the future, scared
of being a failure, scared of the dark, afraid.. anything.
and now, now you see, now.. now i've finally strayed upon someone who i can
tell all these things, someone who understands it all, and i realize what a
small, frightened child i am inside.
there are times when i find myself doing things just because i want to be
babied. i want to be held. i want someone to hold me, stroke my hair, tell
me everything is perfectly well.
i walk around silent. i look down all the time. i sigh.
and then, then someone asks me, "what's wrong?" and what do i do? what do i
say?
"nothing."
i make them pry it out of me.
i don't know why i do these things.
i wonder if they're wrong.
i wonder if i should change.
unplugged the damned telephone, by cricky.
what a sordid tale i am.
my mind is like a tornado, a swirling mass of thoughts, spinning around so
very fast. with no meaning to any of it, and no intent or purpose, no idea
at all. no connections between any of the seperate pieces, no chains to
connect or bind.
and i think i have a rash.
i'm actually quite a boring shit. i'm surprised no one sees it. they see me
say things, they see me spill my life story for all to see, and they think
i hold things back. they think i'm (and i quote) "mysterious." and they
don't realize i'm actually just a boring shit.
i imagine one day they will, and then they'll loose interest completely.
i'm going slowly blind and deaf. how nice.
and 17 years from the starting line, the eyes are ahead by a few lashes,
but the ears are closing in quickly..
and my life is filled with quiet, somber moments.
if it isn't the rain, it's the fire. flickering candles, dim lighting, soft
warm carpet..
i want to ride a horse.
so i was sitting there, looking at my homely little terminal program, the
thing that automatically booted every time i turned my computer on, and i
was quite exausted actually, and i decided to enjoy the tortured silence of
dreamless sleep.
and i realized, i realized once again with the same happiness, with the
same joy and excitement, i realized i was in love.
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