p r e a m b l e t o h e l l
I've just had one of the most love-filled weekends of my life. No, I wasn't transported back to the sixties to participate in an acid-fueled orgy-frenzy of eye-endangering sexjaculations. But that would've been cool too. I've just seen a few people I haven't seen in a year.
One's a musical genius that could spend a year alone with me in a studio teaching me everything he knows and I might come out at the end of it with some serious skills. And I already know a lot.
Another is an artist that is not an artist. They are really my favorite kind. Anyone who tries to define themselves or their art in an 'artistic' ways tend to hit my gag reflex. That kind of pretension is just too much of an introspective button-hitter.
Then there's the sweet little capitulation of softness that draws me in like the world's most powerful electro-magnet; the kind you only hear about in the Marvel universe. It's not that I'm in love with her or even in lust with her. She just happens to fold lust up like it was a piece of paper and turn it into the most beautiful origami swan that you have ever seen. Parting words: A kiss, a smile, and an 'it was fun.' I hope it's fun again someday. And so it goes.
H E L L
Weekend's over, everyone's gone and it's Sunday. What to do. Say, "I wanna get fucked up!"
So you've just spent the day popping about 20 tramadol, nicely frosted with a smattering of 6 Mexican Valium and oh fuck!, if you don't have to make your way home from point A to point B. The coffee-shop flirtation and poetic-rhyming exchange was a nice way to pass the sunbathing in the parking lot of your typical suburban strip-mall, but darkness fell eventually. That's when I started to get the fear. The fear is that undeniable voice that screams at you that you will never understand reality, ego, the difference between black and white - and the psychosis of the casino-clown of capitalism is trying to kill you with his ravings - or the difference between self and other. On top of all this, I'm having trouble seeing. Each eye keeps deciding to have its own idea about what It's seeing with the result being two distinct out-of-focus images. Quite confusing.
Time to drive home.
Man I can't wait until August 26, 2003 is past. That's my court date. For the DUI. Until then I don't have a license to drive. That really means that I shouldn't, cause if I get caught driving, not only am I gonna be royally fuct when my court date comes, but I'll probably spend another night in jail. Once was enough, thank you very much.
But like I said, darkness was falling, and I got into my car to drive home. Maintain, maintain. Shake head to keep image focused, two to become one. I think I did a pretty damn good job until I got last in the backwaters of Petaluma somwhere between Highway 12 and Hicksville. The roads started winding, and yes, I did hit that center divide (the double-yellow-reflector kind, thank-you-very-much, not the wall) about four times. At least, that's what the cop that was trailing me said.
unsui: Evening Officer.
cop: Do you know why I pulled you over, sir?
u: Uh, no, officer, I'm not quite sure.
OK, so I had already resigned myself to the fact that I was sleeping in jail that night, but if you were falling off a cliff and all you could see was a tuft of grass that you could grab onto - you'd grab on too, no?
cop: Can I see you license, registration, and proof of insurance please sir?
Now remember, I have no license. If he were to look it up, he'd see that it was suspended for the DUI. I reach for the tuft of grass.
u: Actually, I don't have my license on me, but the license # is B*******. Here's the registration and insurance.
cop: Well, sir. Do you know you've hit that center-divide about four times in the past couple miles. Have you been drinking anything tonight?
u: Nope. Nothing at all sir.
cop: Have you been smoking anything tonight, sir?
u: Nope, well, unless you count cigarettes.
cop: Can you please step out of the car sir?
cop: Just walk over to the front of the car.
/me walks towards the squad car, notices the other officer standing by the driver-side door.
cop: Do you have anything in your pockets sir.
u: Well, yeah
/me reaches into his pockets to show him, which really freaks out the cop and he jumps towards me and grabs my arms to stop me
cop: Please, don't do that sir.
/cop begins to pat me down, finds a tin box
cop: (in a stroke of intuitive genius) Is that a metal box?
u: Yes, would you like to see inside it?
/cop finds nothing
cop: When's the last time you smoked marijuana?
OK, what kind of loaded question is that? Am I supposed to say, 'Oh, no, sir. I would never touch the evil weed known as marijuana!' Maybe it's a test of my honesty. Maybe he just wants to know if I've smoked recently enough for it to affect my driving. I mean, he is shining that flashlight and waving around a pen in my eyes. Fuck that's annoying.
u: Uhh, Yesterday actually. Also, could you tell me how to get to point B? I think I missed the turn close by here.
/cop looks at me for a second, has his partner give him back the paperwork and proceeds to help me out
cop: yeah, you go back there, take a left there, go down a while, blah blah blah.
u: Why thank you officer. You have a good night. I'm pretty tired, I'll try to be more careful.
Thank-you god/karma/mother earth/shiva/destiny for saving my ass that night