So, today, I was beat up by a random drunk.
I was walking home from the local pizza place at noon when I passed a guy on the opposite side of the street. We were both in front of a church. He turns around and starts calling out "Hey, man!". I didn't pay attention and kept walking. He repeated himself a few times, and asked me to come to him but I wouldn't and I once again started walking. He calls out to me again "Wait up, man!".
Now, I have never seen this man before in my life, and, aside from asking him what he wants and then walking away, I have never spoken to this man in my life.
Which is why I was surprised that he stepped up nose to nose with me, and started telling me I had an attitude.
I was more confused when he asked me if I had "character". As in "You think you got character, man?". Which is when I made the mistake of saying, "What? No, I don't know what your talking about, I am just trying to walk home, man."
While my head was turned to point to my house, he punched me in the jaw and broke my tooth.
When I was staggering back trying to figure out what happened, he punched me in the left cheek, then the right temple.
This is when I fell down.
I have come to terms with my pacifism. I have been an asshole, on occasion, just the same as anyone else, but I have never thrown a punch in anger in all of my life. Thankfully, I am six foot four inches tall, male, two hundred and thirty pounds, and fairly cautious, so it has been very rare that I have had anyone start a fight with me, and never that I could not talk my way out of it.
When I was lying on the ground, being punched in the back of the head, and both ears, while trying to stay out of the range of his work boots, it occurred to me that now, right now, would be a good time to know how to fight.
I really have no idea what he was yelling at me at this point. I am not really sure how many times he hit me. I am not sure when he stopped. I don't know where he went.
I do know that I was amazed that the palm of my hand was filled with blood.
I wiped it on my knee, and tried to straighten my tooth after I spit the blood out of my mouth.
He was still yelling, but he was farther away now. I didn't really look. I got up and pointed my feet homeward and starting to walk.
I vaguely remember wondering how much blood was on me, and thinking "probably not very much", when my neighbor waved at me when I started up my driveway.
The police were sympathetic, but not especially optimistic about finding the guy.
My friend, who drove me to the hospital with his two kids in the back, was horrified and protective.
The nice ladies at the hospital were kind but distant, they probably know better then to take any story at face value, nor to invest too strongly in anyones pain.
Me? I don't know what to think.
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I think I will have to go to that church that was across the street, and request that they pray for that poor broken man. He is going to get himself hurt someday. Someone ought to look out for him, I think he is a deeply troubled soul.
I'll have to go on a weekday, so they don't make me go to services or something. My agnosticism is feeling a bit inflamed this week.
I was walking home from the local pizza place at noon when I passed a guy on the opposite side of the street. We were both in front of a church. He turns around and starts calling out "Hey, man!". I didn't pay attention and kept walking. He repeated himself a few times, and asked me to come to him but I wouldn't and I once again started walking. He calls out to me again "Wait up, man!".
Now, I have never seen this man before in my life, and, aside from asking him what he wants and then walking away, I have never spoken to this man in my life.
Which is why I was surprised that he stepped up nose to nose with me, and started telling me I had an attitude.
I was more confused when he asked me if I had "character". As in "You think you got character, man?". Which is when I made the mistake of saying, "What? No, I don't know what your talking about, I am just trying to walk home, man."
While my head was turned to point to my house, he punched me in the jaw and broke my tooth.
When I was staggering back trying to figure out what happened, he punched me in the left cheek, then the right temple.
This is when I fell down.
I have come to terms with my pacifism. I have been an asshole, on occasion, just the same as anyone else, but I have never thrown a punch in anger in all of my life. Thankfully, I am six foot four inches tall, male, two hundred and thirty pounds, and fairly cautious, so it has been very rare that I have had anyone start a fight with me, and never that I could not talk my way out of it.
When I was lying on the ground, being punched in the back of the head, and both ears, while trying to stay out of the range of his work boots, it occurred to me that now, right now, would be a good time to know how to fight.
I really have no idea what he was yelling at me at this point. I am not really sure how many times he hit me. I am not sure when he stopped. I don't know where he went.
I do know that I was amazed that the palm of my hand was filled with blood.
I wiped it on my knee, and tried to straighten my tooth after I spit the blood out of my mouth.
He was still yelling, but he was farther away now. I didn't really look. I got up and pointed my feet homeward and starting to walk.
I vaguely remember wondering how much blood was on me, and thinking "probably not very much", when my neighbor waved at me when I started up my driveway.
The police were sympathetic, but not especially optimistic about finding the guy.
My friend, who drove me to the hospital with his two kids in the back, was horrified and protective.
The nice ladies at the hospital were kind but distant, they probably know better then to take any story at face value, nor to invest too strongly in anyones pain.
Me? I don't know what to think.
...
...
...
...
...
...
I think I will have to go to that church that was across the street, and request that they pray for that poor broken man. He is going to get himself hurt someday. Someone ought to look out for him, I think he is a deeply troubled soul.
I'll have to go on a weekday, so they don't make me go to services or something. My agnosticism is feeling a bit inflamed this week.
I have to confront the fact that I have a hard time reading a sentence with improper punctuation or rambling thought processes.
This is a heavy blow to my pride, considering how many times I have done the exact same thing and just assumed that a reader would be able to understand my thought process as well as I do.
However, after reading one too many poorly composed sentences where my understanding of the words hits a missing comma like a uneven sidewalk paver, and staggers drunkenly and stumbling forward to slam headlong into the final period, with no understanding of the intervening words or letters, I have to admit my own culpability.
I am not sure I know how to help myself. Too often, the missing comma or, heaven forbid, sensible sentence break, simply lies in wait for my consciousness to simply skim over it as if it were a nail underneath the carpeting, impossible to find until that inevitable day that I step on it and all my preceding thoughts are lost in disarray.
Oh, forgive me for I have sinned, it has been one hundred words since my last punctuation, forgive me my commas, as I forgive those that have commaed against me. Lead me not into emoticons, but deliver me from semi-colons. Amen.
This is a heavy blow to my pride, considering how many times I have done the exact same thing and just assumed that a reader would be able to understand my thought process as well as I do.
However, after reading one too many poorly composed sentences where my understanding of the words hits a missing comma like a uneven sidewalk paver, and staggers drunkenly and stumbling forward to slam headlong into the final period, with no understanding of the intervening words or letters, I have to admit my own culpability.
I am not sure I know how to help myself. Too often, the missing comma or, heaven forbid, sensible sentence break, simply lies in wait for my consciousness to simply skim over it as if it were a nail underneath the carpeting, impossible to find until that inevitable day that I step on it and all my preceding thoughts are lost in disarray.
Oh, forgive me for I have sinned, it has been one hundred words since my last punctuation, forgive me my commas, as I forgive those that have commaed against me. Lead me not into emoticons, but deliver me from semi-colons. Amen.
I spent a considerable amount of time last night, while trying to fall asleep, composing mean and vicious things to post in response to a particular asshole in one of the groups. This morning, sober, I am happy and somewhat proud of myself that I did not make an ass of myself or lower myself to someone else's level.
Not today, internet. I win, today.
Tomorrow, probably not.
Not today, internet. I win, today.
Tomorrow, probably not.
I am uninspired right now to do anything of significance. I am going to call this a waste of a day.
Though, I will give some small advice.
If, like me, you have an inexplicable hunger for sardines, whether tossed in salads sandwiches or pasta (happy face), then you would be wise to spend a little bit extra for the high-end ones, because the sardines that are available at many a local quickie mart, and who hasn't gone drunkenly shopping for sardines at 2 am, may, in fact, have bones in them.
By which I mean to say, it is incredibly unpleasant to pull a three inch long segment of sardine spinal column out of your food.
It is even more unpleasant to pull a second pice out of your mouth.
Though it does explain why your pasta is crunchy. So, i guess its wise to remember that it is an ill wind that blows no one any good.
Though, I will give some small advice.
If, like me, you have an inexplicable hunger for sardines, whether tossed in salads sandwiches or pasta (happy face), then you would be wise to spend a little bit extra for the high-end ones, because the sardines that are available at many a local quickie mart, and who hasn't gone drunkenly shopping for sardines at 2 am, may, in fact, have bones in them.
By which I mean to say, it is incredibly unpleasant to pull a three inch long segment of sardine spinal column out of your food.
It is even more unpleasant to pull a second pice out of your mouth.
Though it does explain why your pasta is crunchy. So, i guess its wise to remember that it is an ill wind that blows no one any good.
I read some of your blog, and i hope you feel better.
it didnt seem appropriate to comment publicly, though it also does not seem appropriate to comment at all. You mentioned a bit of sadness and indecision and i hope you find your way.
A memory, and a thought that i frequently forget.
I pay to see this site and the beautiful women on it, and somehow, persistantly, I look upon the pictures that have been taken and the statements that are made with a kind of awe. Their is something of a reverence I feel for people who have chosen to be so...well... naked. open. revealing. That somehow the people I see live glorious hallowed lives, distinct from the petty insecurities that plague me on a day to day.
It is, entirely, not the point.
More commonly acceptable would be a subtle form of contempt, a rank ownership defined by my own needs and wishes.
Also, not my point.
Neither view point holds much water, to my mind. There is someplace in the middle where i like to hang out. something along the lines of quiet appreciation for a difficult job, well done. A fairly quiet spot in my head where i judge others against myself significantly less, and myself against them, not at all.
As slow as it seems, as painfully methodical, misdirected, and frequently wrought with anger, frustration, confusion, and ...whatever else is available as negative qualitative judgement... I think that i have done pretty damn well.
And without even knowing you, nor needing to, I think you have done a pretty damn good job too.
"
Im as cold as the weather. I think I need to interact with people more. I miss that contact."
it didnt seem appropriate to comment publicly, though it also does not seem appropriate to comment at all. You mentioned a bit of sadness and indecision and i hope you find your way.
A memory, and a thought that i frequently forget.
I pay to see this site and the beautiful women on it, and somehow, persistantly, I look upon the pictures that have been taken and the statements that are made with a kind of awe. Their is something of a reverence I feel for people who have chosen to be so...well... naked. open. revealing. That somehow the people I see live glorious hallowed lives, distinct from the petty insecurities that plague me on a day to day.
It is, entirely, not the point.
More commonly acceptable would be a subtle form of contempt, a rank ownership defined by my own needs and wishes.
Also, not my point.
Neither view point holds much water, to my mind. There is someplace in the middle where i like to hang out. something along the lines of quiet appreciation for a difficult job, well done. A fairly quiet spot in my head where i judge others against myself significantly less, and myself against them, not at all.
As slow as it seems, as painfully methodical, misdirected, and frequently wrought with anger, frustration, confusion, and ...whatever else is available as negative qualitative judgement... I think that i have done pretty damn well.
And without even knowing you, nor needing to, I think you have done a pretty damn good job too.
"
Im as cold as the weather. I think I need to interact with people more. I miss that contact."
'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.
"Beware the Jabberwock, my son!
The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!
Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun
The frumious Bandersnatch!"
He took his vorpal sword in hand:
Long time the manxome foe he sought—
So rested he by the Tumtum tree,
And stood awhile in thought.
And as in uffish thought he stood,
The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame,
Came whiffling through the tulgey wood,
And burbled as it came!
One, two! One, two! and through and through
The vorpal blade went snicker-snack!
He left it dead, and with its head
He went galumphing back.
"And hast thou slain the Jabberwock?
Come to my arms, my beamish boy!
O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!"
He chortled in his joy.
'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.
Give a man a fire and he's warm for the day. But set fire to him and he's warm for the rest of his life.
Terry Pratchett, Discworld
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.
"Beware the Jabberwock, my son!
The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!
Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun
The frumious Bandersnatch!"
He took his vorpal sword in hand:
Long time the manxome foe he sought—
So rested he by the Tumtum tree,
And stood awhile in thought.
And as in uffish thought he stood,
The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame,
Came whiffling through the tulgey wood,
And burbled as it came!
One, two! One, two! and through and through
The vorpal blade went snicker-snack!
He left it dead, and with its head
He went galumphing back.
"And hast thou slain the Jabberwock?
Come to my arms, my beamish boy!
O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!"
He chortled in his joy.
'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.
Give a man a fire and he's warm for the day. But set fire to him and he's warm for the rest of his life.
Terry Pratchett, Discworld
i am today trying to come to some sort of peace with the persistant procrastination that is my life. so many things i have to do, want to do, need to do, and so many things i seem to not do. over and over again i do not do them. i look around and i see them again. they belong only to me. crafts unfinished. electrical work unstarted. painting left undone. friends left uncontacted. it has the appearence of depression but not the substance. i dont feel depressed. i dont feel anything but a vague and empty feeling need to connect with something. something bigger then my typical day to day. something more persistant and connective. something with a greater substance to lead me/guide me/follow me/ save me from... something else than what i was before i started. does that make sense? rereading it says no.
so, to sum up, pointless job, single, poor... dream house, money for beer, health... small jobs to do that seem somehow pointless... petty dramas that cease to amuse... pleasing surroundings... but meaningless surfaces...
this begins to seem like a dream i know the meaning of. one of those dreamscapes that i wander slowly thru being completely confused and then i wake up and the meaning flashes before my eyes in giant words of fire. but i cannot yet wake up, i cannot yet find the flash of meaning, but only slowly live my way through and try to pay attention to the clear and present message i am trying to send to myself.
i can feel it on the tip of my tongue.
its right fucking there...
so, to sum up, pointless job, single, poor... dream house, money for beer, health... small jobs to do that seem somehow pointless... petty dramas that cease to amuse... pleasing surroundings... but meaningless surfaces...
this begins to seem like a dream i know the meaning of. one of those dreamscapes that i wander slowly thru being completely confused and then i wake up and the meaning flashes before my eyes in giant words of fire. but i cannot yet wake up, i cannot yet find the flash of meaning, but only slowly live my way through and try to pay attention to the clear and present message i am trying to send to myself.
i can feel it on the tip of my tongue.
its right fucking there...
why do i even write this shit. such paltry garbage. ive lived so many stories, testimonials, and experiences that all this silly shit means nothing. looks like the self conscious musings of a definitive fool trying to find meaning. i wont erase it, but i am aware of the sad definition i have made for myself.
right now i am experiencing the vicious combination of numerous b-vitamins, large dosages of caffeine, half a pack of cigarettes, five high octane beers, vicodan, four days with a total of 12 hours sleep, and the incongruous experience of going to a giant antique store (some people go to parties, i help a friend find a good looking dead animal to wear). in that order. my heart is making an uncomfortable noise like crumpling paper. i look forward to old age with the knowledge that it shall be short.
yesterday i stopped at a friends house who had been holding a mahogany... bureau...desk... thing he had been holding for me for the last two years. one of those things that has a front that flips down to make a writing desk. after i had a couple of shots of a very good cheap vodka that tastes of candied orange peels and we had spoken of our friend who struggles with alcoholism, having fabulous projects in mind that we keep putting off, after we had met his happy hippy neighbor who gave me a handful of parsley to make tabouli because there was too much in her yard, i went home. my mom has moved into my house whilte she looks for another one and my brother is living with me because he is an irresponsible and angry asshole who no one else would put up with.,
i walked in the door carrying a very large and damaged...whatever that thing is called, chatted with eric before he toddled off and came inside to find some pledge or murphys oil soap or something to clean the... cabinet out with. and i heard my mom calling me from upstairs.
"brazen...uh..."
yeah, mom.
brazen
yeah, whats up?
ummm...
mom, take your time.
my brother comes out of his room.
um...cant talk...um...ah...arm feels funny...uh...scared...
mom, we are going to take you to the hospital, okay? are you feeling okay or should we call an ambulance?
um...im feeling a bit better now.
well, were still taking you to the hospital, mom.
i feel much better, but i guess your right, just let me get dressed first.
and so it went. she got right in and was sent immediately to a cat scan after she passed the "can you tell us what year it is?" test. i counted five apologies from my mother, after i had started counting, about how she was so much trouble and shes sorry for bothering me, she offered to help the nurse four times, and she was so tired she kept nodding off (it was, after all, 10 pm).
i had three cigarettes, two shots from the flask, finished two magazines from cover to cover, and then...they dont know whats wrong. the physicians assistant, who was the only doctor we saw, seemed to want to float us out of the room on a wave of of technical descriptions. he spoke long enough that we could remember what episodic meant, and what "not an infarction" meant, and to learn six, maybe seven, new ways he could say "we dont know what it is, could be nothing, could be your life, could be months of therapy to recover brain function, please go home and worry, but dont worry too much because i dont want you to think that i might have known about anything before hand, and even though i mentioned the mri test is the best one to do at this point, for some reason i am going to avoid mentioning it aside from the fact that it is very expensive, blah blah blah," and so on.
now, morning after. im going to have an enormous cup of coffee, maybe make myself something to eat that is greasy and good, maybe use the parsley, maybe go to a buffet.
i'll try to figure out the name of the fucking piece of fucking furniture, and clean the fuck out of it, and then i will continue to not be generally frustrated nor angry with...oh...everything, but i will certainly not think of my mom in the hospital.
i walked in the door carrying a very large and damaged...whatever that thing is called, chatted with eric before he toddled off and came inside to find some pledge or murphys oil soap or something to clean the... cabinet out with. and i heard my mom calling me from upstairs.
"brazen...uh..."
yeah, mom.
brazen
yeah, whats up?
ummm...
mom, take your time.
my brother comes out of his room.
um...cant talk...um...ah...arm feels funny...uh...scared...
mom, we are going to take you to the hospital, okay? are you feeling okay or should we call an ambulance?
um...im feeling a bit better now.
well, were still taking you to the hospital, mom.
i feel much better, but i guess your right, just let me get dressed first.
and so it went. she got right in and was sent immediately to a cat scan after she passed the "can you tell us what year it is?" test. i counted five apologies from my mother, after i had started counting, about how she was so much trouble and shes sorry for bothering me, she offered to help the nurse four times, and she was so tired she kept nodding off (it was, after all, 10 pm).
i had three cigarettes, two shots from the flask, finished two magazines from cover to cover, and then...they dont know whats wrong. the physicians assistant, who was the only doctor we saw, seemed to want to float us out of the room on a wave of of technical descriptions. he spoke long enough that we could remember what episodic meant, and what "not an infarction" meant, and to learn six, maybe seven, new ways he could say "we dont know what it is, could be nothing, could be your life, could be months of therapy to recover brain function, please go home and worry, but dont worry too much because i dont want you to think that i might have known about anything before hand, and even though i mentioned the mri test is the best one to do at this point, for some reason i am going to avoid mentioning it aside from the fact that it is very expensive, blah blah blah," and so on.
now, morning after. im going to have an enormous cup of coffee, maybe make myself something to eat that is greasy and good, maybe use the parsley, maybe go to a buffet.
i'll try to figure out the name of the fucking piece of fucking furniture, and clean the fuck out of it, and then i will continue to not be generally frustrated nor angry with...oh...everything, but i will certainly not think of my mom in the hospital.
OCTOBER 2010
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AUGUST 2010
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