cornelius

i save these up i think, i try to reflect on what went wrong and what went right. i write them all disjointed: just now i tab-shifted to the begining and began this double jointed reboot, right in the middle of the following paragraph... seriously, i went out to eat chinese food in the middle of writing this. i pass through my day and try to remember little stupid interesting things, inbetween episodes of unconciousness and concious lever pulling/button pushing. i just went and filled up the water jug, another random repeat activity, an excuse to keep it all together. everything is such the gawd damn opposite of a whim. i'm such a cartoon, a mishapen rain cloud, forever grumbling about being chased away by sunshine.

i left home and came back again, again, back to my ol' hometown, back to the girl who still pretends to like me, back to my dad, back to my mom, back to why i left it all in the first place. again, i continue to fall for the olddest of jokes, the fake smiles, the obvious rough patches, the dramitization, the carsickness of it all. dad's still a drunk, mom's still a punching bag, i'm still not aware of how much i sigh, roll my eyes, and talk beneath my breath. i remind myself i take 2 vacations on purpose, because any little part of this one can infect and retard the other.

they've all made slow progress in one way or another. dad's been trying therapy, courtesy of the vetran's administration, and in typical fashion has used his simple hatred to find something wrong with it. he still drinks, jabbing frowning relatives with two stiff fingers, asking why they ain't laughin'. mom's a gym fanatic now, escaping the old man on a treadmill logged, miles upon miles away from him. he pretends to be nice to her, maybe for my benefit, until he's had a few... then, the dogs have more status. she still takes it and likes it, she still doesn't stand up for herself.

i guess that's why when i do, everyone gets antsy, like their sure i've played this game before, they are positive i've read the script, but i pulled a bill murray and mad libbed it all, fucked it up. they're waiting for their cues but i'm grinding their versace sunglasses into the parking lot concrete. i drank all their fuckin' lattes, i ain't playing the role, i'm doing it my way, by ear and by heart. my parents aren't the only ones, either.

my friend noble is selling drugs, especially methamphetamine, and i can't blame him, 'cause he's an ex-con. he can't get a real job because of his record, so instead he does what he's best at, what he's always done. if i had called him before i showed up, i'm sure he would have hid it all from me. he was embarassed, but he's fucking brilliant. he's tapping away at his computer one minute when the beeper goes off and he leaves to sling. he's got what it takes but he doesn't know how to do anything. none of this is different, it is all the same. another friend of mine handicapped long ago, is sleeping with one of his language teachers and has convinced her to leave her husband of 6 years, and run away with him. he can't use one arm, but he's still got it. this is what i expected, this is how i pictured them all to be, up to their old tricks, just a little further down whatever path they were on when i last left.

i knew it was all gonna be like this and i came anyway. what i excelled at was the time inbetween, wired on black coffee balanced out with sativa, pretending to be a truckdriver, playing dress-up again, taking pictures, cutting and pasting as the miles ran by. going home is a bad dream or a b-movie, one you keep having seen over and over... you know the killer is hiding in the closet, and before, when you used to turn away suprised, now you wait for the hot blood to trickle down your sticky face.

so i went... and i had fun too, but it's the shitty thoughts that you remember best in the end. my friends and i indulged in music piracy. my mom went with me to laugh in observation as i tried on various discount suits. my dad and i shared political thoughts over homemade minestrone. my mom apoligizes for the broken things that aren't her fault. my dad screams in his sleep, in between his snoring. he told her off on the 4th of july and i left the house, no trip home complete without a patented teary-eyed drive through the hills. when i left he attacked her again, telling her it was all her fault i wouldn't talk to him. if they weren't my parents i'd have abandoned them long ago.

he puts her down, he apoligizes, he tears her up and he makes up for it. he throws her away and she boomarangs back. he's the sweetest man before 11 AM, he gets things done, he's introspective. he's everything that he is not in the afternoon. we had long talks like we always do. i could only hope this time it stuck instead of going in one ear and right out the other. i relived it while he listened again for the first time. he told me about the headless little girls he sees in his sleep, how he douses them with silver bullets but gets everyone else's t-shirt wet in the process. i say i understand but i don't, i can't. i can't ever imagine what it was he went through. he was sorry, he said he'd promise, but i told him that wouldn't mean anything to me. prove it, i told him... show me! show me you can be a better man. show me you can respect her as a person if you can't respect her as a wife. show me you can be the father i always wish i had.

-bobby