Know It
By Juan Navarro
The funny things is, I knew it was going to hurt me. There I was though, punching in, getting online calling up her site like some wild trained ape, waiting for some masochistic treat.
But see a monkey is not this stupid.
So I sit there after months of not talking to her, nothing had happened in years between us other than the occasional joke. Then when the shit hit the fan, and planes fell out of the sky in New York. All of a sudden it was important to say things. Shit was falling from the sky it was important to say things. So thing were said but never done. It just seemed past it's prime I guess.
So now he took on his work ethic almost bushido style driving himself into the ground, highly caffeined. He was not the picture of health after a while , he lost weigh but now he seemed to sag, he didnt say much at the few social gathering he either dragged himself to, to was accosted by his friends. There he would stand seeing how far his confidence hit the floor, as people passed only to trade, if not , out right rape, a joke out of him.
He was Funny, they said.
He was the funny guy the guy everyone came to get a laugh, he would push a few buttons and everyone would giggle and bellow out huge loads of guffaws.
You should be a comedian they said
He would recite something he ha din mind, or an idea, or somebody would just insult him or something about him, and his witty retorts, animated by his gesture of face and body, would send all those around him in throes of laughter.
He wanted to kill himself.
When people he was funny, or should be a comedian, he just shut down. It was like the spotlight turned off on him, and he would hide in a corner. Thats it folks, no more shows today, try tomorrow
The worst part? When he was not funny, or in a good mood, who did he turn to? Who made him laugh?
Exactly.
So now he threw himself into his work drawing and posting on his site, at least a page a day of various comic book ideas. He fancied himself a sequential artist, and could spout name sand techniques form around the world, shit no one could dispute, because nobody what the fuck the guy was talking about anyway. But he had a clever hand, hes doodles were impressive, and he had a keen eye, raised in 13 years of art, of being involved, he was child prodigy really; that wore off as humanity caught up to him ,,and sometimes he would say Passed him by giving the finger. He loved to draw could doodle all day with a pencil in hand, but he loathed the art. H e loathed it, with gritting teeth, when he heard much of a critique and someone being an artistic prima donna he felt like should be set on fire, and commanded to stay their on fire, standing in front of there piece till everyone else was done, only then could the son of a bitch learn discipline. So he had many friends, successful in thier own little niches of life, some in art, and would go to their shows to see the them gleam. he was at times, the only one to say anything constructive people said, at the gallery show.
He really shed some light on this
He always reflected silently, that t if he did shed a light, that it for the blind bourgeois fucks in the room who thought they knew art. Asshole.
Hes own work waned through his pain, he used to make pain in pieces, one painting after another but that t was sin a juvenile state wear such wounds of love healed, quickly, no , he had gotten to the point of maturity now, wear the wound take long to heal, sometimes festering, and because of this cut off of circulation to his emotions and heart, he seemed to be block of stunned. Really he had a million ideas a day, his heart would be palpitating as he wrote and drew notes on what he wanted to do, but by the time he would sit down and execute such thing,s he would hate, he would just despise the idea, and again scream at himself for being a hack and lout. He would do this with many of his ideas, staked high in journals he had put away after so many years, with dates and entries, constantly seeing what could be the next project the next thing. But now he was out of air, and will, he seemed to breath dust, and not be dead, nothing around him to really lift him
Nor did he expect it too. he had been pessimist all his life and always come to expect for life to hand him the worst. He knew it would not be the most horrible of things, but just enough mediocrity, that it would not let him complain.
That was the curve ball of God, mediocrity.
When you can say At I have my health, shit sucks,. Because you know what? I want my health, and that sexy cute girl who works at the comic book shop, and to be able to paint 24 hours a day and not worry about money. Of course, that being greedy, but he though Being pious ain't helping anyway?!?
But that where the ball sack get bit here, gentleman.
He could be greedy. no he had to be nice, or a least tfair
Now let me tell you mother fuckers something, to him fair was God,. God was not a cross, or holy trinity but a big neon glowing celestial =. To reflect you should be fair at all times, to him that was they way to be. One guy get punch that other guy should punch back. Plain and simple. he wound argue with his fascist brother about the Palestinians and Israelites, and just bellow out, They both should go for it, just with knives and shit and that it, no helicopter,s no tank , no suicide bombers, no nothing, every fucker picks up a knife, and go at it, who ever lives get the land. Be even. Be true., dont lie.
Tat probably what mad him fail at many things; he couldnt lie to get along with people he could kiss ass. he just couldn't. He must have been born with some gene that denies this action, because for the life of him, he could only speak his mind, and one of the few joys he had was to go after someone and tear them apart for there bull shit sinning garbage life. His friends would say later Hey chill man, shes just dumb chick, and he would just swig his beer, and retort, a fucking idiot who causes part of all the stupid shit in the world You either laughed or booed at him at his part.
That was his life, aside from the very little sleep and the fucking sky falling depression the guy went through, now more than before.
SO he sat there looking at the computer at his ex-girlfiends web page raving about how she's in love now with another man. and yes that was the final arrow here folks, that when he wanted to scream and holler and destroy. He didnt; he sat there rubbing his chin as he coughed and sniffle form a shitty cold, at how the women he loved found happiness and it aint with him. He looked to the floor signing off, he movement robotic, his mind somewhere else. He was tired, when would sleep, he would get away from all this bit.
And in he dark, for a half second you could hear a whimper. Then like minute later, a slurred BITCH as he closed his eyes and went to sleep, his mouth open due to his clogged nose, in his hot little room stacked dot the brim with the books he loved so much. He foes on in his life Don't get t me wrong, but your seeing the little deaths that happen in humanity. This happens. Know it motherfucker, know it.
By Juan Navarro
The funny things is, I knew it was going to hurt me. There I was though, punching in, getting online calling up her site like some wild trained ape, waiting for some masochistic treat.
But see a monkey is not this stupid.
So I sit there after months of not talking to her, nothing had happened in years between us other than the occasional joke. Then when the shit hit the fan, and planes fell out of the sky in New York. All of a sudden it was important to say things. Shit was falling from the sky it was important to say things. So thing were said but never done. It just seemed past it's prime I guess.
So now he took on his work ethic almost bushido style driving himself into the ground, highly caffeined. He was not the picture of health after a while , he lost weigh but now he seemed to sag, he didnt say much at the few social gathering he either dragged himself to, to was accosted by his friends. There he would stand seeing how far his confidence hit the floor, as people passed only to trade, if not , out right rape, a joke out of him.
He was Funny, they said.
He was the funny guy the guy everyone came to get a laugh, he would push a few buttons and everyone would giggle and bellow out huge loads of guffaws.
You should be a comedian they said
He would recite something he ha din mind, or an idea, or somebody would just insult him or something about him, and his witty retorts, animated by his gesture of face and body, would send all those around him in throes of laughter.
He wanted to kill himself.
When people he was funny, or should be a comedian, he just shut down. It was like the spotlight turned off on him, and he would hide in a corner. Thats it folks, no more shows today, try tomorrow
The worst part? When he was not funny, or in a good mood, who did he turn to? Who made him laugh?
Exactly.
So now he threw himself into his work drawing and posting on his site, at least a page a day of various comic book ideas. He fancied himself a sequential artist, and could spout name sand techniques form around the world, shit no one could dispute, because nobody what the fuck the guy was talking about anyway. But he had a clever hand, hes doodles were impressive, and he had a keen eye, raised in 13 years of art, of being involved, he was child prodigy really; that wore off as humanity caught up to him ,,and sometimes he would say Passed him by giving the finger. He loved to draw could doodle all day with a pencil in hand, but he loathed the art. H e loathed it, with gritting teeth, when he heard much of a critique and someone being an artistic prima donna he felt like should be set on fire, and commanded to stay their on fire, standing in front of there piece till everyone else was done, only then could the son of a bitch learn discipline. So he had many friends, successful in thier own little niches of life, some in art, and would go to their shows to see the them gleam. he was at times, the only one to say anything constructive people said, at the gallery show.
He really shed some light on this
He always reflected silently, that t if he did shed a light, that it for the blind bourgeois fucks in the room who thought they knew art. Asshole.
Hes own work waned through his pain, he used to make pain in pieces, one painting after another but that t was sin a juvenile state wear such wounds of love healed, quickly, no , he had gotten to the point of maturity now, wear the wound take long to heal, sometimes festering, and because of this cut off of circulation to his emotions and heart, he seemed to be block of stunned. Really he had a million ideas a day, his heart would be palpitating as he wrote and drew notes on what he wanted to do, but by the time he would sit down and execute such thing,s he would hate, he would just despise the idea, and again scream at himself for being a hack and lout. He would do this with many of his ideas, staked high in journals he had put away after so many years, with dates and entries, constantly seeing what could be the next project the next thing. But now he was out of air, and will, he seemed to breath dust, and not be dead, nothing around him to really lift him
Nor did he expect it too. he had been pessimist all his life and always come to expect for life to hand him the worst. He knew it would not be the most horrible of things, but just enough mediocrity, that it would not let him complain.
That was the curve ball of God, mediocrity.
When you can say At I have my health, shit sucks,. Because you know what? I want my health, and that sexy cute girl who works at the comic book shop, and to be able to paint 24 hours a day and not worry about money. Of course, that being greedy, but he though Being pious ain't helping anyway?!?
But that where the ball sack get bit here, gentleman.
He could be greedy. no he had to be nice, or a least tfair
Now let me tell you mother fuckers something, to him fair was God,. God was not a cross, or holy trinity but a big neon glowing celestial =. To reflect you should be fair at all times, to him that was they way to be. One guy get punch that other guy should punch back. Plain and simple. he wound argue with his fascist brother about the Palestinians and Israelites, and just bellow out, They both should go for it, just with knives and shit and that it, no helicopter,s no tank , no suicide bombers, no nothing, every fucker picks up a knife, and go at it, who ever lives get the land. Be even. Be true., dont lie.
Tat probably what mad him fail at many things; he couldnt lie to get along with people he could kiss ass. he just couldn't. He must have been born with some gene that denies this action, because for the life of him, he could only speak his mind, and one of the few joys he had was to go after someone and tear them apart for there bull shit sinning garbage life. His friends would say later Hey chill man, shes just dumb chick, and he would just swig his beer, and retort, a fucking idiot who causes part of all the stupid shit in the world You either laughed or booed at him at his part.
That was his life, aside from the very little sleep and the fucking sky falling depression the guy went through, now more than before.
SO he sat there looking at the computer at his ex-girlfiends web page raving about how she's in love now with another man. and yes that was the final arrow here folks, that when he wanted to scream and holler and destroy. He didnt; he sat there rubbing his chin as he coughed and sniffle form a shitty cold, at how the women he loved found happiness and it aint with him. He looked to the floor signing off, he movement robotic, his mind somewhere else. He was tired, when would sleep, he would get away from all this bit.
And in he dark, for a half second you could hear a whimper. Then like minute later, a slurred BITCH as he closed his eyes and went to sleep, his mouth open due to his clogged nose, in his hot little room stacked dot the brim with the books he loved so much. He foes on in his life Don't get t me wrong, but your seeing the little deaths that happen in humanity. This happens. Know it motherfucker, know it.
i know what you were saying in my journal.
i had a similar experience.
and i try to wake up every day and feel grateful that i know there are people worse off than i.
but it was my heart breaking for the other people around me who seemed to be drowning in their woes.
and i couldnt make it better for them.