The afternoon was as cold as blue eyes that didn't love you anymore.
When you go looking for something in life, sometimes you find it. Then you find it wasn't what you were looking for. Then you wonder why in the hell you went looking for it in the first place. Just curiosity you figure. You rack your brain trying to remember what curiosity did to the cat. Did it make him healthy, wealthy and wise? Did it help him be early and get the worm? Oh hell, now you recall, it killed him.
The specter of curiosity stalks across the creaky wooden vacant warehouse floor of your life.
Across a candlelit table in a restaurant that closed many years ago. Shut down by the city for being to quaint.
I took another sip of coffee as I puffed a cigaret and watched a blue wreath of smoke rise up toward the lesbian dance class up stairs. Things were pretty quiet up there just now. Maybe they were getting into their tiny lesbian leotards, or out of them, Who knew what went on upstairs in the lesbian dance class. The whole world loves a lesbian I thought, of course when you got them thundering on your ceiling even a lovable lesbian can lose a little magic.
I watch the smoke drift away like the dreams of a small child who always wanted to grow up to be a fireman. Dreams like everything else must die an early death sooner or later. I'd always hoped mine could have been a little later. Dying isn't what its cracked up to be. But in all fairness few things are. Body surfing for one.
Those are just some of the things you think about when your life hangs by a thread. Maybe it continues to cling there and you continue to live. Or maybe some well meaning neurotic nurse puts down her clip board and says, "Oh honey you have a loose thread here." She picks off the thread then you die.
Then your land lord leases your apartment for a higher amount. The girl in the peach colored dress calls, hears your voice still on your answering machine and leaves a message. Then she wonders why you don't get back to her.
Serves her right for waiting so damn long to call.
Watching the slow decay, first written 2. Jan. 2009
4 months ago