My Life As A Non Intellectual

The love seat sits upright, on its side, next to the mattress on the floor. Completely devoid of practical application.

Y'know, I've never thought to keep a mattress, or God forbid even mattress and box springs in the center of the room. This says something about my life, I think.

Satisfied with a full night's sleep. Spending hours trying to remember a nonsensical dream. Bugging me like a bug bite I keep forgetting and then reintroducing via accidental contact. Walking. Feeling as though I'm laying on the earth and slowly rotating like a carnival ride. Seeing myself spin around while we revolve around the sun.

I think of childhood.

I read a book. I'm thinking about the book. I have other books I don't want to read.

Work. Work has become a new family of sorts. They are just there. I trust them, we've seen how we operate. We rely on one another, and provide for one another. In a sense, I come home and then I leave to go back to a house full of strangers. This makes a pay check seem even more gratifying. Like an allowance.

My mother brought a new dog into the household. It's not the same. Maybe I'm biased.

I don't enjoy writing anything worthwhile in coffee shops. And I resent my roommates too much to go through the motions of land lord, cable company, and store to buy the necessary network equipment. I'm moving out soon.

I think of sex constantly. In a pathetic, belittling, males species sort of way. Reducing people who refuse to open themselves up to me into a series of body parts, and poignant memories that flash sporadically. The sad part is, I'm probably everywhere a man could want to be in life. Maybe the wrong town...

Sometimes I come back. Think about the beginning of where everything went wrong, all the way up until where everyone is currently. It lasts a total of eight minutes. Maybe.

Why don't I think about something comfortable tonight. Like her touching my hair. Or crying. She only tells the truth when she's crying(well, that's only when I'm sure). Or when that's going on. Oh, what does it matter? Why try to get to know a series of body parts or poignant memories that flash sporadically?

Tim Hecker. Drone. Close eyes. Halfway between sleep and waking state. Thinking. Not thinking. My direction, a non direction. That's ridiculous.

This is ridiculous.

...

I'll explain later.

Be back soon!