(two)

15 Jun

Fine.
Go.
Where am I?
Irritants.
Like people who say “anyways” or “Febyooary” or “nukular” or “supposebly” or “irregardless” or “as per” or “a myriad.” I once sat in on a meeting in which the big honcho kept talking about another CEO’s rolodex, and it didn’t become clear until a few minutes in, that our man was actually referring to his counterpart’s Rolex timepiece.
Irritants.
Like lye on skin. Poison oak. Small talk.
What I’m addicted to is being addicted. Or, rather, getting help for being addicted. Only I’m not addicted to any particular vice, nor am I visibly ravaged by a degenerative disease. I’ll take anything they have available for that night: Support for men with prostate cancer, survivors of mesothelioma, N-stage breast cancer patients (men develop a rare form of breast cancer usually in their 60s or 70s, but I’m always the rare case, which gets more attention and more pity), thyroid problems, leukemia, parents of children with brain tumors.
Anything.
Television, even though I don’t own one. Internet porn. Electronic mail. Depression. Bi-polar support. There’s a feel-good group for everything out there, you just have to scour the back of the Independent and find your drug.
Child abuse.
I’m good with that. I know a bit about that. I know a bit about being the recipient of that, is what I mean. I used to think the physical was much easier to take than the mental. It’s much more clear-cut. It’s easier to forgive black and blue and purple bruises on the thighs and arms. The pain of it all is finding good excuses for the tracks. There aren’t any. People know. But you give it to them anyway.
AnywaySS.
(Irritants)
You do. You run into armoires, walls, you bump into nightstands, fall down the stairs.
Conveniently.
What happens over the decades with physical abuse is, it turns into the animal that eats at the inside of your brain. It morphs into the mental. So now you have two issues. Don’t ask me how those things transform into sexual addiction or what they call deviance. It’s why I go to these lousy meetings at night. To listen to how they figure it. Because I have no idea how you go from a leather belt on your back at age 7, to fucking your cousin in your parents’ bed while they’re frolicking around Prague, drinking Pilsner Urquell and chomping on giant raddishes.
Don’t ask me.

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10 Responses to “(two)”

  1. Anonymous 15/06/2007 at 12:55 PM #

    WHOA!! Holy shit. That last graph is killer. Swine is back!
    J

  2. chapman 15/06/2007 at 12:59 PM #

    something between fight club and the white hotel. nice.

  3. Lx 15/06/2007 at 2:09 PM #

    oh man.
    thanks.
    both Js.

    hey Chap,
    i’ve always thought
    White Hotel’s first part
    was a cousin
    of Faulkner’s “Sound and the Fury.”
    i had problems w/that novel
    until about page 50
    (White Hotel, not Sound).
    i had problems with Sound
    until about page 100.
    but, for me,
    Sound and the Fury
    remains something that cannot be touched.
    or has not been.
    also like that is
    Dostoevsky’s “Notes from the Underground.”
    after i read those two books
    i pretty much gave up on the idea
    of trying to write fiction for a living.

  4. slyboots2 15/06/2007 at 2:45 PM #

    First rule of fight club, is that there is no fight club. Damn I love that movie. Mr. Loaf just makes it for me.

    This is delicious, though. And I won’t ask. Because you have said enough in that last paragraph to simply halt me in my tracks. Anyhew (heh, heh, heh…).

  5. billy 15/06/2007 at 6:46 PM #

    intense we go out to blaze.

  6. Wally Banners 16/06/2007 at 3:43 AM #

    YOU TEMPLATE seems very familar.

  7. parisian cowboy 17/06/2007 at 11:34 AM #

    Kind of abrasive. Liked it.

  8. dr. zombieswan 18/06/2007 at 1:05 PM #

    I have to say while I love your work, the similarity to the fight club stuff threw me off. I kept thinking, “is he trying to do this, or has he not read/seen it, or what?” But the rest was good, as usual.

    Now, if you went with it, and did some kind of deliberate copying thing, that would be cool. As though your protagonist was living life in other people’s books. On purpose, to seem deep, or something. :)

    I hate to put anything critical, cause I know other people are going to say “who the hell does she think she is” but most likely, I’ve been around here longer than most of them, so to hell with it. You know what I mean.

  9. dr. zombieswan 18/06/2007 at 1:07 PM #

    Anyways. That’s just my opinion.

    :)

    My hubby always says “nukular.” It cracks me up every. single. time. I think it’s a Texas thing, or at least a certain group of Southerners thing. Sometimes, he really can’t even hear it’s wrong. Other times, he does it on purpose to make me laugh.

  10. Janete 20/06/2007 at 8:14 AM #

    Hi lx

    I really liked this piece…harsh, honest, passionate…right to the core.

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