Category: writing

i was walking down the waterfront and i think my brain broke. i mean, we all see people in a context, right? the context that we are humans and they are humans and we know what we want to see and what is normal to see in a human being. two eyes, nose, mouth, head, appendages, etc. all of those things are aspects of being a human, and also aspects of being other living beings that we identify with on a more fundamental level, like mammals for instance. well anyway i was walking down the waterfront and that contextual part of my brain just stopped, and i spent the next ten minutes or so realizing how weird being human is. that life’s billions of years of evolution brought us to this point, that our eyes are nothing more than these membranes with liquid in them, that our mouth is just a big chomping device necessary to get sustenance into our bodies. like, our torso is the most important part of us, functionally, and our arms, feet, and head are just things that help fuel our torso. isn’t that FUCKING WEIRD? we have these brains and these thoughts and all of this intelligence and shoes for our feet and gloves for our hands, all so we can protect our torso. i mean, the brain is important but it could be the size of a golf ball and we would still be able to function on a basic level. in a way our intelligence is a hindrance, it keeps us from fucking and eating, you know what i mean?

so that torso is like a big amoeba like thing with all the important stuff in it. the food digesters and the baby making machines. and then we grow legs and arms to move and catch or gather food, but for some reason we also grew this bulbous head where the food goes. why? why do we have this big dumb head? these gross liquidy eyes, this nose that constantly has gunk in it, floppy dumb ears, HAIR, why the fuck do we have hair? and some people have a lot and others don’t, what the, where, who decided this nonsense? and the weirdest part is that we love it, we’re totally into it, i see a chick on instagram with a full head of hair and big liquidy eyes and huge, baby feeding tits and i’m like “yeah, that woman is so hot,” but what makes that hot? why is that attractive?! you’re just a bulbous head with weird googly eyes and dead cells growing out of the back of your head! your tits are literally bags of fat, big fat milk bag that feel your baby, and look let’s not even get started on babies. holy fuck. a parasite that feeds on a woman for nine months and then gets pushed out of the same orifice i put my weird blood-engorged skin flap into. the blood-engorged skin flap doesn’t do anything unless i move it back and forth like a goddamn jackhammer, and then actual, physical goo shoots into an occasionally bloody cavern inside the woman, where it sticks and MAKES A BABY. what the fuck?! what the actual fuck?! everything humankind is is so goddamn weird and gross!

so anyway i tried to de-stress at the waterfront and instead now i’m looking at you like you’re this weird appendaged torso monster. sorry. i’ll get those reports to you by the end of the day. sorry.

i stared him straight in the eye. i knew he was coming into this with guns blazing, after all, he had days, weeks even, to trump up his problem in his head. he wants to come in and be the boss, he wants to show us all how we’re idiots, how we know nothing. that’s the trick though; he knows nothing, that’s why he’s got his hackles raised. he comes in with all these ideas and then once he’s here, i get to tell him the truth. i get to show him what’s really going on. that’s how it works, you just sit them down and say, “here’s what happening.” you don’t fight fire with fire, unless they get really testy, but 90% of the time they never do. occasionally you’ll get a woman who’s just had it, she’s had it and she wants to know what’s going on, she’s shouting in your office and you know she’s mad. most of the time even then i’ll just say, “you still have to give us documents.” just with a calm voice, just like that. if they still don’t get it, that’s when i lay into ’em. “i know it seems like most of the time places do this work for you, but not this time. this time you have to bring us your hardship, we’re not mind readers. we need evidence.” some people get it, some people don’t. but i’ve never been mad at them. how would they know? law is fucking hard, it’s convoluted and people spend their lives deciphering it for the laymen out there. not knowing what you’re getting into can be kind of scary. but i’m just saying, i don’t fall for that shit. you stare me in the eye and i stare right back. i’m like that abyss nietzsche always talked about. you don’t mess with me at the office.

well, what’d you guys think? pretty good? yeah? … i’m going to take your silence to mean you loved it. here’s the thing, when you’re a guy like me, six gold records, one platinum, three grammys, the music award from england whatever it’s called, guys like me know how to put out music. you know what i mean? i’m not talking some bullshit three minute pop song, any jerk off could write a song like that, and they do, every day. but to really pull off the masterpiece that was the last eleven minutes and thirty-five seconds of pure guitar jam, well, that’s something only me, jimmy sandoo, can do. hey. “jimmy sandoo, can do,” that’s nice, that’s got a nice ring to it. think i’m gonna make that my motto. but anyway i call that one “intrepid voyage into the eastern star of your mind, part 2.” why part two? well part one isn’t finished yet and part three requires a digital tambourine and two theremins built at 90 degree angles from each other, so i stick my hand in these two theremins and make a sound that only god can hear, you feel me? for the life of me i can’t find anyone willing to build it though. it doesn’t make any sense! i should go to them and just say, “hey, jimmy sandoo, can do.” or build it myself, i guess, though my hands have been insured for over four million dollars so maybe that’s out of the question.

so i’m assuming your continued silence is an indication of how much you loved it. don’t worry, i recorded this session and will be sending you each a cd just as soon as i get a hold of my IT guy, stefan. does anyone have any questions though? any thoughts? claire i see a little twinkle in your eye, if you’re interested in dinner tonight just let me know after the meeting, okay?

why aren’t you speaking to me? was it really that good? truly mind-blowing? or … wait. mind-blowing. oh my god, jimmy sandoo you’ve done it. you’ve literally blown their minds with the quality of their music. i see it now, they’re all braindead zombies, all of them! hello, claire? can you hear me? george, how many fingers am i holding up? trick question, my hand’s not even up. terry? tom? lindsay? are any of you alive? your eyes are open, but you’re just staring into space. holy crimony, i never thought this would happen. i have become so good at guitar. i am truly a guitar master.

betty, is it possible to turn down the lights a little bit? this front light is washing me out like crazy. i look like a little burlesque ghost, for chrissakes, twirling her little ghost pasties. this is a burlesque show not a sitcom. now, ella’s got the choreography for the aerial dance down pat, but she’s also chronically late, so the rest of us might only get a rehearsal-and-a-half in before showtime, so sally, put down the flask. lanie, carla, and patsy are also late. in fact … everyone’s late except for the three of us. great. this is what i get for recruiting via craigslist. you’d think there would be plenty of women who would love to join a burlesque troupe in portland, but it turns out they’re all making better money as waitresses in the pearl. and the ones that want to show off their tatas just work in vancouver as bikini baristas. i’m telling you, the burlesque market has really gone to shit lately. does no one want to see my strip with big feather fans and then read bukowski while i stick a lit sparkler in my ass? come on, people! this isn’t rocket science, it’s good old fashioned nudey times! carla’s got all the info on tickets sold so who knows if we’ll even have an audience. you know, fuck it, i say. even if it’s empty here we’ll have a good time. sally, stop drinking for a second, i need you to get the trapeze hooked up. i’ll grab the shawls. betty, i need the spotlight lenses cleaned. even if it’s just the three of us we’re going to put on the best goddamn burlesque show portland has to offer! let’s do this!

(spotlight comes on betty. she can’t see. she trips and falls into the audience with a crash.)

GOD DAMN IT. EVEN WITH A BROKEN LEG!

listen to me man. i’m a shitty friend. you can’t deny that. i left you here, i left, i went to do my own thing and now it’s been what, eight years? and i know texting isn’t enough, i know facebook isn’t enough. and, jesus, coming back now seems … callous. god. i’m sorry. just, just be glad i came back, okay? i swear i didn’t mean it out of some kind of guilt, or even if i did, it’s because you’ve never been far in my mind, you know what i mean? you’ve always been here (points to head).

i hope whatever they’ve got you on feels good. i hope you’re pain free. i wish you were awake but i’ll take you comatose and breathing too. i’ll take you alive. and … when i left, jason, it wasn’t out of malice, i just needed to leave. i couldn’t be here anymore. i couldn’t waste my life in this peaceful little town and watch all my days just scream on by, you know? i had to go. it’s my fault i didn’t come back, it’s my fault for not visiting. i want you to know that i love you and i want you to wake up. i want you to forgive me before you die, jason. that’s all i want. or, if you hate me and never want to see me again, at least have the strength to wake up so you can tell me to my face. i’ll take that too, buddy. i’ll take that.

i’ve deliberated on whether or not to tell you this ever since high school, but i’m gay. i’m sure you know already, or have at least suspected, considering my excessive love for musical theatre, but i thought i’d tell you just the same. i’m gay and i always have been. please let grandpa know this, make sure he gets it. i didn’t choose to be gay and believe me if i had a choice i would be straighter than an arrow. being gay is terrible in a lot of ways you’ll never understand. i mean, it’s great from a personal and romantic perspective, but from a political and cultural one … it’s tough, bordering on deadly sometimes. once some guys from school overheard me talking to a friend about being gay and after school they followed me home, and one of them told me to kill myself. to my face. they stopped me and surrounded me, three jocks surrounding a fifteen-year-old girl who barely weighed a hundred pounds at the time. said i was an abomination in the eyes of god, shit like that. i managed to talk my way out of it and once i wasn’t surrounded by i bolted for home. i ran through people’s backyards and cut through alleyways so they couldn’t chase after me. these guys were … well, if i told you who they were the sons of you wouldn’t believe me. anyway, i figured instead of keeping it bottled in while you continue to ask me once a month why i don’t have a boyfriend i would just rip the band-aid off and hope you don’t send me off to conversion therapy or something. i’m gay, i always have been, i probably always will be unless a heavy vase falls on my head and knocks me unconscious, and when i wake up i’ve found that i enjoy dick, and also speak with an english accent. so. i love you and i hope this doesn’t ruin everything, but i can’t keep looking at you with this in the back of my mind.

we were drinking pabst out back on the porch. probably around five in the morning at this point, this is what i was talking about earlier, how when you’re 22 time has no meaning, you just exist and eventually sleep. but toby and i were talking, he was smoking american spirit blues this time because the gas station was out of yellows. complaining about something, about how nobody cares about him, meanwhile i’m standing in a thin sweater in like 40 degree weather, shivering uncontrollably, nodding my head like, “yeah, yeah, please let me go.” but he keeps talking and i keep listening because, really, i want to sober up and drive home. he starts talking about his family, like, his parents and stuff, his sisters. has toby ever told you any of this stuff? god, his family life was fucked up. you ever hear of satanic ritual abuse?

… yeah! i know! he brought it up like that to me, just out of the blue, like it was bottled up inside him all these years. sure we were three sheets and freezing but still, i barely know the guy! it sounds crazy but he told me that his parents did that stuff to him, i don’t even know what it is and i don’t want to look. it sounds made up but there’s a wikipedia article about it and everything. so he’s talking about it, like, in some detail,and i don’t know what to believe, and he looks at me and says, “i know you don’t believe me,” and then lifts up the left side of his shirt and coat and i shit you not there’s this big, warped looking pentagram branded into his skin, on his side. he’s like, “this is the first thing they did to me,” and for a second there i’m thinking that i’m dead, that this is the end of my life. toby’s gonna stab me right then and there. but, i mean, he doesn’t. his eyes are sad. he lowers his coat and takes another long drag off his cigarette and starts talking about the broncos again. like all that bubbled up and then he saw how it affected me so he stopped talking. i feel like shit. or maybe he’s joking? who knows with that guy. i’m just reeling from him talking about it; imagine LIVING it. no wonder toby is so eccentric.