This post was written some time in 2008, based on the event and people referenced. I believe it was time spent at my Dad’s while he was in the hospital for a surgery.
i got out here early today, because i knew that the silence and solitude would be like standing under a waterfall, or swimming until i merged with the water completely. sure, i can hear through the open window the birds, kids, the kids dad–americans having an american saturday in a backwoods bastrop neighborhood. but, i can’t really hear old sad family memories too loud right now, can’t hear my roommate, neighbors, aches and pains over all that was lost and all that was never found, can’t hear my sex cravings, my alcohol cravings, my lonely heart, my memories of being cheated or cheating others, ambition, folly–can’t hear none of the stuff that sounds like nonstop chaos back there in the city where my life is what it has been for too many years. i can hear a lot of somethings that simply are not me.
i turned the television on twice, expecting to see something that would titillate or arouse me, provoke me or engage me. you know how the television is. the kingdom of heaven isn’t on television, on the internet, in some strange bed. the kingdom of heaven is right here and now with you waiting for you to catch up or stop running too far ahead. the kingdom of heaven is nowhere and everywhere, but certainly nowhere you’re looking because if you’re looking then you’re looking at something other than the kingdom of heaven. i am a westerner, so of course i want the kingdom of heaven to appear one day on television, in a pickup truck, at a carwash, down at the urban jogging trail, at the workplace, inside a cup of coffee or mug of beer.
i rode the stationary bike, thinking about nothing but my time, pace, distance covered, calories burned and pulse. i got into a zone twice for two minutes a piece, getting my pace up to 17 mph. i felt not nearly as good as i would have on the jake bike, moving through austin neighborhoods here and there, but i felt ten times better than if i’d just napped or masturbated or started obsessing over what lucy said to me last night or what gwen lilly said to me last week. obsessing over cant and crap that i have no control over like a proper old woman, fretting all the days of my life and screaming “see i told you so” when i self fulfill a prophecy.
i applied new acne medicine all over my face and neck and head and back and chest. i will never be a smooth-faced kid again–i haven’t been since i was twelve, though in pictures i can see that even at twenty-three i was still not so weathered and pockmarked by the endless onslaught of whiteheads and boils and blackheads. i will never be a smooth-faced kid again, but i really can’t stand being a grizzled, zitty freak, either. i look unclean, so i feel unclean when i see my face has broken out again. i am not much of a fan of dirty things these days. it is dead simple to get dirty–anybody can do it and most people do–it’s a whole other thing to stay clean.