Wednesday, November 23, 2016

Kiki would love to play with your parrots Yves...

“I’m not good with machines, they frighten me.”  Joan Frost says to Bill Lee in David Cronenberg’s adaptation of William Burroughs “Naked Lunch.”  I tend to agree.  I wish I had a typewriter.  I pour myself another rum and coke and then Rosa Klebbs is on the screen denigrating Judy Davis for sleeping with Peter Weller.

I wish I were on more hallucinogenic drugs.  I haven’t done any hallucinogenic drugs in almost 20 years.  I’ve been on them before sure, many times.  I used to like drugs, and drugs have always liked me.  I am unapologetic in this concern.  However, I am not completely and utterly irresponsible.  I will not endanger my daughter.  I will not imbibe certain substances in her presence.  Nor have I done so.  Nothing here that I write can be used in a court of law against me.  I don’t even have a medical marijuana prescription currently.

I’m watching film thinking back to the first time I’d watched it, the last time I’d watched it, back in 1991 upon its release, if I recall correctly, at an art-house theater in San Diego.  I’m quite sure I didn’t understand it then, never having read a word of Burroughs writing, and I’m quite sure I don’t understand it now.  I’ve watched two other films today, having sent my 10 year old daughter off to her mother for a pre-Thanksgiving party as previously agreed upon, and have gotten quite, unrepentantly drunk on Trader Joes Rum of the Gods. 

This is an unusual feeling for me.  I haven’t been alone, childless for very long.  And I am utterly alone currently.  My other roommates have moved on, this house destined to be torn down as soon as I deign to leave.  We will be the last residents of 1645 Stoner Avenue.  Not that this is a bad thing, this house needs to be condemned and destroyed.  It is infested with bad memories and other…things…things I’d rather not commit to words.  Suffice to say the theme of the film I’m currently watching is completely apropos.  Earlier this year I was more alone, I came home every night from work to an empty room, save for my cat Oliver.  Later Kaylee came to stay with me, and I had no work, and she was always here with me, save for the very rare occasions her mother takes her for a night, or she stays with her Grandmother.  Those occasions are somewhat rare indeed.   

Being alone is new to me again.  It shouldn’t be.  I am an only child.  I am used to being alone.  In many ways I need to be alone.  I am truly myself when I am alone.  There is no one else to put on a character for, I don’t have to be someone I am not.  I can be myself.  I don’t have to impress other people.  I don’t have to be “Daddy” or “ex-husband” or even “son”.  I can simply be “Will.”  On these occasions, I don’t really want to be anyone else.  I just want to be myself. 

I spent my 20’s trying to figure out who I was, what my place in the world was, and I never really did suss it out.  I built a group of friends, a circle of people who became incestuous amongst them without my involvement, and I finally had to leave the city to get away from them.  They’re all still there too, two decades later.  No, they’re not still involved with each other, each has moved on to their own situation, some married, some left completely, some are still revolving around the same circles, endlessly moving around the same diameter not growing, just doing.  I miss the camaraderie, I miss the people, but not the situations.  I go back once or twice a year to keep in touch, but its not the same, I don’t feel the same connections.  They aren’t as strong.  I miss having those close friendships where you can tell people anything, but isn’t that what I pay a therapist for now?

“Women are not human,” says the roach-typewriter.  I wish I could believe this.  Women are human, I think all too much so.  Perhaps believing that they aren’t human allows some men to do the things that they do to women.  My wife believes that I have done grievous harm to her over the 12 years we were married.  Perhaps I did.  It doesn’t matter anymore, what is done is done.  I know this truly and unequivocally.  My marriage is over.  I have regrets of course, but not enough to hold me back from moving forward.

You may ask, do I want to get married again?  Perhaps.  I wouldn’t rule it out.  If the right person came along, if the stars, moon and sun aligned properly, I wouldn’t say no.  I would make every effort to make it work a second time around.  But it’s not something that I need to seek out currently. 

Perhaps this is all just a dream and I will awake at some other place and time, not knowing or caring what reality is or was, or whatever.

“I must be hallucinating.  Everybody blacks out in Interzone.  Wouldn’t you?”  Bill Lee – Naked Lunch – Written and directed by David Cronenberg – 1991.

"Go see the fucking parrots Kiki, I've got to take a piss..."

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