Wednesday, May 2, 2012
Unbearable Flatness of Blogging
Nothing is funny to me right now; my toes peek over a cliff's edge of despair.
How's that line for ya? The aged despair of peeking toes.
I should write a romance novel.
"Hugh's massive forearms lifted Serapena as if she were a bird, a hollow boned bird given to throaty hootings.
She curled her fingers into the impossible thickness of his chest hair, a great tuft of it just now cresting above his Renaissance festival man blouse.
'I', he mumbled thickly, 'I thever thaft floam a-'
'Hush my love,' Serapena whispered, 'clear the thickness before you speak.'
After, they shared a giant leg of mutton.
The grease was so thick upon her face that when she lit her Virginia Slim, there was a great explosion of flame.
Years later, Hugh still devotedly cared for his hideous beloved.
But he could not bring himself to stroke her face.
'Stroke my face!' She screeched.
'Nope', said Hugh, 'it's tooooo gross.'
'You don't sound like yourself, my love, you sound more like him'. Serapena pointed a crooked finger directly at me.
'I COULD HAVE BEEN BLISSFULLY HAPPY FOREVER! But you ruined it.....you and your incessant, unending need to turn everything into one long stupid joke!!Can't you just leave us alone??'
Hey lady, I would love to, really, but I am trying to write my way through some serious creative constipation, and for some reason you and your beloved manwich are on the business end of my blockage.
'That's disgusting, plus it's too many 'b' sounds. What are you, in a Freshman poetry class?'
I was a fantastic poet when I was a freshman, I'll have you know.
'Oh, I just bet you were....let me hear something.'
'Oh shut up, you man!' shouted Serapena. She smacked Hugh about his face and shoulders.
Listen, I'll tell you what: I'll give you your face back, and your happy romance, if you give me one, just one, good post idea.
'How about a post about your grammar pet peeves? Like when people say 'expspecially'?
'Don't you have any good special ed stories?,' Serapena asked me.
I've done those to death...and most of the things that happen in special ed are yucky.
Like when that kid painted his entire bathroom with poop, and after I cleaned it all up, I was putting food in my mouth and my co-worker pointed out a streak of poop I had neglected to clean off of my index finger.
'Sick! Oh sick! You have awful stories!' Serapena fainted.
Hugh looked down sadly.
"Sometimes," he said, his voice shaking with emotion, "sometimes, I scratch the seat of my trousers and briefly smell my fingers afterwards."
Does Serapena know?
'I...I don't think so....You won't tell her, will you??'
I felt only pity for him.
No. No I won't.
I put my hand on his knee. It was hard and close to the skin like a baseball.
When a person collapses, it's their knees that go first.
I figure if you support the knee, you support the whole person.
I figure if you let a man's beloved incinerate her head just for your amusement, you are a worthless bastard if you leave him to sob untouched and uncomforted in the dark.
Hugh pulled me close to himself, in a hug that was defined as much by it's awkwardness as by it's sincerity.
'Is this the way the world ends?' he whispered.
I'm very uncomfortable with this, I whispered back.
He only hugged me all the more.