Today the plumbing came alive and tried to kill me.
You wouldn’t think a toilet would be so angry, but I suppose someone sitting on you and crapping into your open mouth… it would piss me off.
The drain system was fed up. “You guys do too much laundry and I’m caked up with soap and grease.. and use different tolet paper. I hate that quilted shit.”
We try our best, but… you are plumbing, you know. And we are not, uh… “drain whisperers” that can lean over a vent, listen intently, and then sigh sadly: “Much pain… much upset… much build-up… years of having to take it, in whatever form was dished out…”
Well, said the drain system, in the smart house of the future, we are going to have a voice. We’ll tell you what’s going on. You’ll be in a meeting, and you’ll get a text from us: There is a floater in upstairs Kohler Flushmatic. Press 1 if you wish us to take care of Number 2.
Later, plumbing calmed down, and let me do the dishes and the wash. After I hired a masseuse for $300 to give the drain system a happy ending.
There’s a wind inside me
Blowing me all about
I could be a slip of paper or a water bottle
Bouncing down the street
Landing at your feet
Kick me to the gutter
To be lifted up and recycled into something gorgeous
Perhaps a pair of pleather shoes…
On your feet I’ll pinch and bite you
That’s what you get for kicking me in the gutter!
And I’m still full of the wind!
And I’ll make you wander and wonder:
“Whatever will I do I’m so confused!”
And tumble you over into bad decisions and unreliable lovers
Til you can’t find your spot on your mattress and your inner head bangs off the ceiling
But one night you’ll shiver with the open window cold on you
The wind will sashay in like a big-dicked king and take what has always been something that’s been borrowed
What would be very cool is if we all looked so different there was no way to compare us to each other. You couldn’t say, “His nose is big,” because no one else would know what a nose is. Fat? What’s that? Cockeyed? Bald? Black?Thin lipped? Buxom? Huh? What are you talking about?
Take every species and make it a singular thing and that’d be us: people shaped fluid like jellyfish falling down stairs.
We would have to recognize each other in deeper ways — by the colors of our minds and hearts.
At night on my street I can stand under a street light and be the only person in the spotlight. Be the only person on the planet. Be the only person in the universe. Be so huge that I can’t tell where I begin or where I end. Be all knowing, because I am everything. The total power that is me.
But it gets cold as it gets later, and I have to pee, and to do so I have to make myself small enough to fit in the bathroom of a little house in a little neighborhood.
You should go back to forest school
Find a desk near a nice bird and copy her songs and her sweet voice
Hang out with the grass
Learn how to be stepped on all day and then pop up all refreshed like you felt nothing
Run with squirrels
Back and forth, doing the same damn thing everyday, in any weather, and always surprised and delighted by the same outcome
Or live a day with a bug — do the full routine: hatch, molt, hook-up, die — and then you’ll know just how little you get done across all of your human days
I do not know what anything is anymore
It seems melodramatic
But it is a cheap penny dreadful
With too much unneeded drama
Arguing over who should wash what
Who said what
Who thought what
With sad violas floating over the mess that it is
Everyone traumatized like it was in the Middle Ages
By a cold shore
With blue eyes
Is now the time to give up?
It circles around in every space available
Doubt is the packing peanut
One must be cagey and merciless
To bring the king out of his castle and cut off his ears
Loaded into the car, driven for miles and hours
Dumped on the road without even a puppy blanket
Do I think someone will ever come?
No. I’ll still hope and have vivid dreams, but no. What we think and what we hope for are often two different things.
(You can always tell hope because it’s artificially sweet. It’s a candy that makes promises like a politician, but in the end, you’re in the same shit neighborhood with the same shit job, and beside that road.)
I can stay here forever, though. It’s not so hard. There’s plenty of candy in the dirt. I’ll get poems out of it. And I know you’ll drive back. And I know the sound of your car. I can hear it miles away. And I’ve already dug myself a hidey hole.
Best remember this:
It alternates between sun and cold
Like flipping a coin
That falls uncaught
Through a grate
Into dirty rainwater
That becomes your wishing well
Half through the year almost:
What do you want?
Will dirty water genie grant you a wish?
Or are you playing with a monkey paw, and the more you want, the more you pay?
To find beauty in this day
Is to walk towards the sunrise
Knowing it is behind the clouds
That ugly houses
House beautiful people
And every car that passes
Is driven by a fragile organic ball of doubts and hopes that might or might not survive till sunset
Why isn’t that enough to keep your mind from picking at the scabs of things nobody remembers but you?