where a person…and not a good person. or rather a very unannounced being, takes on a whole new meaning in the schematics, the scheme of living. I find this to be the case with just about everyone who is less than stellar. or rather less than obvious in my life. like when you are walking down the street to see and feel the brisk walk of the man behind you. look down, you see a black lacy thong and frilly pink panties. you hear said man walk down the stairs, turn around and see him go down, gruffly saying “get back”. to what? your wild-eyed imaginations says, picturing saving the day, the tied up girl in the downstairs, trying to wretch herself free from the bindings which are so obviously keeping her locked in the basement.

this happens in most situations. imagination running rampant. upgrading their interest, or ability to be interesting in the grand schematics of life. i find it often while talking to my roommate, a large looming doofus. thinking, shit. is this it? can’t you be some kind of freak who wears women’s underwear for fun while prancing around to tina turner’s greatest hits?

most of the time it is immersed in anger. for all of those times i wish i had known what to say at that given moment, the precise moment an insult was thrown. or how to handle the neighborhood boys, all up in my shit sometimes. this wild fantasy, “oh…sorry sweetie, you are mistaken. that fuck with me sticker you think you see actually says go fuck yourself”.

and women. and their nasty looks. i get them everywhere. from these people who think they are as wholesome as a homogenized glass of homegrown milk. it’s not my fault you have issues. and i picture myself as their boyfriends, wondering how they could be so incredibly inane.

it’s like when I was a kid, convinced my stuffed animals talked to each other, pleading for them to talk to me. talk to me goddammit! I won’t tell anyone. I would plead. but they never saidword. for reasons I don’t quite understand. ahah.

it’s the result of so many times being on the outside of the looking glass. my imagination is much flatter, not spherical but ellipses when I am around lots of people. because there is nothing to spark the fire like not knowing, the knowing flattens and dismembers.

that is why love lost is so much easier to write about sometimes, because it is a lost emotion, a flutter a trace. something you can paint in words, like from memory. but find yourself in it and its all about the experience. remarking on it might have the same effect as say, telling people I could fly in my dreams did once a while back.

i just couldn’t fly anymore. not because i didn’t know how. but because everyone else knew i knew, too.