Saturday, August 15, 2009

Wha Happen?

Raise your hand if you're lazy. Oh, too lazy to lift your arm? Well that's just a conundrum, isn't it?

Since I've been getting paid to write, I've been writing less for free. And I don't mean that philosophically. There haven't been daily posts on my blog, and I'm starting to feel the effects of laziness. My creativity is dissipating. I'm an old slave ship, blown up by a cannonball. Pieces of wood are drifting out across the ocean. Directionless and useless.

So now it's time to dry all of my pieces off and put them back together. Greed is not my vice, I have no use for it. Two things will happen: I will write every day... again. And, I will watch documentaries.

I was on the internet yesterday, and I realized that practically all of it consisted of writing. This made me tired. Whether it was an article, a movie, a promotion, a menu, a sale, marketing, or facebook, it all relied on writing. Of course, pornography doesn't require writing. That can be a great vacation from the life of the mind. But a documentary is best. This format relies on the unknown responses of the interviewees. There's a chaotic aspect to the documentary, in that its outcome is not pre-written. And if it is, I don't want to watch that documentary. (Everybody go watch Hoop Dreams if you haven't yet)

A mockumentary is good too, because it usually relies on improvisational comedy. Do not write a mockumentary, play it out. Thank Christopher Guest if you ever meet him.

Maybe "I got a weel wed wagon!" was in a script. Maybe. But I hope not.

My wife and I took a walk around the neighborhood a couple nights ago. We wandered. At first I said, "let's walk to Walgreens." She didn't want to. She wanted to make it a short walk. But I convinced her. Until we got a block away and then I said "let's turn here." She replied, "I thought you wanted to go to Walgreens!" I didn't really. I didn't want a destination. I didn't want a plan. So now on a smaller, darker street, we saw a group of high school guys peeing up ahead. They were all lined afront a brick building. Shaved heads, Michael Jordan jersey and saggy jeans shorts. They noticed us walking towards them and they all zipped up. Jaclyn decided she didn't want to walk on this sidewalk that had just been miterated upon, so she tugged me over into the street. Once we had passed the hoodlums, I decided that we remain in the street. We walked back home, like we were a slow moving car without wheels.

Earlier this afternoon, I was riding my bike through the city. A car full of Cubs fans honked and threw a Taco Bell cup full of Diet Pepsi at my shoulder. I got a little wet. And very upset. They laughed at me, a couple young white guys with their girlfriends. They sped away, thinking that they had seen the last of me. But they hit a stop light. And I caught up with them. I was coming up on the right side of their car, and I knew that I wasn't going to stop slowly. I lifted my left leg up as I came, and kicked their right hand mirror off. Then I quickly hopped off my bike and leaned it against the bus stop pole. Their windows were open. I ran around to the driver's side. The light was still red. I reached in and gripped the driver by the neck. He tried to pry my fingernails out of his skin, but I wasn't letting go. I pulled his face into the door. I slammed it into the corner. I opened up the door and pulled him out of the car. I only let go of his neck for a moment, just to give me enough time to trip him down onto the concrete. He was on his back, and before he knew his neck was free I now had two hands on it. I was squeezing his neck as hard as I could. He wasn't breathing and his face purple. Whether it was from bruises or lack of oxygen, I didn't care. His girlfriend was screaming at me. His friend's face was full of shock, but he didn't do anything. He stared from his safe back seat. I started slamming the back of his head against the concrete. I felt the tight grip of his hands against mine begin to loosen with every slam. There was blood on the street below his head. As soon as he went limp, I stood up, kicked his teeth (probably broke a few. There was a hefty "crunch"), and then I walked back over to my bike.

I got on and rode off. And they never saw me again.

1 comment:

Mr. Piro said...

Wait...was the bike story real?