A Random Life Remembered in Song and Dance ---- A Potential Suicide Prevented through Modern Medicine
01/21/2019 --- Somewhere in Outer Space
Random flies skimming through the sky, laughing at me, worthless putz of a kindless fuck, wishing I was dead before the strike of noon, Eastern Standard Time.
Misery loves company, that misery is better than the lost love who will haunt your dreams, make you wish you had emptied the bottle of whiskey in a giant gulp, sins of the father, drift into the son, transference, blame game, night time thoughts keeping him awake, is he worth the trouble to keep breathing?
We sat there reading our obituaries drinking gasoline, lighting cigarettes as if we didn't care that the sky was raining down acid upon our heads, the gods angry at our misuse of words in the context of the situation.
Suicide was not an option, according to Ann Landers, she told us in a letter addressed to Elvis with a Denver, Colorado postmark.
"Don't close your eyes..." Tammi said slamming her fist into my chest, my stomach full of a wide range of pills from the pharmacy, this wasn't the perfect end, not even an intermission, a side story line, the kids crying in the living room, the dog barking, ambulance outside, sire screaming, neighbors peering down the hall, across to our apartment, medics rushing in, clear!
Woke up, two days later, in a hospital bed, strapped in, so I wouldn't try to escape, third time trying, I guess, I don't remember, the doctors told me I was crying, screaming about losing my marbles to some kid named Butch.
I remember the date exactly, when I lost those marbles, it was October 12th, 1983, I was 12.
Butch was a big kid, possibly 43, but his birth certificate told the school he was 12 too.
We were playing marbles, me and my friend Sam.
"I want your marbles kid!" Butch growled as we stumbled to our feet. I felt my fist clenching, ready to sock his nuts out of his ass.
It came down to me, standing there, nose to his nipples.
"Fight!!" someone yelled happily, and the crowd of kids gathered around us, pushing us closer into each other.
Butch's fist found my face, blood ran from my nose, slurping into my mouth, I tasted it, cringed. I felt my fist collide into his stomach, a large oof fell from him, to the ground bellow. I soon laid another punch, straight into his crotch, a scream of pain erupting from him.
He fell to the ground and I jumped on top of him, my fist plunging into his face if plunging was the correct word to us.
I felt his nose collapse, the bone there turning into mush.
Soon, I felt a teacher, Ms. Lynch, trying to pull me off the screaming and crying Butch, his blood covering my clothes.
I pushed Ms. Lynch off backwards, she landing on the rocky pebbles of the playground.
My fist continued to slam into the bully's face, over and over again, my heart beating in my throat, the primal scream of rage exploding out with each punch.
"I want to kill you mother fucker!" I screamed out, the gasp from the crowd, Coach Wayne pushing himself through the crowd along with Principal Daniel near him, grabbing me on both sides, pulling me off the bloody and crying boy.
My knuckles broken from the boy's face, his nose a mess, his eyes already swelling from the fight.
I sat in the office, the police were called, Butch went to the hospital, spent three days there, two broken ribs, a collapsed lung, among other broken items elsewhere, his testicles imploding for a lack of a better word.
15 months in a facility for young offenders, 15 months probation.
Butch still walks funny.
Still runs in the opposite direction when he sees me coming towards him on the street.
"Shit!" I heard him scream one time, turning on a dime, and running away.
I grinned.
Tammi asked me what the grin was for, eyeing me intently as we strolled hand in hand down the sidewalk.
"Nothing, old school boy memories..."
Dear life,
I give up you fuckers, you win, I quit!
Seriously.
Stop it!!! --- Some random stranger screaming on the sidewalk heading in to a major department store
Random flies skimming through the sky, laughing at me, worthless putz of a kindless fuck, wishing I was dead before the strike of noon, Eastern Standard Time.
Misery loves company, that misery is better than the lost love who will haunt your dreams, make you wish you had emptied the bottle of whiskey in a giant gulp, sins of the father, drift into the son, transference, blame game, night time thoughts keeping him awake, is he worth the trouble to keep breathing?
We sat there reading our obituaries drinking gasoline, lighting cigarettes as if we didn't care that the sky was raining down acid upon our heads, the gods angry at our misuse of words in the context of the situation.
Suicide was not an option, according to Ann Landers, she told us in a letter addressed to Elvis with a Denver, Colorado postmark.
Woke up, two days later, in a hospital bed, strapped in, so I wouldn't try to escape, third time trying, I guess, I don't remember, the doctors told me I was crying, screaming about losing my marbles to some kid named Butch.
I remember the date exactly, when I lost those marbles, it was October 12th, 1983, I was 12.
Butch was a big kid, possibly 43, but his birth certificate told the school he was 12 too.
We were playing marbles, me and my friend Sam.
"I want your marbles kid!" Butch growled as we stumbled to our feet. I felt my fist clenching, ready to sock his nuts out of his ass.
It came down to me, standing there, nose to his nipples.
"Fight!!" someone yelled happily, and the crowd of kids gathered around us, pushing us closer into each other.
Butch's fist found my face, blood ran from my nose, slurping into my mouth, I tasted it, cringed. I felt my fist collide into his stomach, a large oof fell from him, to the ground bellow. I soon laid another punch, straight into his crotch, a scream of pain erupting from him.
He fell to the ground and I jumped on top of him, my fist plunging into his face if plunging was the correct word to us.
I felt his nose collapse, the bone there turning into mush.
Soon, I felt a teacher, Ms. Lynch, trying to pull me off the screaming and crying Butch, his blood covering my clothes.
My fist continued to slam into the bully's face, over and over again, my heart beating in my throat, the primal scream of rage exploding out with each punch.
"I want to kill you mother fucker!" I screamed out, the gasp from the crowd, Coach Wayne pushing himself through the crowd along with Principal Daniel near him, grabbing me on both sides, pulling me off the bloody and crying boy.
My knuckles broken from the boy's face, his nose a mess, his eyes already swelling from the fight.
I sat in the office, the police were called, Butch went to the hospital, spent three days there, two broken ribs, a collapsed lung, among other broken items elsewhere, his testicles imploding for a lack of a better word.
15 months in a facility for young offenders, 15 months probation.
Butch still walks funny.
Still runs in the opposite direction when he sees me coming towards him on the street.
"Shit!" I heard him scream one time, turning on a dime, and running away.
I grinned.
Tammi asked me what the grin was for, eyeing me intently as we strolled hand in hand down the sidewalk.
"Nothing, old school boy memories..."
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