boy, i am tired.
my eyes burn from staring at the sun for too long. the only way to stay awake in the face of all the danger. i'm suffocating under this veil of weariness. mental and physical exhaustion bolted to each of my ankles like over sized sinking lures. hands hanging languid, arms swinging back and forth to the beat of the ambulating living dead. a thin sliver of drool makes its way down the length of my chin as i type. blood shot eyes rolling about in dry sockets, sandbags grating against the lids. those irritating mobile organs set in my face. my brain has shriveled to the size of a peanut, which is not really a nut, but a legume.
i'm not really thinking. i'm really bound by brown, leather straps to a rickety wheelchair in a mental institution somewhere in harlem.
yesterday i left school early to get some well deserved rest. at least, i thought it was well deserved, i guess there could be a number of hard working people in this world who would angrily disagree. but who the hell gives a damn about them? i sure don't. those bastards were born to work. since the time of their conception (of which i am convinced they came out of the womb at forty years of age, fully clothed in a business suit and tie, ready to work) to the time of their death they have probably worked non-stop trying to make their lives as miserable and mundane as humanly possible. from hammering circle pegs into square holes at the playground to the STAT reports they've toiled over endlessly that were due yesterday. the bastards have done and can do nothing without first draining it of fun, scrutinizing the life out of it until it becomes yet another one of their meaningless tasks.
this, right here, is one hundred percent hard work. failing miserably, but with much dedication.
anyways, i went home early to get, what I thought was, some well deserved rest. i turned a corner swiftly next to the church over in...well, jesus i'm not sure what village that is. Barrigada? whatever. i saw a dog lying in the middle of the goddamned road. by middle i mean, of course, within the safe boundaries of the median. at first i had to take my fatigued consciousness to the ring for a good ol' one on one wrastling. the only move fatigue seemed to know, and do successfully, was the sleeper hold. but, being so damn tired himself, he could only manage to do his moves in a sluggish fashion. my better half wrestled the weakened bastard to ground, a move met with much resistance. slightly bruised and sleepy eyed, my better half took control of the wheel. i turned my tired ass around and pulled up into a bedraggled, unkept street across from some typical chamorro household. i looked at the dog in the middle of the road who appeared surprisingly at ease with all the damn traffic zooming inches away from his snout. it was one of those bastardly thin medians that are only about half as long as a car's width. i don't know what the point of those is, i mean why not just make it the proper size? why not go the whole nine yards and make room for the entire car?
i put on my hoodie and approached the edge of the road. the sun was blazing down on my brown sweater, beating the living hell out of the back of my neck. not so bright of an idea, but one that worked...i think. some sort of means to an end? i just can't stand being stared at, especially by these rubbernecking bunch of yokels. i just know that one occupant in some speeding vehicle would slow down to almost a complete stop to stare from the panting dog on the road to the idiot white boy in the hoodie. i would be the topic at at least one of their conversations at their overstuffed dinner tables. maybe. who knows, it more than likely didn't even make it to the table. these bastards are so hungry for gossip that they would find any opportunity to start running their traps. i bet they started yammering on about it in the car. fuck.
i stood there, staring at the dog, who stared right back at me, waiting for the right chance to dash onto the road, grab the dog and dash right back off. seemed pretty damn easy. i even hoped some beautiful, distraught damsel would come fleeing out of the house crying "oh, my baby, my beautiful baby! you saved him! how can i ever repay you?!" i would then say something along the lines of "oh, it was nothing. just doing my part to keep all the citizens of this village safe and happy. even the little ones like ol' sparky here!" then i would nudge the panting snout of the dog, politely, and he would miraculously heal.
sparky would yip happily and do something very cutesy at that moment, me and ms. distress would then look at each other and respond with a simultaneous "aww" or something. i'm not too sure what a traumatized dog can do that would be considered cute, though. besides lick our faces or do back flips into pools or something.
so...
i waited for the traffic to subside on both sides of the road. i was afraid that if i ran out too quickly i would startle the dog into limping headfirst into the speeding wheels of a passing car. i tensed up, crouching low, all ready to sprint, but then the dog barked at me in a threatening way. this seemed strange to me for some reason. then i realized that i hadn't taken any of the potential variables into account. i was acting capriciously, foolhardy even. i mean what if the dog snapped at me, what if it struggled painfully from my grasp while i was running, what if its spine or neck had been broken and by moving it i would have just caused further injury or even death? what if it bit me and i had to get a rabies shot, or worse, what if i immediately contracted rabies! but that thought was completely dismissed from my head. i don't think rabies are on guam. hydrophobia?
i figured i had to chance it. this was the moment i had been waiting for, the flood of gawkers in their dilapidated trucks and chintzy mercedes had momentarily ceased. luck. i burst out on to the road, past the two empty lanes and into the median where i crouched beside the dog. of course at that very moment my luck vanished without a trace and all the neighborhood dogs, aroused by their wounded compadres barking, rushed out from under the shade of their owners trucks and garages to bark at the strange man on the road. also, at that very moment, every car on guam decided to take a little detour through barrigada. the road became packed with spectators and loud mouths. someone had pulled the lever and released the stray hounds and gawkers from their cages.
i almost expected to hear the booming voice of a sports commentator over some goddamn loudspeaker. "he crouches, goes for the scoop up...will he? will he? oh, no bite so far. i think...yes...i think the dog is yowling in pain, ohhhh the clumsy kid drops it!"
the dog was covered in piss. a pile of dog crap laid neatly at his side that it looked as if been placed there on a serving tray by a butler, and puddles of urine that appeared to be pretty fresh. the dog reeked of death and piss. i guess it had lost all hope of rescue and just sort of started to rot. dogs do that though. they stink. i remember when my dog was hit by a car years and years ago. i was all panicky, pacing back and forth from my room to the living room knuckling my forehead stupidly. my parents were scrambling all over the house looking for something to stop the bleeding. any make-shift tourniquet. a huge puddle of blood, spurting through my father's pushing hands, was making its way down the hallway. god, the stench was unbearable. panic and death and excrement's and fart. absolutely terrible.
i scooped it up, whimpering, in my arms and ran across the street. two cars had stopped for me, i attempted a wave at them from beneath the dogs weight (which was surprisingly light), hoping to convey some sort of thanks. they just stared back at me, dumbly watching me pass, then slowly started back up again. once i reached the sidelines i realized i had nowhere to set the dog down. i scanned the area hoping to find a large, shaded tree or anything that would keep my doggy friend out of the sun. i found none, nothing but skinny coconut trees whose shade would shift as the sun progressed through the afternoon sky. i set him down in the garage across from my car instead. a nearby leaky faucet provided an adequate, maybe a little muddy, water supply so he could cool off. i bet that asphalt must have cooked the hell out of him. i patted him (or maybe her) on his or her head and walked over to the car. by this time, all the barking and honking had aroused the attention of the house owner and he made his way out of the house. a shirtless chamorro guy with a prominent beer gut covered in home-made tattoos, sauntered out of the back door in mild interest. he seemed completely oblivious of the dog laying comfortably in the shade of his garage. i pretended to examine something under my car; some invisible imperfection or defect under the wheel. then i got in. i completely avoided looking the whole time, started my car and casually feigned an interest in my troll-like reflection in the mirror.
i felt a little bad depositing such a burden on the guy. then again, maybe it was his dog. if so, maybe he should put some restraint on the dog. maybe he should put on a shirt, as well. i felt great. the incident had me shaken, aware and awake. i'm still waiting for that crazy damsel though.
it's a great world run by terrible creatures.
june 29th, 2005
my eyes burn from staring at the sun for too long. the only way to stay awake in the face of all the danger. i'm suffocating under this veil of weariness. mental and physical exhaustion bolted to each of my ankles like over sized sinking lures. hands hanging languid, arms swinging back and forth to the beat of the ambulating living dead. a thin sliver of drool makes its way down the length of my chin as i type. blood shot eyes rolling about in dry sockets, sandbags grating against the lids. those irritating mobile organs set in my face. my brain has shriveled to the size of a peanut, which is not really a nut, but a legume.
i'm not really thinking. i'm really bound by brown, leather straps to a rickety wheelchair in a mental institution somewhere in harlem.
yesterday i left school early to get some well deserved rest. at least, i thought it was well deserved, i guess there could be a number of hard working people in this world who would angrily disagree. but who the hell gives a damn about them? i sure don't. those bastards were born to work. since the time of their conception (of which i am convinced they came out of the womb at forty years of age, fully clothed in a business suit and tie, ready to work) to the time of their death they have probably worked non-stop trying to make their lives as miserable and mundane as humanly possible. from hammering circle pegs into square holes at the playground to the STAT reports they've toiled over endlessly that were due yesterday. the bastards have done and can do nothing without first draining it of fun, scrutinizing the life out of it until it becomes yet another one of their meaningless tasks.
this, right here, is one hundred percent hard work. failing miserably, but with much dedication.
anyways, i went home early to get, what I thought was, some well deserved rest. i turned a corner swiftly next to the church over in...well, jesus i'm not sure what village that is. Barrigada? whatever. i saw a dog lying in the middle of the goddamned road. by middle i mean, of course, within the safe boundaries of the median. at first i had to take my fatigued consciousness to the ring for a good ol' one on one wrastling. the only move fatigue seemed to know, and do successfully, was the sleeper hold. but, being so damn tired himself, he could only manage to do his moves in a sluggish fashion. my better half wrestled the weakened bastard to ground, a move met with much resistance. slightly bruised and sleepy eyed, my better half took control of the wheel. i turned my tired ass around and pulled up into a bedraggled, unkept street across from some typical chamorro household. i looked at the dog in the middle of the road who appeared surprisingly at ease with all the damn traffic zooming inches away from his snout. it was one of those bastardly thin medians that are only about half as long as a car's width. i don't know what the point of those is, i mean why not just make it the proper size? why not go the whole nine yards and make room for the entire car?
i put on my hoodie and approached the edge of the road. the sun was blazing down on my brown sweater, beating the living hell out of the back of my neck. not so bright of an idea, but one that worked...i think. some sort of means to an end? i just can't stand being stared at, especially by these rubbernecking bunch of yokels. i just know that one occupant in some speeding vehicle would slow down to almost a complete stop to stare from the panting dog on the road to the idiot white boy in the hoodie. i would be the topic at at least one of their conversations at their overstuffed dinner tables. maybe. who knows, it more than likely didn't even make it to the table. these bastards are so hungry for gossip that they would find any opportunity to start running their traps. i bet they started yammering on about it in the car. fuck.
i stood there, staring at the dog, who stared right back at me, waiting for the right chance to dash onto the road, grab the dog and dash right back off. seemed pretty damn easy. i even hoped some beautiful, distraught damsel would come fleeing out of the house crying "oh, my baby, my beautiful baby! you saved him! how can i ever repay you?!" i would then say something along the lines of "oh, it was nothing. just doing my part to keep all the citizens of this village safe and happy. even the little ones like ol' sparky here!" then i would nudge the panting snout of the dog, politely, and he would miraculously heal.
sparky would yip happily and do something very cutesy at that moment, me and ms. distress would then look at each other and respond with a simultaneous "aww" or something. i'm not too sure what a traumatized dog can do that would be considered cute, though. besides lick our faces or do back flips into pools or something.
so...
i waited for the traffic to subside on both sides of the road. i was afraid that if i ran out too quickly i would startle the dog into limping headfirst into the speeding wheels of a passing car. i tensed up, crouching low, all ready to sprint, but then the dog barked at me in a threatening way. this seemed strange to me for some reason. then i realized that i hadn't taken any of the potential variables into account. i was acting capriciously, foolhardy even. i mean what if the dog snapped at me, what if it struggled painfully from my grasp while i was running, what if its spine or neck had been broken and by moving it i would have just caused further injury or even death? what if it bit me and i had to get a rabies shot, or worse, what if i immediately contracted rabies! but that thought was completely dismissed from my head. i don't think rabies are on guam. hydrophobia?
i figured i had to chance it. this was the moment i had been waiting for, the flood of gawkers in their dilapidated trucks and chintzy mercedes had momentarily ceased. luck. i burst out on to the road, past the two empty lanes and into the median where i crouched beside the dog. of course at that very moment my luck vanished without a trace and all the neighborhood dogs, aroused by their wounded compadres barking, rushed out from under the shade of their owners trucks and garages to bark at the strange man on the road. also, at that very moment, every car on guam decided to take a little detour through barrigada. the road became packed with spectators and loud mouths. someone had pulled the lever and released the stray hounds and gawkers from their cages.
i almost expected to hear the booming voice of a sports commentator over some goddamn loudspeaker. "he crouches, goes for the scoop up...will he? will he? oh, no bite so far. i think...yes...i think the dog is yowling in pain, ohhhh the clumsy kid drops it!"
the dog was covered in piss. a pile of dog crap laid neatly at his side that it looked as if been placed there on a serving tray by a butler, and puddles of urine that appeared to be pretty fresh. the dog reeked of death and piss. i guess it had lost all hope of rescue and just sort of started to rot. dogs do that though. they stink. i remember when my dog was hit by a car years and years ago. i was all panicky, pacing back and forth from my room to the living room knuckling my forehead stupidly. my parents were scrambling all over the house looking for something to stop the bleeding. any make-shift tourniquet. a huge puddle of blood, spurting through my father's pushing hands, was making its way down the hallway. god, the stench was unbearable. panic and death and excrement's and fart. absolutely terrible.
i scooped it up, whimpering, in my arms and ran across the street. two cars had stopped for me, i attempted a wave at them from beneath the dogs weight (which was surprisingly light), hoping to convey some sort of thanks. they just stared back at me, dumbly watching me pass, then slowly started back up again. once i reached the sidelines i realized i had nowhere to set the dog down. i scanned the area hoping to find a large, shaded tree or anything that would keep my doggy friend out of the sun. i found none, nothing but skinny coconut trees whose shade would shift as the sun progressed through the afternoon sky. i set him down in the garage across from my car instead. a nearby leaky faucet provided an adequate, maybe a little muddy, water supply so he could cool off. i bet that asphalt must have cooked the hell out of him. i patted him (or maybe her) on his or her head and walked over to the car. by this time, all the barking and honking had aroused the attention of the house owner and he made his way out of the house. a shirtless chamorro guy with a prominent beer gut covered in home-made tattoos, sauntered out of the back door in mild interest. he seemed completely oblivious of the dog laying comfortably in the shade of his garage. i pretended to examine something under my car; some invisible imperfection or defect under the wheel. then i got in. i completely avoided looking the whole time, started my car and casually feigned an interest in my troll-like reflection in the mirror.
i felt a little bad depositing such a burden on the guy. then again, maybe it was his dog. if so, maybe he should put some restraint on the dog. maybe he should put on a shirt, as well. i felt great. the incident had me shaken, aware and awake. i'm still waiting for that crazy damsel though.
it's a great world run by terrible creatures.
june 29th, 2005
