The Purple Tux
With just enough education to perform.Saturday, February 21, 2004
At Swim-Two-Birds (weird title, huh?), by Flann O'Brien, is 316 pages and 1 chapter long.
Molloy, by Samuel Beckett, is 176 pages and 2 chapters long. The first chapter, which is only 91 pages long, only has 2 paragraphs, and the first paragraph ends on page 2.
Moby Dick, by Herman Melville, is 427 pages and 135 chapters (plus an epilogue) long.
Out of all books I've read for school this quarter, only one of them, A Clockwork Orange by Anthony Burgess, deserves a 5 star rating.
9 novels down, 6 more to go, and only what, like 3.5 more weeks left in the quarter? This is straight up barbaric.
Saturday, February 14, 2004
My Bloody Valentine’s Day
It was a dark and stormy night. Or at least that’s how it felt in my head. For everyone else, it was time to kick back and bask in each other’s companionship. I sat around, observing everyone in the room. I would have been fine, except that it was my least favorite holiday of the entire year. If only Valentine had never been a saint. I don’t mind wearing green on St. Patrick’s, but this was too much. This was my least favorite time of year.
“Not very sociable tonight, eh, chum?”
It was Kent. He’s a nice guy and all, but he’s a little too upbeat all of the time. I wonder what goes on in the minds of people like him. Sometimes I envy him for his optimism and his zeal for life. It’s a quality I really respect in him. Sometimes I even want to tell him that to his face. Sometimes.
But instead, I just said, “Shut up.”
Do you think I should have felt rotten for the sudden feeling of pleasure welling up in me as I watched him sulk away, crestfallen, and with his head bowed?
People are such simpletons. Men are such simpletons. Valentine’s Day is such a girly holiday. Does it even count as a holiday? We don’t get the day off. What the hell kind of man actually enjoys Valentine’s Day?
What the hell kind of loser actually attends a Valentine’s Day party for singles? I must have been out of my mind, coming to this shindig. And whose bright idea was it to provide an “alternative activity” for people who had nothing special to do on this oh so very special night? Probably some dumb broad.
After about fifteen minutes of this bad joke, I decided to make like a dead hippy and peace out. I was halfway out the door when I saw her walking up to the house. There she was. Sharon, my biggest infatuation. She was coming up to the house with a couple of her gal pals. I couldn’t turn away from this opportunity. Playing it cool, I just acted like I was stepping outside for some fresh air.
“Hey, didn’t expect to see you here tonight,” I said, as suavely as possible.
“Oh, hey. Yeah, I guess I just didn’t feel like being alone tonight. Besides, it’s fun to just hang out with people!”
Or she said something like that. Keep this under your hat, but whenever I’m around her, I have a hard time keeping a clear head. I’ve never seen such clear blue eyes. I get lost in them. Can’t concentrate worth crap.
So, yeah. I must have followed up her response with something
incredibly lame, something like, “Cool.” Her eyes glanced at the ground for just a brief moment (I’ve never known anyone so self-assured act so demure) and as she walked past me, she gave me the faintest hint of a smile. I know this because I think I might’ve almost seen her pre-dimples start to form.
I chilled outside of the house for a few minutes. It felt like the longest time, but when I looked at my watch, only sixteen seconds had passed. Or something ridiculous like that. I checked my fly and made sure my balls were still in place, and then I walked back into the house.
I suppose I should let you in on a little something now. I’ve known Sharon for the past three years now, ever since freshman year. She’s one of those girls that everyone likes. I mean, you’d have to be one huge jackhole to dislike her. Though I’m sure she had no shortage of guys slobbering all over her, I tried to keep my drool to myself. For the first year and a half, I admired her from afar. No, I never resorted to my binoculars, I mean that I never let on that I was utterly captivated by her beauty. She isn’t just a pretty girl, she’s a pretty person.
If I were an English major, and had better skills at expressing myself, I’d probably be able to pinpoint down to the most exact minute detail just precisely what makes her so attractive. But when it comes to eloquent communication, I suck, so I’ll have to resort to the generics. You know. She’s just one of the most easy going and laid back girls I’ve ever known. Might even call her aloof, but in a kind of self-conscious way. She’s the type of person who would stop while taking a walk through the park just to smell the roses. But not in a ditzy way. I don’t know. She loves Virginia Woolf. Her favorite author, ever. Can’t say I’ve ever read any Woolf, but sure sounds pretty smart. I give Sharon props for that. Maybe I should start reading some high-end literature, too. It might help boost me to her level.
Now that I think about it, it was pretty inconceivable from the start that we ended up being friends. It just happened, one night in the cafeteria when she saw me sitting alone in the corner (where I belong), and joined me for dinner. First time anyone was nice enough to just try to be my friend. You have to learn to look at yourself from another angle, is what I’ve learned… And I’m not an easy person to befriend. Maybe I should shower more often.
After that night, we became friends, I suppose. I just remember going back to my room, doing a search for her on the internet, and finding and printing a picture of her. You think I’m crazy? You think I’m obsessed? You think I have a problem?
Piss off.
I would have tried to get to know her better, but I guess in her eyes, I was just “friend material,” or whatever they call it nowadays. The “friend zone?” I think I wanted to date her. The only girl I ever dated was in high school, and that relationship only lasted about three weeks. We broke up because she thought I dwelled on the past too much, and that I was too negative and depressing. Lousy wench. Hope she rots in hell.
Anyway. Back to Sharon. My one true. Oh, I know this. You know how I know this?
Because last night, I dreamt that somebody loved me.
Yes. Oh, yes. Closer than my skin, further than the moon. Someone loved me. Isn’t that a paradox? Or is it an oxymoron? I told you I’m no English major. The point is, I dreamt that somebody loved me. Loved ME! It was the first time I’d ever had such a dream. I usually have this one other recurring dream…
Okay, I lied about only sixteen seconds passing before I walked back in the house. Truth is, forty whole minutes passed by and I’ve just been standing here, my mind off in la-la land, reminiscing about… Nuts. Stupid short-term memory. I forgot already.
Sharon was still inside. I finally walked back in. What was I gonna say? What was I gonna do? No clue whatsoever!
Oh yeah. One more thing. Remember that dude Kent? Yeah, that peppy little freak.
He used to date Sharon, up until last month.
That actually doesn’t sound too bad, now that I think of it. I mean, they’re both nice people. They’re bright, they’re not too wild, they’re polite. They deserved each other. Kent irritates the piss out of me sometimes, but then, so do most people. I wish everyone were dead. Or I wish everyone except Sharon and me were dead, and then we could be together forever, and even if she’d never love me in real life, at least then she would have no choice but to fall into my arms. My arms are always ready. See these empty hands? I’ve been saving them for her. No one else can possibly fit in my empty hands.
But when I clench them in my sleep, when I’m in my dreams, and form them into hard, malicious fists of doom and glory… Get out of my way.
I have these recurring dreams, every once in a while, dreams about Kent. About me beating him up. And I’m not talking about punching and hitting him until he gives up. I could never hit a nice guy like him. But I wouldn’t mind messing up his mind. I dream that I have, like, telepathic powers or some crap like the X-Men, and then we mind-meld, and for the first time, Kent sees the world through my eyes.
Did you know I have to spend one weekend a month at a hospital? Ever since I was nine years old. I don’t have to take any medication or anything, but the doctors there, who are all pretty cool people, just have me there for observation. Once, I heard two of them talking about me, and I heard the word “antisocial.” I guess that might be me. What the hell. It’s not so bad.
Back to my dream- so Kent and me, we mind-meld or something, and then he just goes insane. Like our spirits are so diametrically opposed that being in contact with me via the astral plane, or some junk, just destroys him. I always wake up laughing madly. I don’t know why I have that dream so often. I think I’ve been in school long enough to figure that if I cut through all the psychobabble, I basically have a deep, subconscious anger against Kent.
Why do I keep on rambling? Sharon was still inside the house.
I walked back into the house, but I didn’t know what to do, so I walked back out. The cool night air felt good. Felt great. There was a slight chilly wind, but I didn’t mind. I was wearing my favorite sweater. The navy blue cashmere one. It’s my lucky sweater. There was a curb on the sidewalk in front of the house. I decided to plop myself down on it. Yeah. I sat on the curb. Where I belonged.
I don’t know how much time passed, but eventually, I wasn’t alone any longer.
“Penny for your thoughts,” said Kent, walking up to the curb.
‘Penny for your thoughts’? Who in blazes uses such a phrase in this day and age? Kent. Figures. Dude was probably raised on a farm somewhere. Heh. Simple bumpkin. Maybe that’s why he’s always acting so nice. Must have had tons of practice when he was milking the cows.
I didn’t say anything back to him. I just cleared my throat and hoched a massive loogie into the pavement. It landed near his shoe. I almost laughed. I spat another one, and it landed right on his shoe. This time, I did laugh.
“Why’d you do that for?” he asked, surprised.
“I just want to be alone for a while, little pal. I’d appreciate some privacy.” I figured it wouldn’t hurt to act a little more civil. What would Sharon think if she saw me spitting on Kent?
And, sure enough, just as I started to think of her, I turned around and lo, there she was, walking out into the night to join us. She wasn’t walking straight. Her hair was a little bit trussed up, and she looked a little, well, if I didn’t know better, I’d say she looked like she had too much to drink. My beautiful Sharon.
“Sharon!” Kent exclaimed. “It’s cold out here.” He took off his coat and put it around her body. I rolled my eyes. I could have done that. If I’d worn my lucky coat instead of my lucky sweater.
“Oh, I’m fine, I think I had a little too much to drink,” Sharon slurred, leaning on Kent for support. Leaning on him a little too much. Leaning on him the way I’d always dreamed she’d lean on me. Jealousy built up inside me like a cell phone charging its battery. Only difference is, I’ve never seen a cell phone explode.
“I can take you home, if you want, Sharon,” I offered. Might as well say it before he had a chance to.
“No, no,” Kent said, “I’ll take her back to her house. You don’t look like you’re in a good mood.” Why, thank you for pointing that out, Mr. Super-Observant. But what the hell does that have to do with anything?
“Oh, I’m fine, just lemme siddown for a sec, huh?” Sharon blurted out. She might have been tipsy, but she was still beautiful in my eyes. I wanted to tell her, right then and there, how much I thought about her and all that stuff, but I couldn’t. The words wouldn’t come out. I hated it. I hated being at a loss. Now she was sitting on the curb next to me, clinging onto Kent’s leg, leaning her head against his thigh, her head just a few inches from his buttocks. He wasn’t making any moves, he wasn’t concerned about her diginity. Smug bastard.
I kept waiting for the guy to say something, do something, to get out of that compromising position, but nothing happened. He just chilled there! I knew he enjoyed every minute of it. And I was right next to her! Even on my best day, I still couldn’t compare to her ex-boyfriend! I hated him.
And in my dream, I was destroying him. I was destroying Kent.
As I stood up, I noticed a bulge in Kent’s pants. He had his eyes closed and he just about looked like he was having a wet dream. That tore it!!
“You sick bastard.” I tried to yell, to intimidate him, but it just came out a whisper. He didn’t look like he heard me. Sharon… How could you? This was too much for me. I had to do something.
So I pushed him, as hard as I could. I heard Sharon yelp as she lost her leaning post, and I heard him exhale in surprise, his concentration destroyed.
“Whoa,” he said, bewildered, “what are—“
He didn’t get a chance to finish because I socked him in the grill. Nothing ever felt so satisfying, not even the time I pulled Mrs. Berkowitz’s kitten’s tail off.
He staggered back a couple feet and rubbed his jaw. He had anxiety in his eyes. I probably should have stopped, but I tried to kick his nuts. He dodged just in time.
“What’re you doing, man? I didn’t mean anything,” he almost whimpered. To my pleasure, he actually put his dukes up. I smiled. I’d completely forgotten all about Sharon.
“You think that you’re so cool all of the time. You act like you’re everybody’s friend. You even dated the most beautiful girl. But you know what I think, Kent? It’s all just a sham. I think that deep down, in the darkest part of your soul, you’re just like me. I think you’re just like me, and that scares you. We’re all the same, don’t you see? No matter how you act, we’re all just rotten to the core!”
“I-I don’t know what you’re talking about. Why are y-you trying to fight me?” he asked.
“Shut up!” I yelled. “Stop pretending! I know you! I’ve known you for so long that I see you as you really are. You’re just one giant mistake, just like me!” I thought of the look he had on his face just a minute ago when Sharon was clinging to his leg, and then I charged him. That was his ecstasy, and now I prepared to give him the agony.
I don’t know martial arts or anything, but I’ve been in enough scraps to know how to NOT get my ass kicked by anyone who was about my size.
He threw a punch at me to defend himself as I moved in on him. I bet it was the first time he ever hit a person. I hardly felt the punch on my left shoulder, and then I kneed him right in his gut. He looked stunned, so I decided to try something new, something I learned from reading an old issue of Soldier of Fortune. I kicked his kneecap, and when he bent over to clutch it, I uppercutted him as hard as I could. Threw all my weight into it. I heard his jaw make a clack clack noise as he fell onto his back. Yeah! I actually knocked him down. I started to laugh at him. I’d never actually floored a guy before! Not with a single punch!
He picked himself up slowly, but he looked like he was hurt. I noticed him working his jaw with his hands, just trying to open and close it a few times. He groaned, and it was a deep, labored groan. I’m not a skeleton expert… What does it look like when a jaw gets broken or dislocated?
Kent stood up again. He looked madder than I’d ever seen him. He had tears in his eyes. Amazing how a man, with tears streaming down his face like a baby, can still manage to look angry. He ran straight at me. His arms were outstretched as if he wanted to strangle me. I remembered all those cartoons with the bullfighters where the guy goes, “Toro, toro!” and dodges the bull at the last second. I tried the same trick on Kent. I waited until he was just about to enter my range, and then I quickly stepped a few inches to the side and elbowed him on the side of his head as he ran by me. To his credit, he didn’t fall on the ground again, but his ear was bleeding. Surreally, I noticed the blood drip like a broken faucet drips water.
He glared at me. “Not… like you… Stop,” he said. Or at least that’s what it sounded like.
“You’re a pervert, you know that? I’m not a pervert like you, you piece of slime. You know what I think? I think you’re not fooling anyone with your nice guy routine. Nobody gives a damn if you ask them, ‘How was your day?’ You know what I think? Nobody cares if you’re friends with everyone in the entire town. You know what I think? You are just as alone as I will ever be. You are just as maladjusted, just as messed up as me. The only difference is, you try to hide it. You try to change who you are. Why?! Just be yourself. Be free.
“You know what I think? I think now I’m just going to beat the $#!+ out of you.”
I telegraphed a left hook (careless) and he managed to get a couple good smacks on my stomach. Knocked the wind out of me. I saw how bad his jaw looked and I decided to capitalize on it, so I aimed true, and he rewarded me with an almost inhuman scream of pain. He was on the floor again. I think he might have been going into shock. I didn’t care. I heard a female voice screaming something, but I ignored it. Kent! Self-righteous Kent! Poser! And he still gets the girl! What about me? ME. He’s no better than me.
I flipped him onto his back, and his moans just got louder and louder. He grunted feebly, like a mortally wounded animal. At the end of the day, that’s all he was. An animal. I knelt on his stomach, both of my knees pressing into him. I gazed, for a moment, on my empty hands. These hands would never know love. I yearned so much just to hold her in my hands, and do whatever things that young people do when they’re in love with each other. But to be true to myself, I had to do this. These empty hands would become my fists.
I slammed one into Kent’s head. Once. I felt blood vessels burst. Twice. A shock ran up my arm. Five times. His eyes fluttered momentarily, and then he stopped making sounds. The left side of his face was puffed blue, and blood ran down his right eye. I think I cut the skin somewhere on his growing bruise of a face. I didn’t care. One more for the road. I felt my pinky break, so I switched fists. I wondered what his mom was going to think when she saw him like this. I punched him again and again. I felt bones breaking, the bones in his face and the bones in my fists, the bones in my empty, empty hands. Blood was splattered on the pavement all around his head. His face was twice as big as it was fifteen minutes ago. It was an improvement, in my mind. The twisted mofo.
I heard a female voice crying in the background.
Then I heard the familiar sound of sirens. This wouldn’t be the first time, but when I looked at Kent, I started to think it would be the last time.
The carcass in front of me was already growing cold to the touch.
I got up and sat back down on the curb. The curb, where I belong. Just kicked out onto the curb.
Sharon was gone.
Happy Valentine’s Day.
Wednesday, February 11, 2004
This is the second week from hell. I feel like posting some thoughts, but not right now. Probably come up with something this weekend. If I can fit it in my schedule between all the cuddling I have planned for Saturday night.
