Author's Commentary
A forewarning:
This is ideologically offensive, and contains swearing.
If you're a pussy, turn back now.
Connected a bit with Bukowski writing this. Not that I was emulating him - this writing was free, natural - a complete stream of consciousness. Nothing about it was stylized, or more than half-meditated. Wrote as I thought. The end.
It’s all bullshit. It piles up and the bovines don’t quit. It’s a hand grabbing for the moon, it’s just mindless, hopeless, bullshit. Tea’s not bullshit, though. That’s about it.
When’s the world going to figure it out, huh? That school and this poet, this schmuck, this asshole, don’t mix. Twelve years wasn’t enough for the great American system; nope. They want to squeeze four more, maybe five or six!, out of me. Like squeezing manure from cattle.
A man calls to me on campus; “I ain’t got cash”, I tell him. He’s an ex-crackhead selling breakfast for the homeless. I’ve already paid my dues to that cause. “Let me ask you one question,” and I let him, “has the lord been good to you?” “Nope.” End of story. Hah!
It’s bullshit. It’s the loud hum of a vending machine keeping drinks cold for no one near midnight on a Tuesday night. Let me bring you up to pace: I’m sitting next to this humming piece of shit, and I’m sure as hell not buying a drink. Outside? no, my building’s lobby. I wanted to drink a pot of tea somewhere that wasn’t my fucking dorm room. Yeah, a pot, black, cast iron and sitting on the arm of my chair on a likewise trivet. Filled with the one thing that isn’t bullshit: Lapsang Souchong. People glance at me, and fuck ‘em. Too afraid to stare. Go ahead, I’d like to tell them, stare.
Campus rec center, 4 AM. Yeah, it’s open, and I’m playing solitaire with real cards. Black guy sits down by me, and we start playing uno. He’s a real African American, accent and all. First question out of his mouth? “What religion are you?” Jewish. What a crock of shit. Ignore the mezuzah hanging around my neck. Forget the nose. Forget the wealthy background. I’ve hardly set foot in a temple, and never to pray. Fuck, a year hasn’t gone by in my life without a Christmas tree, a damn christ-mas tree, in the living room. Jew my ass. I’m a Jew, but I’m no kike, no heeb. No hassid, no zionist.
The girls here are just damn attractive. And that’s about it. Tender? Intellectual? Open? Shallow! Self adoring! Egotistical! I’ll get back to them.
Back in the recreation longue. This is a few days ago, by the way. this
African American is Christian – nondenominational. As if it matters which sect they are, pissing in the holy water of the neighboring church, and shitting in the road. I’ll get back to that, shitting in the road. I’ve already told him I’m a Jew – I’ll change that to Atheist, then Pantheist (that’s a stretch) before the conversation ends. Must have been a riveting discussion about beliefs, right? the only fucking belief discussed was his, that I should attend bible study on Tuesday nights. His main argument? Repeated over and over – “c’mon.” “Nope” would not please this christ loving missionary, not even from the south, but from the west of Africa.
The girls, the shit in the roads. I mention them together to be redundant. They’re not even bullshit. They’re horse shit. Horses, bridled and ridden by magazines, television programs, internet updates on a lie called fashion, shit these girls out. Like horses shitting on a parade route, leaving something for the marching band to step in, as if to say “fuck your fanfare!” the crowd watches and laughs. Hah!
My second or third week of school; how time here drags, I’m approached, while sitting under a tree, writing – can you imagine a greater repose? – by a Christian. He was my first – a Korean man. I talked to the man, another soldier in General Christ’s Crusade to turn the educated heathens into misguided thumpers, to leave the knowledge of many books for the promise of one. I was civil, and I wasn’t yet sick of the proselytizing. I talked to him, humored him, for over an hour. He wanted me to attend bible study on Tuesdays.
If you were paying attention, today is Tuesday. I get a message on my dying phone, and I’m sans charger for some mysterious my-black-roommate’s-friends-probably-stole-it reason (not to be blatantly racist, of course, but things go missing when they visit.) Message tells me there’s a bible study: when and where! from a number I entered as “dont answer”. guess who! The
African //American! How’d he get my number, you ask? Fucker cornered me. Asked for it when I was too docile to refuse. I tried being sneaky. Gave him the seven digits, but not the area code. He asked for the area code. And then he //called me, to confirm that I had given him the right number, so I’d “have his number”. Fuck that. Bullshit. I should have been assertive! Then! When he messaged me! I should have said “Leave me the fuck alone study: Right now o’ clock.” Too late for that. My phone is dead now anyway. Next time, I’ll say something.
The Korean got my email, too. I could’ve passed that one up easy, but I was stupid and friendly. Fuck friendliness.
Fuck friendliness! Fuck it in this bullshit dump! They feign in here, - do they! Girls, guys, strangers, fuckers. It’s a big lie.
The Korean, he got my email, because of my mindless friendliness. What should I have given him? What will I give next time?
My email address, yes. It’s weird, let me spell it out for you. First is “le ave”. That’s L-E, A-V-E. French for “the avenue” (who really knows French anyway?) The next part is “ Meal One”. That’s one spelled out. M-E-A-L, O-N-E. Yeah, at Fuck You dot com. Hah!
I’m not in my lobby anymore. Outside, cigarette in hand. A pot is a lot of
sorry long drags. I’m shaking. I got a light from some pretty girls. I’m shaking. I’m going to take a walk
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