I don’t want another job

110 bpm. Quarter notes. And fuck you. I’ll write it.

It was too hot and I put my feet out. Too damned hot. The steam was wafting up slowly; I was mesmerized.

My head sunk under the water. I let my head float in the water. I had to hold it at first but then it just stuck at a neutral buoyancy. My nose was in the cold air but everything else was succumbing to the seductive warmth.

Zazen maybe. I began to daydream. I opened my eyes… into the piercing cold… back to reality. I stared at the wall and wished it wasn’t. I stared and thought I should stop thinking. But I never can. It comes with practice. 29 minutes a day is all.


Yes, I list myself as an Atheist. I suppose Hardcore Atheist would be more accurate. I yam what I yam.

The heat was no longer seductive. It was now suffocating. My heart rate was rising as my body attempted to shed the excess heat.

I sometimes worry that the music I write is “music for musicians,” not plain and dull and ordinary enough for the popular man. I think about the D# in A… the Devil’s Note… and I wonder if anyone else will notice that I hit it way too much. But it feels so good to do it. It resonates. It throws your ear off. It makes you say, “wha- what was that? Did he hit a right note? It was close, but I’m not sure.” Just then it comes back to tonic and then root and then you’re lost in the techno beat.

Get up and dance.

As I sat up, the cold air stole the warmth in wisps. My warped reflection in the overflow preventer cap was ogling me. It was alien. I reached down and twisted and lifted the drain plug in a slow dance.

The sound raged at once, not one but two vortices dancing about.

The hair on my legs was matted to betray where water once lay; it floated like so many anemone where the water still held it captive. Slowly, back and forth. I wondered what I would think if I were high just then. Would it change color? Purple? Pink plaid up the baby and the Necromancer would say his thing and scar it permanently?

I felt myself becoming heavier, inversely so as the water drained out from around me. Until I was left with the final gurglings, the death throes of a fantastic body of water gone. Done. Finito. A sigh and a heave and I was up and lunging at the towel.

It’s not fair, I thought. Three things. Just three. But nobody cares so don’t even mention it. Nobody cares.

The Backyardigans music came lulling through the distance to find me unprepared.

Ahh, but it’s for me. It’s only for me. And that makes me happy.

A glance in the mirror and my greenish brown eyes pierce me from my reflection. I briefly wonder, as I often do, if you’d really go insane if you pulled out one eyeball and stared it directly into the other one. I think you’d go insane from pain before you’d go insane from staring one ball into the other.

I flatten my hair with my left hand and judge myself. Quick chin to the left, quick chin to the right. Not bad, on one hand, but, Oh shit, on the other. The gut’s probably too big, but that’s the tell-tale signature of my life. My penis hangs down, testicles low, attempting to recover from being overheated. “They” say you’re sterile for 30 minutes after a hot bath. I’d never risk it.

I scratch my nuts and pull on my penis in a way that would embarrass me were I caught in the act. Just looking. It’s fun. But a penis is not a plaything. Or so Kurt used to tell me. I heartily disagree. A final scratch of the sack and I’m moving on.

I’m mildly impressed with how my ass has held up as I’ve aged, turning and glancing over my shoulder at that person in the mirror. I DO stand all day, after all, and I walk a lot, too (well, I’m supposed to, but I’ve been lazy for a couple of months).

I grab a really old pair of cutoff Navy sweats, turn them neatly inside out, fooling myself that 1.)anybody would give a shit and 2.)anyone would be fooled. My new Oblongs t-shirt is simple and clean, and goes on smoothly and still smells of the Downy with the green cap.

Time to go back now. Time to go back. I remember I smashed that cell phone and then I put a neatly coiled length of garland on the utility shelf. I remember it vividly. I remember thinking that it didn’t belong next to various electronics gear. But there it went, despite all that. Despite all that. And I went to fetch a whiskey and coke. Because then the need dies down. The need. The downward glance as I berate myself, my harshest critic.

It’s okay. I put on a smile and begin anew.