SSS: TRAGEDY ROUTINE

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click above on Martha Stewart to end it all again.






THE FOLLOWING IS A PIECE OF ART. DON'T TAKE IT SERIOUSLY:

somewhere along the way, my life went wrong.

click, click, click

i remember the click of the joystick controller on the Centipede arcade box station which was planted on the right side of the old modest mom-n-pop fries-and-soda shop near grade school. Dad would always pick me up right on time at 3PM no matter what he was doing, what troubles were surveying his soul, and we'd take the short walk from my school across the street to this place for hot fries and refreshing cola. man that coke tasted so much sweeter, those fries were salty and alive, this wasn't normal food, it was a treat, a break from all of that school-learning each day, it was my Dad, that's what made it taste heavenly. i got pretty good at that Centipede, almost broke the high score, it wasn't impossibly-wondrous Zelda or anything, but it was a nice simple game to take my mind off bullies and hot teachers and awakening sexual feelings and my emergence as the highest GPA in class and all the pressures and isolations which came with that. that game honed my reflexes, my hand-eye coordination, little did i know then that that would be my limit of that sort of training, i never would drive a car. always one quarter's worth of game, no more, no less, that was perfect from Dad, it was just enough otherworldly space and shooting space mushrooms in my spaceship and space-centipede excitement for a boy without me becoming a glutton for the violence but also feeling that i wasn't getting denied fascinating pop-culture. homework and all As were the most important things, but a nerd needs his video games, his escapes, too. a year later, in a move that would reflect the rest of my life, the poor, little fries stand was razed down. the day before, we were allowed to take a picture in front of the shack and what a beautiful photo that was, my favorite of all time still: a boy hugging his beautiful, glorious father with a Christian side hug in front of a special small place no one else knew about, but the two of us knew, and that was all that mattered, a moment in time captured forever on film that spoke at once of nostalgia, the heartbreaking end of nostalgia, and fear of the future.

click click click...

...went the birds who would nest atop the fries-shack roof. wonder whatever happened to them after the demolition? big oil companies never think of such things as precious nature, we're just statistics, not breathing souls. nature forced to move, my nature taking a turn for the worst.

what would happen if i terminated one of the infinite number of time threads on the Spool? alternate realities and alternate universes would crash into each other unexpectedly, certain people i would never meet, all of that potential stage drama would remain in my hand, not on paper.

i was destined for solitude, i never wanted the crown, solitude was thrust upon me, so much so it has become my nature, or is it still my choice?

so fucking tired all the time, i need a lie-down on the family couch before i think too hard.

half-eaten CORN chip, like my half-thought-out manuscript, my overlong short story that is dying to be put out of its misery with a tidy ending, but i refuse to be easy on myself, i have to fill this story, my last story, with everything that is me, it must be multi-layered to the maximum, to the hilt, hidden meanings inside every character, every word speaking a secret monologue that speaks to me and what i'm all about, what i ever meant to this world.

i have to stop getting into the routine of checking my email for responses 50 times a day, she will never answer back no matter how many times i click click click

fuck me, i still think there's a chance, huh? otherwise i wouldn't bother to move, to motion, i simply couldn't be bovvered.

even in death i am a Romantic.

click

i'm coming to see you, Dad,

AND I WILL BE GUIDED THROUGH THE AFTERVOID BY ST. BILLY, CLICK HERE, RIGHT HERE AT THIS LINK.



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