By Nous

                        March 3, 2004

AND AFTER I MADE LOVE TO JEAN HARLOW'S GHOST...

My mother, marching through the rooms with a thousand different
objectives on her daily itinerary, asked would I very much like
to accompany her while she went out and checked some items off
of her list, flipping through a little green, raggedy address
book with enough urgency to send me bolting up from my place on
the couch.  Finally!  Something to do!  If I were not reaching
for an extra shirt I would have pinched myself.
I paused.
"Where are you going?"
"Oh," mused my mother, tugging on her socks as she stalled for
more time, in an effort to think of a way she might get me to
go with her on one of those urgent, mundane trips, "I'm going
to drop something off somewhere, then I'm going to the store to
buy some meat, then I guess I'll go to the thrift store."
Yay, I thought, I can play Bubble Bobble.
The thrift store by my house has an arcade with a few old games
including Galaga, Nous Club, and Bubble Bobble.  I'm not very
good at Bubble Bobble, but I can pretty much beat anyone else
who plays it.  It's all I have left.
I put on a shirt and headed out.  My mother was already in the
Yellow Sub running the engine.

HEADEGGS

On Sundays, long ago, I was forced to attend my brothers' soccer
games and as a result developed a sort of phobia (though that's
not the right word) for the parks where they would play.  Are
all soccer parks immensely boring?  Experience says:  Yes.
It isn't just the parks where there is literally nothing but a
field and a parking lot to plant yourself down on as you watch
or pretend to watch a soccer game; there was this one park that
had a track for walking and playgrounds (plural) to at least
forget the boredom. I don't even find soccer particularly boring.
But there was something about the fact that it was Sunday and I
was not at home; it was Sunday and I was out in the open, active
in the loosest sense of the word. It felt wrong and disgusting.
I was surrounded by people who were forced into a similar position
as mine and it was Sunday.
I can't explain it well, I know, but I do know that whenever I
think about it I want to get a headache.
Well as my mother and I sat in the Yellow Sub only half-listening
to the music playing on the radio, I noticed the route we were
taking, and damn it all if it wasn't the way to one of those
cursed parks.  Only this time, it was different.
No, this time, it was the opposite of what it had been in the past.
Not a single person was there in that relatively large park.
Not a thing. And another thing too: the sky was gray, and looked
as if we were in for rain. The park wasn't glowing with sunlight.
It was quiet, and it wasn't Sunday.
I only noticed it briefly and thought about it not at all deeply.
But as the day wore on, it would stay in my mind.

CHASE THE CLOUDS AWAY

I had noticed the small carnival about two days ago, but only
yesterday did I think about going, and today it looked like a
photograph and I thought I shouldn't disturb it.  The lights
sparkled against the gray sky and the people walking around were
dwarfed by that image alone.  But only workers were walking
about; the threat of rain drove the people away.
Across the street from it, in my thrift store, I dropped a
quarter into the machine and turned around to catch another
quick glimpse of the gray carnival.  I whistled the Bubble
Bobble theme song and started to play.

LORD, LET AT LAST THINE ANGELS COME

I sat in my room and secretly wept, hiding it with the tapping
of computer keys.  All I really want is to not feel so alone,
but of course I am, and so I must try and try until I can try
no more - to feel at least a little welcome.  Why am I always
the third wheel wherever I go?  Is that all I can hope for?
Somebody had better tell me because if it's all I can hope for,
then I'm going to start hoping right away.  I wolf.
No, of course you don't understand; don't be foolish.
What's that scurrying on my roof?  A visitor?  A wonderful
delightful visitor, come to accompany me on my little way.
I'm wasting away, and I'm wasting the day, passing the time
until this weekend, when god-willing I'll be stone drunk.