Saturday, July 07, 2007

DEAD OR ALIVE


I failed to gauge my breaking point. I thought they were dead to me.

Bear with me pls if you were born after 1985… but does anyone (grown) recall that Wu skit…the one right before M.E.T.H.0.D. Man…where Meth says he’ll fcukin, he’ll fcuking sew your azzhole closed and keep feeding you, and feeding you, and feeding you(“Roll da dice man, roll da DICE...From the slums of Shoalin…”)

I feel kind of like that.

Tortured. And full. And nauseous.

Like maybe I tried to down a grown-man shot of tequila and couldn’t handle it, so there was nowhere else for it to go but back up my throat.

Or like that Mr. Wizard experiment (again, post-’85, I apologize, I don’t mean to exclude you), where he fills the beaker with water until the ping pong ball rises to the top and falls out.

I’m saying, I feel like the waste in my past that I have long since discarded…has finally resurfaced like a body bobbing in the East River.

Ok, lemme backtrack…

Ladies and gentlemen…

Welcome to the latest installment of Loser Week…where every waking moment seems a testament to the fact that your real life sucks and vacation was all but an unsustainable illusion to the contrary.

The last time we visited Loser Week was probably after my bday. The symptoms are always the same…

…Irritability upon arrival at baggage claim

…Irrational overeating of irrationally overpriced airport food items such as Pizz.Uno and N@thans

…Extended periods of sulking

…Fi0na.Apple, Meshell, or other depressing soundtracks on repeat

…A pile up of dirty laundry (usually in your still-zipped suitcase)

…Delayed response to phone ringing (may also include a delay in changing your Extended Absence voice mail msg, making people who call think you're still away even tho you've been home 2 days already)

…General malaise and self pity

...Ducking into a shady bodega to buy Blacks, when you don't even smoke



Right now I’m sitting in the Ft Lauderdale airport, only halfway home, as a symphony of thunder roars around me. Normally when it rains, the earth gratefully absorbs the water.

So do I. Normally.

When things happen, bad things…I absorb the shock and keep it movin. Swallow. Digest. Release. It’s the natural order of things. Circle of life, or some D!sney shit like that.

I know where the bodies are buried, and I allow them to rest in peace. After all, I’m the gravedigger.

Except some times, like this week in Mexico, the dead roams free, like the Thr!ller video (dammit, even if you were born after 2005 you seen Thrller. It’s required viewing for cultural citizenship).

So there I was, lounging aside the Carib Sea, going all Haley.J0el.Osment, seeing dead people and sitting and reminiscing with them. Driving me out of my mind.

All week my mind was a red carpet for lovers I lost or let go. I’m talking a nonstop procession of flawlessly coiffed corpses, tuxed up and tap dancing for paparazzi flashbulbs like there was never a eulogy spoken, or heart snapped in half.

And dance they did, these rigor mortised reminders. All day and night inch worming through my mind like the fcuking Tap Dance K!d (remember circa ’84 they said he died from spinning on his head in a MJ video…and but then he was on D0nahue and then Silver Sp0on (and later played Carlt0n Banks, duh) and everybody was like, hold up, that little boy ain't dead!…).

It was like I could no longer hold it. Like the memories were being jammed down my throat while Meth pulled needle and thread. Like those relationships had never really croaked.

Because when you let go of someone you’ve let in, you HAVE to kill that bit of the brain that they occupied. Autopsy that muhfcuka, examine the cause of death then make sure it doesn’t happen again. No breath. No pulse.

But in truth, you never fully close the casket. You subconsciously leave it cracked. Just in case.

And just in case you ever try to pretend that your mind is fully in tact, that you didn’t surrender a piece (and peace) of it to the undertaker, they come back like Laz@rus.

They claw through the dirt that you’ve thrown on top of them.

They swim back to the surface no matter how heavy the cement blocks.

They wind back up your digestive tract like bitter bile.

And reappear. Alive and well, just as you had hoped.

And for a series of split seconds you entertain the idea of rolling away the stone that has blocked any vestige of resurrection.

No, no time for miracles. It’s time to find a new ditch. A new shovel. A new distraction. A new breaking point.

A new cause of death, Loser.

26 comments:

La said...

Yo Wise,
I'm pretty sick of you creeping into the crib and peeking at my journals. I don't even have to write anymore cuz you do it for me. Wtf?

Jameil said...

daaaamn. GO 'WAY! you gotta say it like that bad little kid you always want to mush, then kick in case he doesn't get the idea the first time. lmao @ ducking into a shady bodega to buy Blacks, when you don't even smoke. loser week SUCKS!! and to add corpses? son of a?!?!?! (my word verification was just lnigg... CONSPIRACY!!)

Anonymous said...

ur writing is beautiful.. ur metaphors & sh!t.. i think that's why i like reading u so much..

anyways.. sorry bout loser week.. hopefully mexico wasnt all that bad?

So...Wise...Sista said...

La di dah...I could same for you, missie. Seems there's a journal bandit out there sharig folks thoughts and shit.

Jameil...that is SOOO a conspiracy! blogger is tryin to be funny.

Lucky for me I had a black left from the last "L-Dubb", so I didnt have to risk my life behind the plexiglass.

TTD. Thank you! And I realize this post sounds all melancholy and morose and shit, but Mexico was dope! Had a great time, despite the seance. lol

Anonymous said...

wow, wise....this whole post would make a for a dope movie plot a la Dawn of the living dead.

I've had to kill a couple of "zombies" in my life time, so I feel where you're coming from.

Amadeo said...

I like to think I've killed all of mine (shoot them between the eyes), but I know there is a big one wandering around out there. I usually try to run from it...even though they limp slowly those joints do find you.

1969 said...

Loser week....that sucks!

I have exorcised all the losers in my mind. The ones that were winners tend to linger.

Great post!

The Very Reverend Ace Clemmons, Jr. said...

so i take it this vactaion was...ahhh...not so good?

So...Wise...Sista said...

Hey Ab...you wanna write the screenplay and then give me "Based on an actual blog entry..." credit?

Hey did you perform this weekend? Im pretty sure I was the only black person in town who wasnt at the festival. *sigh*

Amadeo...Im a firm believer in "The One That Got Away" aka "The Prodigal Fcuk". no matter how fast you run, those are the ones on wheels. Bastids.

1969...Yeah, the losers are the ones that you rarely think about, but who will actually show up uninvited IN PERSON. lol

Rev...Despite it, vacation was GREAT! My Spanish held up better than I thought, the beer was as cold as I had hoped, and the sun was generous on my skin. Oh, and I didnt pass out anywhere that I shouldnt. :)

Anonymous said...

i know the post is about ur ongoing torment, but damn if i can help really enjoying ur writing. it puts me straight in the smile-zone everytime. it reads so sweet and easy.

and u need a powerful distraction to ward off the undead.

nikki said...

this entry was cathartic for me. it's like i take 'sowisesista pill' for those moments when the headache of life is pounding my head to shit.

Knockout Zed said...

What the fuck is this about?

KZ

Anonymous said...

Ya damn necrophiliac. Rolling back the stones that kept them locked into your cavernous mind space.

I loved the post for it's wordy-ness. Word smith! your writing has changed.

bloopty!

So...Wise...Sista said...

My Neil says..."and u need a powerful distraction to ward off the undead."

Are you volunteering?


Nikki...Well where the eff you get THAT rx...cuz my shit STAY pounding.


KZ...Same ole same ole, son. You know the blog aint shit.


Blah says..."our writing has changed."

Say word?? How so?

Angie said...

Loser Week sucks ass! At least it's not loser month...that's got to be worse.

I keep digging up the dead. They don't have to creep up on me - I call them up and invite thier asses in. Damn shame!

La said...

Hahahaha @ la di dah. Why is that cute to me? Lol Damn journal stealing bandits.
So here's my question:
Why do we (collectively) keep digging them up? Masochism? Wishful thinking? And is there a way to get rid of them if only momentarily but not permanently b/c one day you'd like to be at a place where you can amicably discuss their finer points before they started to rot inexplicably? And also, why did the Fat Boys have to break up? Lol Lemme know.

So...Wise...Sista said...

Damn Angie...Do they at least take off their shoes when they walk up in your crib? :)

La Di Dah Di...where to begin. You almost forcing me to write part II of this post, but I'll do my best here.

"Why do we keep digging them up?"

For me, bec they were never really dead in the first place. They were buried out of necessity and not out of pure desire for them to be gone forever. The whole notion of "you're dead to me" is pretty bullshit, bec mostly it's just a mechanism for us to have the strength to move on. And they tend to resurface anytime there's a void in your life that leaves just enough room for them to slide right in. Sometimes, like for me last week, without warning.


"And is there a way to get rid of them if only momentarily but not permanently..."

Depends on what works for you. For me it's just trying to be rational about compartmentalizing and moving on...but thats when the whole "sew your azz and feed you" thing hits. It's suddenly too much to hold down.

And finally, one of the Fat Boys loss some weight, thereby putting pressure on the others to either follow suit or continue wobbling for cash. Tragedy, really. ;)

Miz JJ said...

Post vacation hang over is a bitch. At least the trip was still fun. When I went to South Beach with my friend on day three we seriously contemplated quitting our jobs and getting retail jobs there and living near the beach. I still think it might have been fun.

La said...

Part 2! Part 2!!! It'll keep me from unpacking, and thus, admitting that I am back in Godforsaken Redneckland. Lol I'm doing a pretty good job of avoidance on my own but I'm gonna need some help, lol

Anonymous said...

Sheeeeeeeeid stop excluding the post '85 folks. Thanks.



It ain't nothing like seeing the faces of those you thought had been forgotten. It's nothing like being haunted by yesterday, cause you know damn well that subconscious thought is going f up your psyche a little today, a little bit tomorrow. I've had dreams where I sat in a grave yard burying stuff, and just walking away. And I wondered if I really walked away? Cause sometimes I find myself reappearing graveside.

So...Wise...Sista said...

MJJ says..."we seriously contemplated quitting our jobs and getting retail jobs there and living near the beach."

I remember back in college laughing at how silly the loose girls were who spent every night hooking up at the bars...but funny how a couple years in the real world made that shit look not so silly after all! Same with working at a South Beach BeBe and spending lunch breaks with sand in your toes. *sigh*


LA...Anything for a fellow loser!


CNelly says..."And I wondered if I really walked away?"

If you gotta wonder than the answer's probably No. :(

Anonymous said...

Wow, your Loser Week sounds just like mine. I mean JUST like mine.

But they always come back. Always.

Unknown said...

@wise
yeah I performed this weekend past, great show and decent turnout, but it was hot as lucifer's armpit. The humidity had me in a slow sleeper hold all day.

ps. write the script and we can make it into a graphic novel....lol

Little Brown Girl said...

SOSOSOSOSOSOSOSO...is u feelin better yet Homie?!?!

So...Wise...Sista said...

BG...We're BFFs!! lol

Ab...Damn, sorry i missed it. :( As for the graphic novel...I swear I wish i had the energy of a 19 year old.

PS...I hear LB is coming to Sonar on the 31st. Shall I count on you and Amadeo to help me smuggle in a flask?

RDizzle...Feeling FANTASTIC!
No? Not convinced? Me either, son.
Baby steps...planning the next vaca :)

The Brown Blogger said...

Heh, you were supposed to call me with your location.

We would have extracted you and wiped the whole area clean.

just like we did St. Mels.
Oh that's right. That island doesn't exist.

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