Thursday, June 7, 2007

Tongue Fu

When I was eight years old my father took me to a neighborhood carnival. I immediately fixated on one of those huge inflatable structures that are filled with rubber balls and kids bouncing around like they're walking on the moon. To my amazement, even then, my father reluctantly parted with a hard earned quarter and I was on my way to living a dream. This is my first recollection of REALLY wanting something.

Pre-puberty excitement doesn't get any better than this as I crept on all fours up the inflatable ladder. I fought a strong gust of warm air as I parted the flapping tent-like doors and entered. There were kids everywhere screaming and laughing as they leaped high into the air.

I steadied myself and jumped up propelled by the endlessly bouncing surface. There was truly a feeling of weightlessness. I came down in slow motion and my knee connected with my chin which caused me to bite through my tongue. The whole room disappeared in a blinding white flash of excruciating pain as I slumped down into a crevice right near the entrance. Through a blurred haze of twisted carnival music I was vaguely aware of happy children stepping over me.

There's no moral here people. All my life I've continued to fixate immediately on things that were interesting to me, ie: playing jazz, animation, good literature, vaginas etc. I've caused myself to bleed many times along the way. Making dreams real can be very painful sometimes. I started this blog because as of last week I bit off what was left of my tongue and happy people don't have the time to try and understand me. What's up with happy people? I'll tell you what's up with happy people...they're not living their dreams.


Melissa Cole Smith said...

so nothing exciting for me, i'd prefer to keep my tongue. i'm on a good track so far. tongue...check. solemn fucking bitterness hidden in a crazed giggle...check.

dramatic..wha?! who?!

Mark McDonnell said...

I FUCKING LOVE YOU MAN!!! Not only did was I invited into the most prestine world of childhood dreams and memories, but I soiled myself and split open my serosis of the liver the DR. calls . . .not good.

God I miss you.