Tuesday, September 02, 2008

Knight Night

I was walking at 11:15pm. No direction or purpose. Much like all of life. I had just had an argument with a spoon. Since I live in my dingy apartment by myself I needed to fight with someone. So a spoon is my choice. That bastard had it coming. The spoon is merely a focal point for my irritation at my sudden dissipation of an elevation of self.
I walk slowly in my ten dollar sneakers. Hands thrust into my cracked leather jacket. I embrace the chill wraiths of night. My head is fogged and bewildered. Street lights deny me the right answer. Buzzing and busying themselves with lighting my darkened path. I go up to one such impudent whelp and begin to harangue it. It has no right to deem me not right. I then raise my left sneaker at a thirty degree angle and give it a sound kick which results in the adjective itself.
I limp slowly down the street. Cars are but a memory. The pavement has long since gone frigid without the grind and groan of mechanical beasts of burden and luxury. My head looks up and the barely seen stars. I was told that outside the city they are seen better. But since I am outside myself and simply cannot find my way home at this point and time then It'll have to do. It's 11:24pm.
This is the night that I have chosen to wander the earth. Like the undead I roam the earth. Not in search of my soul or an unsuspecting mortal. Although both would be entertaining. Heartened by this fact I look for someone.
Sounds fill my head. Whoops and hollers. Teens. Youths in the prime of adolescence. Free in their controlled freedom. Celebrating the night. Like a hero of old on a quest, they look to slay the night. To own it and make it theirs.
I see them with my dilated pupils. There's only 4 of them. Now six. Now 21,594. I shake my head before the numbers can latch on. Clever bastards. They must be in league with the spoon. The spoon. I hid that bastard where he can never get out. My fridge. I wonder if there's any mustard.
Again, I shake my head. Getting distracted from the rail of thought. The pupils are far up the street. I follow the yellow line road. Towards the Emerald City? If their a scarecrow, a lion and a wardrobe I'm out of here. I slowly weave like a rug towards them. What thoughts must run through their heads? What unspeakable horrors must they think I am? Will I scar them for life with my dishevelled looks and rictus smile? I gleefully and gladly think these thoughts when I realize I should've taken a left at Albuquerque. Avenue that is.
I wander slowly down the street. A park off to my left. Night makes everything frightful. Wishing I had a knight in shining armor to protect me from the sanguine darkness. I'm running out of time. Why is time in such a rush? I close of red eyes and breath in the night. It's cold and delightful in my throat. Clearing. There's a clearing up ahead. Deciding a decision I go towards it.
As I lay on this bed of grass full of warmth and chemical enhancers I look up to the satellites. This is my night. This night will remain forever in my mind. I am one with universe or perhaps an ace. The universe always has a card up it's sleeve. Like that bastard spoon. My smile remains fixed while my head is broken, my body swollen and my soul fractured. But I am well. Now I must think of an argument with that conniving fork.

5 comments:

Erroneous Monk said...

I am happy now. Its like eating a Malaysian.

Anonymous said...

That bastard spoon.
He'll get what's coming to him.

Erroneous Monk said...

I hate spoons. Its all knives for me. Stabby stab stab

the philosopher one said...

I see you've begun to let the red red krovvy of your writing flow again. It's good to hear the neurotic and insightful voice of your yet-to-be-named anti-hero again.

Erroneous Monk said...

Shhhh. Lets all watch michael stipe gyrate. My style flows like buffalo off a cliff, Mr No been-seen