Let’s see.. how would a writer tell this story..
I mean, one thing I won’t do in writing is lie- agrandize an event for the sake of a story.
I don’t think that’s necessary.
If you see something- and it hits you.. It’s how you feel. What you thought as you saw that in front of you. Life. People. Beautiful sad people in the rainy, cold, cashmere sweatter of the beginning of winter.
It’s about how you feel. What you see and how you wrap your perception about it.
I want to think of myself as an observer. Not a detached observer. But I want to think of my perception in a event- as being slow. Being careful, with arms outstreched in stoic cynicism. And so most often of these moments- I cannot judge. I have to fall back to the bleechers of the amateur comic humour. The, “it would be funny- if it were not real, so I’ll just smile just a hint, and walk on by..”.
But I am every bit fucked up as you can be. And when I see wro- Well, who cares, really.
It’s.. what.. Thursday? I dunno. . It’s 7pm to my east coast brothers and sisters.. but to me.. I’ve been awake through two nights now.
My mind is so abused.. I can’t calculate how many hours I have been awake. That’s how burnt I feel–
But I could write a program that would tell me to the minute how long I have been without sleep. I could do that well.
I’ve been coding maybe three fourths of that time. I’ve been coding at work because I had my first ever hacker fuck up on Monday. And I had to shut down part of .. anyhow.. I had to figure that out.
In all that time I ate little- I drank a lot of orange juice, maybe 2 gallons. I drank.. enough coffee to kill a toddler. Without doubt.
I have smoked – a lot. I see corpses of various cigarette brands about my aparment. I see cups full to absurdity with cigarette butts. It seems once it’s full, I just keep squeezing more butts in between the old butts.. so that about the base of such vessels.. there are ashes and displaced butts around it.
I would have thought it was so horrible when I was a teenager. Now.. it’s art.
I know last night I did not sleep. I know the night before that.. so.. Wed, Tue, I must have woken up on monday then.
I had to solve some serious problems- some .. not so serious- but important to other people.
I had a close friend who had troubles with developing a site with some developer up in NY. I was asked to look at some of the problems. That’s what I spent Wed 10pm to this morning about 10am.
Before that.. I was trying to polish some work to ease categorization of media in wordpress and and for possibly the worst piece of trash in the world, gallery3. That’s what I worked on last night. Ten hours or work, or.. maybe 13? No pay. It’s quite alright. I like a fucking challenge. I like to solve problems. To create solutions. And I’ve gotten quite capable at it, I believe.
So in all this time.. I could not enjoy a beer- a hit of weed. Or.. that other thing.
The other thing.
See, part of the reason I’ve been able to be awake for two nights and three suns..
I developed a plan to fight depression. One of the essential components- is that I cannot be awake past midnight. That’s the worst. When it’s quiet- and everyone is asleep- and I am left alone- with myself. And it’s not safe, I am my own worst enemy, then.
I landed enough hard core prescription sleeping pills to put an elephant into a coma (probably).
And, between eight and ten.. I take a pill. Not the kind that kinda makes you tired and you get sleepy. But, the kind that when it does kick- it fucking punches you in the gutt and you just pass out. Not something you want to overdose on. There are very few pills that can casually kill you. This can.
There are a few things I have done, that I can count on one hand- that has kept me alive in the last weeks. And going to sleep before midnight.. That has been essential.
I found out one weekend.. that if I don’t take that pill.. I don’t sleep. Wait- let’s explain. I don’t feel the need for sleep. I don’t feel tired. It’s actually, creepy, yes a little bit.
So, Monday night, I didn’t take a pill. Nor Tuesday night. Or was it Wednesday???
Anyhow.. I’ve been downing coffee until I had none. I’ve been .. . hacking php. Which I can only compare to sucking half hard four inch circumcised eighty year old smegma ridden “dick” while …While hacking php.
I am so thankful- to whatever.. That I am a somewhat disciplined perl hacker.
Or maybe- Quite the contary- for if I wasn’t a perl developer- I wouldn’t see php for the bunch of botched lobotomy half dead drunken philistine junkie half assed poser tools that those “coders” are. Because let’s face it my unixy brethren- there’s nothing wrong with php. It’s the php “coders”- their complete lack of discipline- documentation- consistency.. It’s.. It’s like walking into a children’s hospital and everywhere you look, there are little kids crying in the corners- you look in one room and a six year old slashed his wrists and nobody pays attention- and you ask “Is that one ok? I don’t know about this.. This seems out of place..” And the nurse looks at you and says “What? Nah.. Ok.. Yeah. What?!”.
It’s like.. Like being asked to help fix a problen in a php driven website. That’s how scarring it is.
After that.. After that and after recovering from my first hacker’s fuckup (everyone has to have one, I thought mine would not come if this late in the game).. I have earned a beer.. Radiohead, Nine Inch Nails, some fine weed.. (Because you know- I can’t code on *any* of that shit.) And.. maybe I won’t paint this night. Maybe I’ll just..
Wait. Until it’s later. And I’ll put out that bowl outside my apartment, with some cat food.
This lady- she must be about sixty years old but she’s got the fire of a twenty year old woman- She stopped me one night a few weeks ago. She said she had seen my lost cat Paper around here. With a white spot over the chest, all black. I haden’t seen him in maybe five months. She said he was skinny, and taller.. And he was hungry looking through the trash. She asked me for my phone number- that she would call me if she saw him. I was appreciative to have a nice and caring person in the neighborhood like this. It’s important to be kind to strangers- you know- because the stranger is *us*.
I put out tuna that night, right in front of the aparment, where cars park. I didn’t think I’d see anything. I had a smoke barefoot in the cold, looked at the clouds in the sky- and called it a night. There’s a big hole in the window- so when I laid down to sleep on my perfect bedcouch- I heard something. I heard… Metal- scraping.
I looked outside, and waddya know.
It took me a second- This guy.. had a white paw. It wasn’t Paper.
I went outside.. This guy was very hungry. He was frightened of me. But I know cats. I know how to show them respect- and a little disinterest as well- that makes them curious. Like with a fine woman.
So I sat down and made myself small. And he came back and took clumps of tuna and ran back and forth. And we looked at each other a little eye to eye, and he did not like that, not even a little. I looked away slowly, sensing his fright- his mad hunger for the solid white albacore tuna in that can.
There was little left. I stood up casually and went inside for- well, for a second can of tuna of course. I thought that after that whole can- he would probably not want any more.
Oh no. He wanted more. He fought his fear of my presence- took mouthfuls, ran away, ran back..
And then…
He was gone.
And the tuna was gone!
Motherfucker- He had grabbed the whole can in his mouth and ran off with it.
I laughed at myself and looked under the cars- Alright man, you beat me- you smart fucker..
That’s a stray, alright.
Every night I put out food for him, and I see him through the window sometimes.
Every morning I walk outside and bring back in an empty bowl. I have two just like it- which is a rarity in my kitchen of single unique things all over. I bring in that empty bowl and it goes in the sink. And then that night after work- the other one will go out. It’s clockwork. We’ve established that. Me and.. hmm… Fausto?
Yeah, I think I’ll do that.
Leave some more food out for Mr Fausto. Maybe read some Bukowski or stare at the walls and listen to garbage.
Jerk off to some porn, because I just won’t do the real thing anymore. And maybe then, I will sleep. Maybe that will be enough to let me slide under the radar one more time. To the place of sleep. Of dreams. A place of safety and randomness.
If it’s not.. Well– I will know by 4 am if not. At that time, it will be called for- to walk to the store for some fine Ethiopian coffee beans.
