lab mouse kitchen life
There’s not a lot in this world more terrible than the apartment of a single man living alone, in his thirties.
I’m not scared of a lot. I don’t have nightmares- And when I do, I feel like I am sitting there. Observing. My mind doesn’t go out of its way to spook me whilst I sleep. I don’t know that it could anymore.
I may be wrong- but my subconscious must be convinced I’ve received in reality more hurt than it was willing or able to imagine. Maybe that’s why I have no nightmares.
I walk in front of cars on busy streets, even when they make every attempt to show they are not going to stop. Stupid- yes. But not scared.
My kitchen sink, however- frightens me.
There are smells in that sink that i have never smelled before. And i have smelled a lot of things in my life. I’m a off and on wannabe artist, and I’ve acquainted to the smell of a lot of solvents- some that are illegal to possess.
But I have never smelled some of the things I am smelling in my kitchen right now. If some of the music of Nine Inch Nails ramming in my skull right now could smell, it would smell like some of the things in my kitchen.
I have been particularly neglecting the sink.
Things have just piled up there. All my cups and plates and forks and spoons.. It’s hopeless. Yesterday I went to get my red pepper hummus to put on some bread, and I needed some item of silverware to put it on top, and I looked at the sink, and I just turned away and just put it on there with my hand instead.
I keep this bottle of spray bleach by the sink. Not the ‘with bleach’ stuff. But the ‘bleach’ stuff. The stuff that reads ‘do not open this container’. The one that reads ‘are you sure yo want to buy this item and take it to your home?’. The one that reads ‘you may purchase this product if you are over thirty one years of age but we are required by the FDA to ask you not to never use it, you may only store it. In a basement ten miles from any residential property.’
So I figured to every now and then, walk by the sink and look in there thoughtfully at all the silverware piled up like a bunch of needles in a haystack, at all the cups and plates. And I take a drag of my cigarette because that’s the only way I can get near it.. And I’ll spray away at the sink with the bleach until i can’t stand the fumes and then i just walk away.
And everytime i come back it still has this very strange smell. Something is alive in there.
I think it must be some kind of yeast thing. Because it started the last time I made my perfect pizza. Myabe I jinxed the kitchen by cooking for only myself for the first time.
Today I’d made plans to go to New York, visit Rahul. I’ve known him forever. He suggested I come up, paint with him. Would be good.
And I felt the chicken all over me an hour before I was to pack up and rawk.
I think i figured it out.
I think when I feel bad- I feel safe being somewhere i know. Being at home.
It is nurturing- in whatever sick way- it’s just a space i know. However depressing sometimes.. it’s familiar.
So I staid. I was lucky to have an understanding friend.
I don’t plan on being locked in here for the rest of my life- I want to be an artist. That used to mean making “good” art. Then it used to mean selling art whether good or bad.
Now it means – what I judge it. If I decide I am worthy to myself to label thus. I don’t anticipate that happening soon. I will hold myself knife to the throat before I can allow that.
Being that- will entail some level of socializing- with peers- with .. something.
So- i will have to go out there, to see others.And i’ll enjoy it.
Just- for now. I think i feel safer at home- surrounded by the shit i know better than the shit i don’t know.
So I will clean. It will be funny.
Maybe I’ll make coffee.
I’ll make pizza again. It’s a little hard.. food tastes better when you share. I don’t really have anyone around to share it with- at least nobody who really appreciates the very good things I make.
I’ll do that… drop on miles davis kind of blue.. paint. Take a break to feel the sound of the rain on my windows.
The sink. I felt like taking pictures of it, it was so.. picturesque.
The large glas bowl I use to mix dough for pizza was especially interesting. I did think that the special chemistry in the sink had something to do with yeast. So as I cleaned this bowl- I considered just leaving like it was, just alittle bit- with some of the hardened specks of .. who knows.
See, whatever was in there was sure to make the dough rise in some strange way. Whatever it was would certainly be alive and growing. Maybe give the dough an extra kick- undoubtedly.
I just *considered* it.
The pizza came out a little sloppy but fabulous. I had forgotten it in there at the last step, the cheese step. I must have gotten so good at making pizza I can’t fuck it up even when it appears I’m trying.
2am. Should I keep painting? Can I stop? I’m fucking tired. I want to watch a movie and zombie out. Would it make me a loser? Yes. Fucking Fridays.
And then six am.
Not sleeping. Bad movies.. Good times.
What sucks about staying up late is that the day comes. And then you are no longer staying awake at night. Because people about you will begin to awaken.
The sun rises again.
When we are happy, we see then sun and we feel its warmth. When we are sad, we think the sun is uncaring. Mocking us, even. But the sun does not care about our joys and sorrows.
What was that velvet underground song I can hear so clearly now..
if you close the door
the night could last forever
leave the sunshine out
and say hello to never
