Standing at the base of the astounding architectural wonder that marks the entrance to my section of town, Prague 3, I couldn't help but wonder if I'd had 3-7 drinks too many. It was a monster of a tower, stretching high into the air...lit blue and red along an off-chute that looked to be a pricey dining establishment. I'm guessing it was the final phase of construction, the cherry on top, that spun my mind. Giant babies...at least a half dozen of them, all with vagina faces, scaling the tower with what I could only presume to be a fearless tenacity?
And where were their mothers?
...
I began running this morning in considerable pain. My left knee...the one I spun off 10 to 20 thousand times too many in a previous life, wasn't having any of this marathon training "bull shit." Every lift felt as if inseparable joints were coming apart. I tried side stepping, back peddling, high knee-ing, ass kicking...no avail. The music was all I had to lean on. A delicate batch made for and named after a girl called Lindsey who I burned the CD for back in the real world. 16 songs of perfection to smuggle into the afterlife...else find doom at the hands of an eternal purgatory of let down.
Yes, that good.
But my knee ceases to become forgetful and all I can tell myself is that this is the moment the rest of the world breaks down, turns back.
Ahead, just before the first tear fell, my road veered left. And to the right...a nothing road straight into the forest. I ran through the dense bushes, stumbled on a thick tree root before re-gaining balance. From this point, I had a 9 inch wide dirt path with which to operate my footing. Between careful steps, I remember thinking that it was in these very woods that Hansel was sodomized by the wolf...or that just beyond the clearing, I'll certainly find the house where Little Red Riding Hood had her first taste of girl on girl action with the snub nosed witch.
I pushed through the pain - as the thick forest buried me...as the sun fought trees to reach spots of my desperate face...as the darkening leaves fell around my suddenly gliding footsteps...as the drop on Cat Stevens' "Father and Son" kicked in...
The pain escaped. And in that moment, I left a different breed of tear behind.
...
In 11 hours, I leave town...aware again, my propensity for self destruction.
But I was sitting in the lobby today, reading in a serene corner - American Psycho. Patrick Bateman had just cut open a Sharpei and proceeded to "randomly stab" the owner in "the face and head" before "running down Broadway, then up Broadway, then down again, screaming like a banshee, coat open, flying out like some sort of cape."
I looked up and laughed, found eyes with the only other girl in the room as if, "Did you just read that?"
No. Her literary choice, the King James Bible, made me certain that one of us was potentially seriously being misled...
And I'll certainly pray for her. If I can remember, that is.
