|4AM: Casanova's Curse
||[Aug. 23rd, 2009|11:38 am]
I want to tell you my story. God knows I've taken enough stabs at it over the years. There were times where I would blink and three hours had gone by while I poured my heart out, begging anyone, everyone to come take a look. In the end I wonder if I did it mainly for critique. In the end I always threw up my arms in dismay, disgusted at how self-effacing it sounded, or self-glorifying. If I were to tell it in a linear way, you would spend half the story wanting to pick me up and dust me off and the other half wanting to believe that no one like me would ever really exist. |
I've learned to doubt the permanence of things, is that the wisdom I've amassed over all of these strange ventures? I've learned to doubt forever, if not for everyone for me.
Before you say that I'm morbid I have also learned to love everything about impermanence. I've learned that just as things don't stay forever very rarely are they gone forever. I've seen dead suns rekindled. I've seen the world take away for good what it offered up willingly in only a few heartbeats. For so many people impermanence means absence,
-but it also means the absence of absence.
It's just so many stories, do you understand? Maybe I'll be able to get them all out; maybe every single one will be true.
Then again maybe I'll lie about the whole thing just to entertain you.
Part of the problem is knowing where to start. Even my birth was strange, but what brought me here, to this I am who is just a voice, just some disembodied group of words trying to reach out in accordance with his craft and say "here is where I've planted the flag, here's danger, here's Eden."
I can tell you stories of bleeding half to death. I can also tell you stories of bouncing a strobe-light ball around for two hours laughing uncontrollably with half a dozen complete strangers. Which would you rather hear first? Which would you be more sure was real?
And if I told you that one night I saved a dozen people from freezing to death, will it cushion the blow when I tell you I got caught by my wife having a threesome on our anniversary? Which story would you remember, which one would you tell about me. Who would you see if I really showed you?
There are questions now, about my heart and if I have one. I think I've analyzed what it means to have a heart until I made it disappear. But I know that I still love, and well all know the heart is not located where you think it is anyway.
A good pretext to all of this would be for you to know that I am excellent liar. If you don't want to be lied to you should leave right now. But everyone is lied to in stories, and why are you still reading if you didn't want to hear the story?
So should I tell you a story that will make you interested? Make you curious enough to put me on your bookmark?
I'm so very glad they still call them bookmarks.
I was bleeding to death. I know you're immediately curious about why I was bleeding to death, but if I tell you I was stabbed wouldn't that just make it worse? It did, didn't it? The details I'll tell you later but I was bleeding to death. We are in a small car hurtling toward the hospital as fast as its little heart would carry it. Surprisingly that ended up being almost a hundred miles an hour. Lucky me.
I was trying to stay awake, but eventually I couldn't and here is what I saw.
The car jerked to a halt in front of the emergency room. I tried to open the door but by then it took every bit of concentration to stay awake. I knew this wouldn't be just another bit of unconsciousness. When you become unconscious the world goes black, and mine was definitely trying to go white. I see nurses and doctors and actually hear one say to me "If you live."
There's a moment of complete... sorry to sound like a broken record here but, whiteness, around me. No loved ones, no relatives, but a sense of certainty that was overwhelming. It was an idea that all was as it should be whatever it should be. I awake with a scream as they dig around in my insides to assess the damage.
I tell my girlfriend I'm sorry that we argued, to tell my family I was sorry too. The doctor told me to count backward.
When I wake up, nine piercings had been replaced by one hundred and nineteen staples down the center of my stomach. That month in the hospital I can only remember two things. Gosh, the Morphine was just tops, and somewhere there were people plotting to put my friend in jail forever, or at least as close to forever as children barely twenty could conceive.
My first stop was the District Attorneys, where I told them I'd be happy to testify at an assault trial, but I'd find myself unavailable to recall the events in an attempted murder trial. I explain that speed stabbed me, and I'd be happy to testify also at an attempted murder trial for that.
The last I heard he was working at a greenhouse and nursery.
Is that too flowery for you? Would you still be reading if I told you how it happened in the first place? And if I told you this story was true to the last word would you believe it? Which do you want to hear more?
How I lived, or why I deserved it?
Impermanence, of perception and ideas of who are heroes and who are villains is what I've learned. I've learned that apathy is the only negator. My best friends have been my enemies. My enemies are my best friends.
Here we go friends. I'm going to tell the whole story from beginning to end. Paulina to Bebe. Deep throat parties to nights spent homeless mid-winter. Abandoned daughters and betrayal and who knows what else. And if while I do it you find yourself hating me, then let me be your villain and enjoy the victory of those victimized. If I fall on the other side of the balance then enjoy the times I've landed on my feet, because in this world we all deserve to be happy, though we are never entitled to an easy path to it.
My name is Angel. It's occurred to me to let people know I haven't died, simply because everyone seems to see it as such a constant possibility. I used to write once, describe what these things feel like in our mind, that classic tragic literary jazz about the highs in the light and the lows in the dark. And I think perhaps it's time to come back. I think if I took another stab at it I'd have something to teach you this time. After all for the first time there's no reason to lie.
-unless I want to.
Angel Wylde 8/22/09