Archive for February, 2009
God
I’ve written about Atheism, liking the idea of Atheism, but I’m not an Atheist. I tend to believe in God, but not a happy God. I believe in Tori Amos’ God, a God Who doesn’t come through. I believe in Tyler Durden’s God, a God Who doesn’t want me, doesn’t like me, probably hates me. I believe in Elliott Smith’s God, a God Who makes problems just to see what I can stand before I do as the Devil pleases.
I tend to think that we’re God’s tv show. He probably doesn’t help us, He doesn’t hurt us, but I think He gives, or allows us obstacles to see how we’ll react, things to make the show more interesting. Mostly, He just watches as we find pleasure, or suffer. I don’t think God is actively out to fuck anybody over, but I definitely don’t count on Him to do me any favors.
Ultimately, all we can do is solve our own problems, and help each other out. God would just as soon watch you struggle and die than do anything about it.
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She’s like opium
She’s beautiful, so smart, endlessly interesting. You tell her these things, because they’re entirely true, because whenever she’s around you’re entirely happy, but she just smiles and looks away. She doesn’t think she’s particularly amazing, but you know she is, and you want her to know it. Talking with her is the most natural thing in the world, you’re both so ridiculously alike in your odd contemplations. Your wants and worries are so the same.
You’re a restless sort, rarely content, often lonely, no matter who’s around. You always feel that you ought to be somewhere else, but that somewhere is elusive, never within reach. These feelings are usually so palpable, but not when you’re with her. Lying next to her, holding her hand, her head on your shoulder, loneliness doesn’t exist. You don’t want to be some place else, there is no place else. Being close to her is like walking through an opiate fog, but that feeling of peace, of contentment is real, not a drugged out illusion. You want to say these things, her lying so close, but you don’t. Her brown eyes are gorgeous and bright, warm and alluring, they make you forget your way with words.
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Black and Gold
So, the Super Bowl is in town, as is my entire family. They’re all massive Steelers fans, massive enough to spend an entire day at the Steelers’ hotel waiting for autographs, sometimes prostituting me for said autographs. They’re family, so I don’t mind whoring myself for a special occasion.
At any rate, we’re all there, an entire hotel packed with people wearing Steeler black and gold. I wore black and gold too, but mine was a little different, a black cap with the gold Nirvana frowny face logo. A sea of football fans, and me with my Nirvana cap, dark purple nail polish, fifteen tattoos, and my iPod.
