Permanence

I have been known to temper my more sinewy thoughts with the occasional free writing exercise on scraps of paper, countertops, book covers, emails, lose them, and then find them years later. And when it happens that I rediscover these portals to a past I claim to forget, I am always caught off guard by how foreign the words sound. It is as if some other force had taken a hold of me and for that moment I am a stranger to myself. The lastest find from mid July 2006 is as follows, from unknown context, unedited, and raw. Enjoy:

If I were to take back my venomous, spiteful, hateful, hurtful, malicious words and pack them in a suitcase, lug that case into the back yard and set it on fire, there would still be ashes left. If I took those ashes and shot them into the ocean from a canon for the whales to suck into their infinite bristles with micro-plankton some Japanese fisherman will harpoon that motherfucker and fry that ashy flesh up and some poor soul will devour that beast only to crap it out into some backed up sewage pipe that'd burst in some field in middle America. Even if the earth were to unite that ashy whale shit with the dirt some plant will sprout out and some cow will eat that plant and that same cow will turn into the bloody lump I eat for dinner with pickles and lettuce. It'll never go away at least not while I keep reminding myself with every night alone, and not while I'm running with no place to go, or searching obsessively for answers in endless pages of fiction. I want to do something stupid. I want to carve my heart out and hang it from my tree. I'll smash it until candy comes out. I'll make soup out of it. Soup's good for you, it's half digested already. Steps one and two are all done, cut and chew, done and done.