Thursday, September 24, 2009
Witch's Moon
He would stand still and stare at something for minutes on end, including you. He would look right into your eyes and hold the gaze and freeze and it felt as if he were looking into your soul. He might have been. He was tweaking and drinking, so they said.
He would say something meaningful and two minutes later recite the same thing back and you would realize he was just repeating lyrics to a song. It was hard to tell if he knew what he was doing.
"Yeah, he's done everything. It is hard to tell whether he is just fried or incredibly dumb or both."
He wandered the streets like a child at 11 o clock at night talking to whoever he could find. In the suburbs. I didn't even think that happened in the suburbs.
Somewhere along the way he lost his working conception of social conventions. He got into trouble with dudes and chicks just the same, and got a thrashing time and time again.
He turned to me and stared straight into my eyes and his eyes were intense yet vacant. He said to me, "Look it's the witch's moon." And I looked and the moon was a crescent and it must have looked damned beautiful to him. He laughed and continued holding my gaze, and held out his hand and gave me props like I used to in junior high and laughed again. I laughed, maybe nervously, but I don't think he picked up on it. I found him remarkable and pitiful at the same time. It wasn't a good feeling.
Drugs are like everything else. You can have way too much of them and that's a bad thing. And variety isn't really a spice of that life. You just mush your head up. But maybe he was happy. It was hard to tell. It didn't seem that way though, as he was yelling on the phone at the woman he divorced. And then he was eventually threatened with a call to the police.
He would say something meaningful and two minutes later recite the same thing back and you would realize he was just repeating lyrics to a song. It was hard to tell if he knew what he was doing.
"Yeah, he's done everything. It is hard to tell whether he is just fried or incredibly dumb or both."
He wandered the streets like a child at 11 o clock at night talking to whoever he could find. In the suburbs. I didn't even think that happened in the suburbs.
Somewhere along the way he lost his working conception of social conventions. He got into trouble with dudes and chicks just the same, and got a thrashing time and time again.
He turned to me and stared straight into my eyes and his eyes were intense yet vacant. He said to me, "Look it's the witch's moon." And I looked and the moon was a crescent and it must have looked damned beautiful to him. He laughed and continued holding my gaze, and held out his hand and gave me props like I used to in junior high and laughed again. I laughed, maybe nervously, but I don't think he picked up on it. I found him remarkable and pitiful at the same time. It wasn't a good feeling.
Drugs are like everything else. You can have way too much of them and that's a bad thing. And variety isn't really a spice of that life. You just mush your head up. But maybe he was happy. It was hard to tell. It didn't seem that way though, as he was yelling on the phone at the woman he divorced. And then he was eventually threatened with a call to the police.
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