COPE, ASCETIC by Peter Breakfast


I couldn't say yes or no to the question I was just asked. It was more like some weird poetic rhetorical thing, but the lady was up front about wanting a yes or a no. No more of this beating around the bush stuff. It's definitive and you're just not saying it. You're dishonest with yourself. How could I be dishonest if the answer was far beyond my level of comprehension? This lady was getting almost mad. She wanted me to say "Okay, sorry. You're right" (She's always right) and mean it, say yes or no, and then end the conversation. She'd be happy then with an attitude for the rest of the night that said "see?"

      I'm remembering back to a few hours ago, looking at family photos on the fridge. Who the fuck wouldn't put a drawing their kid made on the fridge? I'm inclined to have a kid just so I can have his/her/its drawings. Maybe just put it up for adoption under contract that all artworks made until the age of 13 belong to me. 13 is when they start to go bad, gotta put them in the freezer, but then they get all stiff... what can you do but let their nascent egos run around at full speed? They'll learn for themselves, I guess, (or not and suffer the consequences) carve their own regrets.

      I have the weird habit, when I'm under the influence, of not hitting on people really, but just engaging in conversation a lot, following them around like a dog who's ostensibly indifferent, has loyalty but doesn't want to show it because it's not cool to be loyal or honest. (It obviously rarely works) So I talk through a guy's head, trying to look through his head into the head of the stone fox sitting behind him. It doesn't work, or course, his head is solid mass. A very important solid mass--I think he'd miss it if it suddenly went missing, but then how would he know? That's one thing that scares me. Not heights or bats or being on thin ice (literally or figuratively) or scary movies or germs (definitely not germs) but somehow ending up in a state of semi-awareness where I'm exactly at the midpoint of knowing how beautiful life was before and total retardation. So I say
"You ever read Flowers for Algernon?" and now I feel smart. It doesn't even matter what he says back.

      I like that yellow shirt there, the body underneath, (how the hell does that HAPPEN, the body underneath?). We spoke about our respective facial hair. I don't want to be seen seeing, but I want to see, and that's very hard at a party. Ogling is a very healthy... anyway, I'm the marble, cracks and all.

      My mind was on its toes. I was quick because I wasn't thinking, she was too, witty because of unawareness, instantaneous response, and arrogance. We're laughing now, harder than I remember laughing to anything because the joke is taking up my whole brain. I sink below the legs of people, so I can see their sock colors and shoes, and I can't easily tell whose shoes belong to whose bust. They're standing in circles with feet generally pointed in to make a wheel. We're celebrating here, loud on purpose and communicating to a degree that makes my smile muscles ache with joy. To celebrate what?

      So. much. food. The whole time I'm here--about 7 hours--my stomach is full and wants more. Bread pudding, soup, mashed potatoes, pumpkin goop, steamed greens, cookies, garlic bread, regular bread, crackers and cheese: brie, some kind of cheddar, gruyere, asiago (? I can't tell) Anyway, chocolates and soup and a huge fucking turkey...

      I literally sank into the couch. Couldn't breathe, had to slap myself in the face and swim back up. Now I can relax, soft is the couch and heavy am I and my gut. But wait... what's this? Humans are talking. Everywhere! I'm seeing and hearing these kids and adults from all directions like a sixth sense I suddenly slipped under. No matter what switch I hit, they keep coming, so I try different combinations of switches, I look around for other switches even though I'm absolutely positive these are the only switches. The food was festering so my body allocated some motor skills and brain power points down to help out the food. "Pizza head" they say in the east.

      So I was lying there in a dark room in bed trying to rest with it all.
      "When the apples came rolling down the hill I just didn't know what to do..." a voice from outside.
      "Heh. Well, these kids, okay, they make so much noise. I don't understand" I could hear someone maybe having sex or bad dreams in the next room over.
      "Isn't your son in there?"
      "That's not the point, Sal!"
And could barely hear because some kind of remix of a remix was straining to be heard over the drunken celebratory cackle. I imagine them to be dressed in black, the guys outside, and in their 30s--totally happy and comfortable enough to not have to put themselves in others' shoes anymore.

      I'm going to try now to sit here with it all inside and outside, knowing that it is. My chest gets heavy and softer, warmer, the mind slows to a blurry riff I heard echoing, some drums through pedals (but how can you put live drums through a pedal?) you're inside it and bright blue. It is all just here. With you I guess, but that's not important. The change is gone. Tears come out--Thank god! It's been a long time coming--because now you're comfortable enough for it to show up without boundaries, little bits you want fixed or moved. Serenity.

      I have the idea these guys are maybe cops or like cops gone bad, like they gave the chief their gun and badge yesterday because they blew up that bridge in a totally earnest attempt to stop these goddamn kids, but the chief doesn't understand, thinks the leads they're following are flimsy, and sees it as a terrible move, irrational, and bad press. That's absolutely unacceptable, but they're not going to give up yet. Okay it was either people having sex in the next room or someone masturbating.

      The sounds around of people walking in and out of the bathroom, walking anywhere, mostly talking, drums (!), the ambiguous sex sounds, doors, ovens ("we forgot about the lasagna!"), lots of laughter, the men outside, travel through the walls' wood like flower oil and mix nicely with the cold quiet of everything else. Our bodies metabolize the food into glucose which our cells use to create copies of themselves and follow instructions in our DNA. "Sorry, just following orders, boss!" "I don't want any more excuses outta you, Johnson! Now you're a good worker. Start acting like it." And what can you say because that guy is like the boss's boss. Yessir yessir. Okay, just want the paycheck so I can do what I want when you're not here, I'm not here. I'm not here.

      S--T--R--E--T--C--H ing and I guess I could lie here a while. I've got blankets enough.