Monday, November 28, 2005

my girlfriend's back


I cant believe she comes back to me. Every time without fail. She comes back to me, jkg, so worthless and dirty and undeserving of her open arms and warm bosom. Such a stupid depraved man she comes back to, an idiot, a lowlife, a criminal. I cant believe how lucky I am. such a lucky fool, to have this woman have me.

jkg the DJ who doesn’t stand behind his decks anymore. Who doesn’t get inspired by his vinyl, no longer gleaming with rhythm and drums and no longer with that moist look in his eyes like each note will make him cry. She comes back to him with his turntables a corpse rotting in the living room in front of the window for all of Brooklyn to see. Ashamed and lazy and sick of trying because he no longer knows who he does it for.

and jkg the producer that gets stuck and frustrated and doesn’t even try to make music anymore because music is too important for him. Because music is holy and religious and he has no spirit. Music means you have something inside that can help cure the world or at least your people or maybe just your neighborhood and he has none of this just a boring still blackness inside that’s silent and blank like a piece of cold dirty metal in a pile of dirt.

She comes back to jkg and the house smells like cigarettes and his breath smells like death and cancer and he has a great novel in him but he wont write it because he doesn’t know enough words. His vocabulary fails him and he could never articulate what he feels or how it affects him. He can never describe the world because his language is limited and dying by the hour and he just drinks wine and smokes more cigarettes and thinks and reflects on what he will never have or be and his novel is in those thoughts. His stories are doomed and even the blood of them slides away through the grates of his mind into the sewer of nothing and never to be told.

And I am jkg and he is arrogant and vain and hides so much. he can only put his head in his hands and shake because his tears are dry and his hands are bloody. The blood of thieves and crimes and betrayal on them and he stinks and drools and snores at night and no woman would ever have him but her. Lea, L-bonita, L-over, L-tinkle, L-stumble, L-giggle, all the names I have given her to hide her from me and who I am, ashamed of what she would see and find. Embarrassed because he is a fake, a character, a quote, a culmination of everything in his past. Stories that make up nothing, that can be forgotten and no one would ever care or know. jkg who holds onto his past and her and these stories because he is disgusting and insignificant without them.

And she comes back to him every time. And every time he breathes such a heavy and sad sigh because he knows she shouldn’t, she should leave him and not return. She should let him go to drown in his past and his stories and his blood and boredom. She should let him disappear in his own filth but she wont. She comes home and smothers him with kisses and wraps her arms around him and her dimple touches his dimple and she whispers in his ear that she missed him so much and I missed you too I did to no end and it hurt and I never want to be away from you again I love you I love you fuck I love you so god damned much!

1 Comments:

Anonymous Anonymous said...


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8:01 PM EDT  

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:gray matters: by jkg is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.
Based on a work at downtownalleys.blogspot.com.