Arcturus (![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} books_out_loud) wrote,@ 2008-03-20 14:43:00 |
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Tenatively titled Coffee Monologue 1
So I had this idea the other day. I've decided that any time I find myself drinking a cup of coffee, I'm going to write. I'm going to write whatever comes into my head, and if nothing comes into my head, I'm going to write about drinking coffee in my surroundings.
Here's the results.
March 19th
8:09am - Even the bricks here are faded. The people here, the environment, everything. It's all so characterless and crusted. The people have become too dull to realize that they've all given up. Anyone over 40 has this I'm-making-the-best-of-things outlook. It's like they all manage to wake up in the morning and tell themselves the same lie. It's baffling.
My 2nd real cup of coffee today - I say 'second', counting the two half-cups from earlier this morning as 1 - is served by an older woman. She is of some kind Hispanic descent. She's probably in her late thirty's, early forties. Realistically, she doesn't look bad for her age. Will I see myself as old when I'm there? In fifteen years, will I consider myself old? I don't know.
The coffee is made with the same water that runs through the pipes in this place. It tastes like the dinge that infests the atmosphere here. It covers everyone's faces and conversations. It's sick, but not as sick as being half asleep and holding the same haze over my head as everyone else. I drink deep.
Watching the people here is good. It keeps me focused on where I can't end up. It keeps my head straighter than I often like to admit. While the mental stimulus that I've requested isn't worth half the money I'm dumping into this place, the deafening chatter of the everyday man consumed with things that don't matter - His expensive television, The game he missed last night, The kid who keyed his new-last-year SUV - almost makes up for the slack. For half my money I get told what to do, and for the other half I get shown what not to do. Repulsive.
There's a girl sitting 2 tables down from me. She's got this annoyingly condescending laugh, and doesn't pronounce the word "that" correctly. She's talking to someone about myspace, and it makes me want to take her phone and expel it into orbit. With a note attached. "Return to sender. Myspace url : "Insert URL Here". Why can't people just send letters anymore? Which reminds me, I need to write Tim back.
1:05pm - The 3rd and 4th cups come with lunch. Pancakes, eggs, bacon, and hash browns. I was lucky. I got to order "Lunch" at 11:55. The cook probably hates me for it. I'm sitting with Ryan and Chris, drinking coffee and waiting for our food to finish. While waiting we talk about leprosy, bad haircuts, and that bald guy who's into all of those conspiracy theories. All over those two cups of coffee.
I think when the world ends, I'll be doing just this. If I have any say in it, any kind of warning, this is how it'll go down for me. While everyone else in the world is trying their hardest to get laid as much as possible, or crying, or running around screaming, I want to be sitting in a diner. My only companion will be my favorite cup of black loneliness.
Now that I'm back at writing, and digesting my food, I find myself sitting next to a beautiful woman. She is porcelain. A china doll. She's not helping the process though. I'm thinking too much about her, and getting nervous for no reason. She's got the most perfect skin I've ever seen. It's unreal. Her children will probably be hideous. The world needs more beautiful minds paired with bodies like hers. I've heard her speak before though, she's intelligent. Maybe the world just needs more people like her in general.
She's probably got some Johnny waiting at the end of the line for her every day. Ring, ring.
She's stroking her hair now. She might be a bit more vain than I thought. That's a shame. (Thinking like this isn't helping the digestion either.)
She's quiet, book smart, and probably too scared of the unfamiliar for her own good. A damn shame.
I need another cup of coffee.
1:58 - She gets up and walks out. I don't know why, but I followed her. I guess I was feeling brave, or just lonely. Probably both. What the hell was I going to say to someone like her? Nothing she hadn't heard 1000 times before from some puffy haired yutz. Some slobbering grease ball with charisma up to *here* who just wants to get his dick wet. Then again, she'd probably think I'm no different, minus the charisma and some of the grease.
She must have forgotten something inside, because as she reaches the stairs, she turns around. When she faces me I smile, but she's staring at the floor. A practice that I'm more than familiar with. I move out of the way and silently continue down the stairs as if nothing happened. As if I was walking of my own accord.
It's raining outside. A fitting atmosphere for my mood, and my senseless behavior. Dreary. Grey. Tiring. I step into the rain and then step back under the awning. I pretend to check my watch, and look for someone until she walks out. This would be the part where a normal person would have tried to strike up a conversation. But normal people don't make accounts like this. I take a sip of my coffee.
She emerges with an umbrella. Proper planning I suppose. Another tally on the list of positives for this one. She doesn't see me standing there, or if she does, she doesn't acknowledge it. Maybe she was staring at the ground again, maybe not. I don't know. I watch her walk about 50 feet down the road, and then start out after her.
What are you doing? She's not going to be interested. Why are you following her if you're not even going to talk to her? I am going to talk to her. No you're not. You know you're not. Stop. Well, I could talk to her. But you won't. You'll make excuses like 'I'll say hi next time' No, I- Yes you will. Be realistic. Stop walking.
I stopped.
After watching her round a corner and head towards a parking lot, I started to feel like my old defeated self again. I turned and headed inside the gas station I happened to stop in front of. It's here where I acquired my 5th cup for the day. My portable social-insulation. I can feel the desire melt away with every sip. As I drink it down, the want is replaced by the bitter taste of late night conversations with no one. I am at home here. Within myself.
3:10 - On the way to where I've currently situated myself, I walked past some people I knew. Never a good experience. They were talking, exchanging the same kind of meaningless banter that gets tossed back and forth by everyone else around here. It's like a plague. A stone forms in my stomach thinking that they will ask me to join them. They look at me like they have no idea who I am though, and I'm pretty sure that one of them laughed at me. I shaved my head 2 weeks ago, and I've not yet been more thankful for it. The laughter is certainly something I'm used to, and so I'm allowed to continue walking in peace. The rain keeps me company, that's all I need.
As I start into the 6th cup I find myself sitting next to some student-actors practicing, maybe for a specific play, maybe just for personal betterment. Probably the former though. I find that most of my "peers" don't have any kind of ambition for self-improvement. If something is required, the task will be accomplished with minimal effort exerted. Regardless of why they are practicing, whoever the lead female role is, (while I can not hear the words she speaks, I can tell from her speech flow) she is terribly nervous. Either that, or she needs to find a new career calling. Hardly a heart breaker.
The actors have disband now, and it's quiet. The good kind of quiet that's usually reserved for fishermen, librarians, and pre-dawn athletes. People devoted to concentration. It's almost sacredly rare in public places. So I sit and enjoy my coffee for the moment. The only noise being the scratch of my pen on this paper.
A crowd of old women is passing me now. They've abolished my silence. My solitude being stampeded over like a fat American tourist caught on the wrong street during the running of the bulls. The women are talking about some people they know and television shows. Behind them, more people are coming. It's time for me to move. I walk back out into the grey, with my half finished coffee.
I walk past the actors sitting on a bench. They're discussing American versus European beer. A real couple characters, goddamn worldly assholes they are. I am filled with an inexplicable hatred for their conversation. I keep walking, my coffee keeping my hands warm. I take another drink and forget about the actors, there's no need to concern myself with them anyway. The truth is comforting like that, and my truth is that I have to keep myself focused. My truth is an oil slick. My truth is that there's little sunshine in my future, and I'm okay with that. The truth is comforting like sleeping someplace you wanted to end up. Like good memories. Like not regretting anything.
Like a hot cup of coffee.
Or, if you don't want to read that (it's pretty long) you can download an audio file of me reading it.
Mediafire: http://www.mediafire.com/?nwycyttvu
Sendspace: http://www.sendspace.com/file/0cl4d
Rapidshare: http://rapidshare.com/files/101040581/c
Take your pick and enjoy.
So I had this idea the other day. I've decided that any time I find myself drinking a cup of coffee, I'm going to write. I'm going to write whatever comes into my head, and if nothing comes into my head, I'm going to write about drinking coffee in my surroundings.
Here's the results.
March 19th
8:09am - Even the bricks here are faded. The people here, the environment, everything. It's all so characterless and crusted. The people have become too dull to realize that they've all given up. Anyone over 40 has this I'm-making-the-best-of-things outlook. It's like they all manage to wake up in the morning and tell themselves the same lie. It's baffling.
My 2nd real cup of coffee today - I say 'second', counting the two half-cups from earlier this morning as 1 - is served by an older woman. She is of some kind Hispanic descent. She's probably in her late thirty's, early forties. Realistically, she doesn't look bad for her age. Will I see myself as old when I'm there? In fifteen years, will I consider myself old? I don't know.
The coffee is made with the same water that runs through the pipes in this place. It tastes like the dinge that infests the atmosphere here. It covers everyone's faces and conversations. It's sick, but not as sick as being half asleep and holding the same haze over my head as everyone else. I drink deep.
Watching the people here is good. It keeps me focused on where I can't end up. It keeps my head straighter than I often like to admit. While the mental stimulus that I've requested isn't worth half the money I'm dumping into this place, the deafening chatter of the everyday man consumed with things that don't matter - His expensive television, The game he missed last night, The kid who keyed his new-last-year SUV - almost makes up for the slack. For half my money I get told what to do, and for the other half I get shown what not to do. Repulsive.
There's a girl sitting 2 tables down from me. She's got this annoyingly condescending laugh, and doesn't pronounce the word "that" correctly. She's talking to someone about myspace, and it makes me want to take her phone and expel it into orbit. With a note attached. "Return to sender. Myspace url : "Insert URL Here". Why can't people just send letters anymore? Which reminds me, I need to write Tim back.
1:05pm - The 3rd and 4th cups come with lunch. Pancakes, eggs, bacon, and hash browns. I was lucky. I got to order "Lunch" at 11:55. The cook probably hates me for it. I'm sitting with Ryan and Chris, drinking coffee and waiting for our food to finish. While waiting we talk about leprosy, bad haircuts, and that bald guy who's into all of those conspiracy theories. All over those two cups of coffee.
I think when the world ends, I'll be doing just this. If I have any say in it, any kind of warning, this is how it'll go down for me. While everyone else in the world is trying their hardest to get laid as much as possible, or crying, or running around screaming, I want to be sitting in a diner. My only companion will be my favorite cup of black loneliness.
Now that I'm back at writing, and digesting my food, I find myself sitting next to a beautiful woman. She is porcelain. A china doll. She's not helping the process though. I'm thinking too much about her, and getting nervous for no reason. She's got the most perfect skin I've ever seen. It's unreal. Her children will probably be hideous. The world needs more beautiful minds paired with bodies like hers. I've heard her speak before though, she's intelligent. Maybe the world just needs more people like her in general.
She's probably got some Johnny waiting at the end of the line for her every day. Ring, ring.
She's stroking her hair now. She might be a bit more vain than I thought. That's a shame. (Thinking like this isn't helping the digestion either.)
She's quiet, book smart, and probably too scared of the unfamiliar for her own good. A damn shame.
I need another cup of coffee.
1:58 - She gets up and walks out. I don't know why, but I followed her. I guess I was feeling brave, or just lonely. Probably both. What the hell was I going to say to someone like her? Nothing she hadn't heard 1000 times before from some puffy haired yutz. Some slobbering grease ball with charisma up to *here* who just wants to get his dick wet. Then again, she'd probably think I'm no different, minus the charisma and some of the grease.
She must have forgotten something inside, because as she reaches the stairs, she turns around. When she faces me I smile, but she's staring at the floor. A practice that I'm more than familiar with. I move out of the way and silently continue down the stairs as if nothing happened. As if I was walking of my own accord.
It's raining outside. A fitting atmosphere for my mood, and my senseless behavior. Dreary. Grey. Tiring. I step into the rain and then step back under the awning. I pretend to check my watch, and look for someone until she walks out. This would be the part where a normal person would have tried to strike up a conversation. But normal people don't make accounts like this. I take a sip of my coffee.
She emerges with an umbrella. Proper planning I suppose. Another tally on the list of positives for this one. She doesn't see me standing there, or if she does, she doesn't acknowledge it. Maybe she was staring at the ground again, maybe not. I don't know. I watch her walk about 50 feet down the road, and then start out after her.
What are you doing? She's not going to be interested. Why are you following her if you're not even going to talk to her? I am going to talk to her. No you're not. You know you're not. Stop. Well, I could talk to her. But you won't. You'll make excuses like 'I'll say hi next time' No, I- Yes you will. Be realistic. Stop walking.
I stopped.
After watching her round a corner and head towards a parking lot, I started to feel like my old defeated self again. I turned and headed inside the gas station I happened to stop in front of. It's here where I acquired my 5th cup for the day. My portable social-insulation. I can feel the desire melt away with every sip. As I drink it down, the want is replaced by the bitter taste of late night conversations with no one. I am at home here. Within myself.
3:10 - On the way to where I've currently situated myself, I walked past some people I knew. Never a good experience. They were talking, exchanging the same kind of meaningless banter that gets tossed back and forth by everyone else around here. It's like a plague. A stone forms in my stomach thinking that they will ask me to join them. They look at me like they have no idea who I am though, and I'm pretty sure that one of them laughed at me. I shaved my head 2 weeks ago, and I've not yet been more thankful for it. The laughter is certainly something I'm used to, and so I'm allowed to continue walking in peace. The rain keeps me company, that's all I need.
As I start into the 6th cup I find myself sitting next to some student-actors practicing, maybe for a specific play, maybe just for personal betterment. Probably the former though. I find that most of my "peers" don't have any kind of ambition for self-improvement. If something is required, the task will be accomplished with minimal effort exerted. Regardless of why they are practicing, whoever the lead female role is, (while I can not hear the words she speaks, I can tell from her speech flow) she is terribly nervous. Either that, or she needs to find a new career calling. Hardly a heart breaker.
The actors have disband now, and it's quiet. The good kind of quiet that's usually reserved for fishermen, librarians, and pre-dawn athletes. People devoted to concentration. It's almost sacredly rare in public places. So I sit and enjoy my coffee for the moment. The only noise being the scratch of my pen on this paper.
A crowd of old women is passing me now. They've abolished my silence. My solitude being stampeded over like a fat American tourist caught on the wrong street during the running of the bulls. The women are talking about some people they know and television shows. Behind them, more people are coming. It's time for me to move. I walk back out into the grey, with my half finished coffee.
I walk past the actors sitting on a bench. They're discussing American versus European beer. A real couple characters, goddamn worldly assholes they are. I am filled with an inexplicable hatred for their conversation. I keep walking, my coffee keeping my hands warm. I take another drink and forget about the actors, there's no need to concern myself with them anyway. The truth is comforting like that, and my truth is that I have to keep myself focused. My truth is an oil slick. My truth is that there's little sunshine in my future, and I'm okay with that. The truth is comforting like sleeping someplace you wanted to end up. Like good memories. Like not regretting anything.
Like a hot cup of coffee.
Or, if you don't want to read that (it's pretty long) you can download an audio file of me reading it.
Mediafire: http://www.mediafire.com/?nwycyttvu
Sendspace: http://www.sendspace.com/file/0cl4d
Rapidshare: http://rapidshare.com/files/101040581/c
Take your pick and enjoy.
