Thursday, August 28, 2014
Jacob lives in a perfectly modern, well-lighted and clean apartment, however there is a spiderweb nearly the size of the apartment in the middle of everything. It just fills the whole darn place up with its sticky flossiness. The web's anchors are in every corner of every room. You can't walk normally in the apartment. You have to do the spiderweb limbo constantly. And this limbo gets Jacob and his guests aroused. So a lot of sex happens at Jacob's place. All kinds of sex. Curiously enough, there is no actual spider. Just that humongous web.
The plants die and I am okay with it. The plants die and I feel attached to the vases of dirt. I continue to water them as if they continued to have thirst, to drink. I try to remember to talk to them, for their well-being and mine. I tell myself this is only a little bit Norman Bates. And maybe Norman Bates isn't such a bad role model. He understood that loneliness is central, and he found a way to circumvent loneliness. So, he performed the poet's function. True, his solution did involve making an extremely large number of deep holes in people with a long knife. But, to speak the psychobabble, at least Norman was "advocating for himself." Yay, Norman. Okay, I lied. The plants die and I am not really okay with it. It feels personally directed, that dying. It feels designed to hurt me. But I still talk to the places they were. I talk to the nurturing dirt. So I am the better person. If that makes sense.