Juby Feeler Machine
It was worth it to open a blank document for this one. It’s the one where I say, “this could not have happened if it weren’t for the blank document and you.” I am so passionate about tonight that I can’t even find the time to move the belt buckle that is positioned on my chair perfectly into my back, rendering me positively uncomfortable as can be. Not true at all. I have been far more uncomfortable, and you have too. If I tried hard enough, I could make you that uncomfortable within the next three sentences. But I would never do that. These should be uplifting weekly pieces to interrupt your emails and IM’s and phone calls that flood your day. This is the third. And you aren’t even uncomfortable yet. I wouldn’t lie about such things. These are your emotions I’m talking about, and what’s worth more than that? Physical being? Your health and family and friends? Probably true. But when you’re emotionally wounded you don’t have time to be thankful or strong about anything else. And that is why tonight we will think about everyone who wanted to be but couldn’t, everything she wanted to be but felt she shouldn’t, and every time you wanted to but wouldn’t. Every anecdote I’ve written about a haircut or a trip across the country or sadness or achievement. I’m not saying I’m retiring from the art, but what I am saying is that I’m in a lull. You can tell when a person falls into a lull because they start reflecting or recounting in place of conjuring up new thoughts. But by that rationale, I would be in a constant state of lull, because I seem to always find myself reflecting and recounting the second my fingertips feel the brail on “f” and “j." Yes, it’s a MAC. "Feel jubilant," that’s what they mean to me.
When I think of the pulpy, bloody, masses of flesh known as my tonsils, decomposing in a toxic waste dump somewhere in Chatsworth I feel jubilant. Joy to the toys that I wield in health, a rotten bacterial infection for years that I have no more. As I think about encounters with a former love, just because they’re past encounters don’t mean they’re lost, I feel jubilant. You can be jubilant and upset simultaneously, you know. Jubilance can be misinterpreted for a range of emotions, so don’t become confused the next time we shake hands or hug, share a smile or hear me yell. If we toast a drink, it is what it is, and if my previously youthful and unfettered face has pruned and become an unfamiliar wreck, I’ll tell you why if you ask.
Becoming decrepit and creaky and bald and limp bothers me, sure, but I don’t give it an abundance of thought. I give plenty of other things out of my control abundances of thought, things equally out of my control as becoming bald and limp. Although I suppose preventative measures can be taken to keep even those ailments in your control. Sometimes I can go days without deodorant, and I smell fresh as an apple blossom summer breeze in Washington. But I’m in one of those modes where my recently applied stick has dissipated and been consumed by a mildew-ridden undergarment, resulting in a decidedly odiferous yet somewhat appealing “man scent.” Even though I showered hours ago, and the weather is of a cool and windy nature, I can slick my hair back with the grease behind my ears. Physically, I feel like I am teetering on the cusp of atrophy, having abandoned exercise in favor of affiliates. My pending move is exciting, I guess. But I have been complacently reasonable for so long, would an excursion into the unknown portions of Los Angeles County prove overbearing? Nah, I’m ready. I hope. But it’s still a pinch away. When I do make my move you’ll be the collective fifth to hear about it. Maybe I’ll have a condo-warming party and invite all of the DM readers. Those of you who know, say, five DM readers, think about what a grand time that would be. And those of you who know less than five DM readers, you’re missing out on some rampaging loons, so you should really do your best to meet a few. When we all come together in my warm condo, all the baldness, fatness and uneasiness will wash away as we smile and speculate as to why it is that we’ll all make it out okay.
Bryan May
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