Just finished another story with some crazy talk. Of the on the bus kind, though not on a bus. Of the only fifteen minutes into the spiel do you realize you've got somebody differently-stabled. For some reason I am really attracted to this talk. It's not blabber, it's conspiracy-on-the-answering-machine stuff. Here are a few reasons why I believe I'm attracted to it, which have been vetted and hired from a series of more bullshit reasons that would sound better but be less honest:
1) I am a little crazy. I feel calm in the presence of "actual" crazies and way less calm in the presence of somebody talking about their new afghan. Or saying "mmm" in that way faintly resonant of the orgasm but culturally accepted. For some reason I associate this kind of non-crazy talk with good posture. It drives me crazy.
2) I am envious that I am not as crazy as "actual" crazies. It seems very sweet and bold to have so a vision clearly individuated. Get it, vision? There is no doubt, upon hearing the crazies do their crazy, that they see a different world than you see. And that this world is, by way of its mangled structure, inaccessible to you. Not unworking, just inaccessible. Think maybe of a computer, appliance, or car that only you can start/drive/whatever. This is the world of a crazy. It seems really fun. Or at least it seems really fun to me. I'm sure it seems annoying to people like busy people. I never want to talk to a crazy. That is exasperating. But I feel very calm when I am temporarily in their presence and I am fully aware that I have my exit route planned, thus of course dehumanizing the crazy and turning the crazy into some kind of rollercoaster, which is not doubt a flaw in my empathy. But it is true. When I am on a bus with a crazy, or at a bus stop with a crazy and the crazy's sticker-flocked shopping cart, or when I watch the crazy walk into the middle of the street, kneel, pray, and then walk back onto the sidewalk—ignoring the honks of very angry busy car people—to perhaps harass some momentarily open-seeming (i.e. non-busy) person, to perhaps explain to this person about how a giant flamingo controls the stage lights we call the moon: if I am witness to these situations, I feel much calmer than I feel in more normal situations. I was going to put normal in quotes, but that would be sort of wishful thinking. And, even worse, would perpetuate the falsely dichotomous narrative of "normal VS. weird," simply recasting it in some sort of immature punk-scenester fluffery of "well, maybe nothing's normal, dude, maybe everything is weird." This, of course, is wrong. Everything is not weird. Or normal. Everything is everything. The louder each thing, the more comes listening.
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Headed to the California coast with Carolyn. Driving from Humboldt County to L.A, with a stop in the Bay Area. We want to hang out with you. We want to shave redwood bark and cook it in a stew with you. We want to cash this awesome check from the class action lawsuit against CVS with you.
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