Criterion Collection Spine #218 and the quiet that eats at me

Cool night time breeze, drizzling rain, quiet after thunderstorms. These are the only things that make summer redeemable in my opinion.

Frankly I can’t bear the heat and harsh sunlight. At times I feel ashamed of this because i was born and raised in a tropical climate almost directly on the equator. I should be thriving in the summer sun but i wither like fungi in its presence. I suppose it’s not where you come from, but where you go and what you become on the way there.

I wish there were somewhere perpetually rainy that i could live but this will do for now.

it’s a nice night and i’m sitting on the steps outside. it’s hard to type with the raindrops accumulating on my phone screen but i don’t mind, i feel very calm because of the rain.

A few minutes ago i was frantically searching for the vodka hidden somewhere inside the house. The canon ball sized hole in my chest had started to maw quite demandingly tonight. the games weren’t doing it, the dating app conversation i was entertaining fully knowing i would never meet the person but enjoying their desperation wasn’t doing it. the books im reading or listening to weren’t doing it. i can’t quite find any good films that would hurt me, (do send me any suggestions) i needed something to feed the void and i thought maybe getting very drunk would do it.

Alas, i could not find the vodka. I considered taking my father’s care for a joyride but realistically that wouldn’t do it for me either, and the consequences would cause a headache only adding on to the inconvenience,tedium, or suffering of daily living.

but sitting outside in the rain has calmed me some.

i’m hoping my neighbor frank comes outside to smoke weed as he often does. i say hello to him extremely cheerfully every single fucking time i see him.

late 50s early 60s, a grandfather, very full house very large family, works construction. his body is clearly broken, he’s clearly frequently in pain and trying to get through it all with his weed.

i watch him sigh internally and muster the energy to smile, wave, and say hello back every time. he fucking hates it! he’s miserable about it! writing this now alone is making me chuckle so much out here alone by myself on these steps.

Ah—ahaha—haw haw-chuckle!

i look forward to torturing the poor man every day just by forcibly trapping him in required social convention/ritual.

poouh fuckah

i know right!?

ah. that’s better, the howling has stopped, think i’ll head back inside.

goodnight everyone.

post script

yknow earlier, i was recalling a grisly accident i bore witness to a while ago, or rather i should say the image of it flashed into my mind and my immediate thought was “boy i could really go for some shrimp!”

im reminded of it because just now i saw a post yeah, purportedly(of a man selling fried soft shelled turtles at a shack on the beach. the fuckers were whole and intact with a nice breaded layer covering them but still recognizably turtles. i dashed to the comments looking for validation of my shock— not at the fried turtles, but rather that they were ONLY SIX DOLLARS!? it was then that i saw comments pointing out that the image was ai generated. i was kicked out of my initial bewilderment and served 2 new layers of it. Firstly, unfortunate that ai is getting so realistic, secondly, maybe “only six dollars!!!?!” screamed out loud should not have been my first reaction to fried sea turtles.

oh well!