The Sphincter of Time Puckers Around My Neck

Fuck you, time. I wish you would show yourself to me so I could punch you right in the face. Nope, that's never going to happen. I'll never see your face, yet I'm still going to fight you every day.

I didn't always hate you, you know. In the past you were okay to me. Back when I attended grade school, summer vacations lasted forever, and then not so long ago, before my domestic situation changed, I had a lot more of you. Now I'm literally stealing a moment of you to directly address you:

What the fuck?

I know you're an abstract construct, yet regardless of what name and definition we thoughtful apes gave you, I know you exist independently of our definitions. What's that cliched quote? Time exists to keep everything from happening all at once? I know you're just doing your job. If you didn't then nothing, not one ounce of matter, would have any place to do anything . However, because I now have so little of you in my life let me now add a footnote to your definition: You're an asshole. Yes, you're an asshole because it just isn't right that there isn't enough of you in my life.

I have never been so possessive of anything, not money, my own safety, or even a woman as I am of you. You're killing me. I want you, and I protect the times I get you all to myself like a mother bear does her cubs. I savor you more than a smoker's last cigarette before quitting. In fairness, I will concede that it's not completely your fault. Technically, you're still doling out the same amount of temporal opportunities today as you did two, five and ten years ago. The big problem is that just like my paycheck is already spent before I even receive it, every second you give me is already nearly completely used up by "have to's." The face I don't show to the world is staring in wide-eyed shock with mouth agape at this. I'm stymied. How did this happen? Still, this doesn't get you off the hook completely, oh no!

Listen dickhead, why not throw some cosmic luck my way and help me figure out how to take time back, to devote more of you to doing things I want to do. You've got contacts. You're a big honcho in the cosmos. Can you help a brother out?

Even the snippets of you where I am free to use you are not pleasurable at all. If I get a free hour of you, there's always something else hanging over my head, a schedule to keep, a place to be, a thing to do, a drama to deal with. If these free snippets of you were farm-fresh deli meat, then the bread surrounding you is made from manure, making the entire affair unpalatable and difficult to digest. Because the unrestricted version of you only comes to me in snippets, I'm thinking of just not trying to do anything with these snippets anymore. Can a seamstress make a beautiful, unified dress out of snippets and scraps of cloth? No. Dresses made from snippets look like the things that I am able to produce with the "free time" in my life, disheveled and ugly things that are never completed nor unified. I can't relax and enjoy the small amounts of you that I dedicate to me. Could Tolstoy have written War and Peace on a gum wrapper? Hell no! Can I accomplish anything with the same sized temporal equivalent? Hell. No.

Take right now for example. I'm sitting in a coffeeshop furiously scribbling down this little note to you. I have just enough time between getting off of work and having (having I tell you!) to do something else to sit down with a cup of coffee and relax. This is not relaxation. I used to treasure these moments, probably because used to be longer than a "moment." Maybe people like me just function better with a schedule that allows meandering to a goal rather than needing laser-beam precision. Maybe I am a Meandrethal. I used to think I was focused. This still sucks. Instead of enjoying this moment I'm inking words to you on this page in the same manner and with the same precision that a caffeinated monkey flings shit (see Neal Pollak's art for a human example of this phenomenon).

And guess what? Two assholes just sat down next to me. They are dousing the last spark of fire in me to even continue with this ranting plea. These assholes are the ones who go out with the goal of being seen and heard. They talk from the diaphragm and perform a conversation, rather than "talk," like they are auditioning for the next big, short-lived reality television show. Not only did I just pull out my headphones and plug myself into them to block these guys out, but I also shoved the buds into my ear canals to a depth that may require medical assistance for removal. The volume is loud enough to justify the hearing loss warnings that came on the headphone package, but I still hear these fuckers!

This is where I give up, time. I've lost my grip on the topic of chewing you out. All I really know now is something has to change, and the change will most likely have to come from me because you are, still, an asshole. I'm tired of fighting with you. I know someday you will ultimately kick my ass, but in the meantime I'd prefer that we danced with each other instead, with me leading.

Awareness Awareness Month Begins!

After Mayor Daley launched Awareness Awareness Month in Daley Plaza on Tuesday, November 1, an idealistic horde of marchers swarmed downtown Chicago yesterday to raise awareness about Awareness Awareness Month.

Manic progressives of all affiliations, colors, biases and interesting forms of employment began the awareness march with glorious sign making activities at Columbia College and then marched through the city streets to the final awareness rally in Federal Plaza.

In a rare and encouraging show of solidarity, a mass of Chicago Police officers marched alongside Awareness Awareness marchers as brothers and sisters in the cause, providing camaraderie and protection from many jealous people who have jobs who would also have liked to get outside and walk around for a bit on such a pleasant fall day.

The marchers showed their in-depth awarness by waving flashlights and chanting "I AM AWARE, I AM AWARE!", which also had the effect of making bystanders along the parade route immediately aware of awareness.

Along with raising awareness about awareness, the march and subsequent rally in Federal Plaza had the antecedent benefits of giving socially active yet frustrated individuals and groups a forum and stage to rant about all of the injustice in the world, as is always the heightened case with these groups whenever a Republican is in the White House.

Once in Federal Plaza, the emcee of the event performed an unintentionally gut-wrenching song from his new album, not for self promotion, but in the the interests of all things grass-roots-like. With each idealistic note sung from his raspy throat and with each tossle of his undreadful dreadlocks, the Awareness level escalated until it reached a fever pitch (which means a lot more chanting).

Just when it seemed the event could not be any more successful, a rousing speech calling for oppenents of awareness to be shouted down caused the excitement and happiness levels of the crowd to soar to new levels. (Even louder, more spirited chanting.)With "Awareness" being the main topic and purpose, all the specific pet frustrations and causes of the marchers began to froth and bubble forth for the usual causes trumpeted by this community:

• The World Can't Wait organization called for the Bush regime to step down.


• The Socialist Party campaigned for a charismatic candidate of the people.


• A petition was circulated for the support of gay and lesbian marriage.


• Members of the Earth on Empty organization dressed as the planet earth staged a mock rape of a sport utility vehicle while proclaiming, "There, how do you like it!"


• A crowd of three people screamed "Save the Rainforest."


• An angry black man called any nearby police officer "boy."


• "Meat is muder" was displayed prominently on at least two t-shirts.

Only one marcher seemed a bit behind the social-times, because on the back of his awareness sign was the slogan "Save the Double Door!" In only its second day, Awareness Awareness month is achieving record levels of awareness in Chicago! If you're not aware yet, you will be by the end of the month, as the light levels in the city will reach "Hiroshima blast" levels (see press release below). Be on the lookout for Awareness, because it is going to find you.

*Reality Note: This march actually happened. It was staged by World Can't Wait at the most perfect time for my comedic purposes. Sorry for the gap between posts, especially to you Mona :) An entry about "time" and my life is forthcoming. . .