Wednesday, March 28, 2007

The Insomnia Chronicles

2. the day i set my couch on fire


i am an electric porn star. i shun human interaction. i sit on my couch and smoke my cigar like a tough guy. the only thing that burns are theses letters on my monitor as i dream of the art. i spin the words so the burning reality seems fresh and new. i watch my video tape and do my laundry, but how do i keep you interested. you rent videos and you do laundry, but my laundry is symbolic. the grease and sweat on my tee shirts is the oppression of the working class. the stains on my drawers are our hidden sins. and the Tide you blasphemously assume to be a religious metaphor. well i’m sorry, but it is the same as your laundry and the hidden message is this: God will not get out tough, ground in dirt, and laundry detergent can’t save your soul, but this is why you read. because you want them to be that way. you want God to buy you a new car and you want a demographically oriented art film to grant you (you in this case being me too) salvation, but that is not how the universe works. there is only the truth. the truth is God will set you free, and a little bit of bleach will get your gutchies clean. there is a beauty in the simplicity of it all and if you need it to be complex from a certain perspective it can be. and as i reveal the truth of truth i am distracted from the spark that falls from my cigar and drifts in little circles to the polyester cover on my couch. and it burns in our imagination.



Lucidiocy said...

I just want my whites to be whiter. Then I could be happy.

and after the darkness I can hope to light the couch on fire...

I get it.

Nice prose piece, EG.

Winter said...

But your wearing a tie.

Not so working class.

But that was almost 10 years ago.

Wait, what was the post about again?

Evil Genius said...

Dear Lucidiocy:

Danke schon.

Dear Winter:

Welcome to the doll house.

You are correct that in the past decade I have ascended form wrench-turning paper-pusher to plain-old paper-pusher.

As for this post, it is just a piece from a series of random pre-blog writing snippets I decided to post since I have been feeling the same tinge of introspective dementia I did back then. I am doing better now. "The day I set my couch on fire" started out when I was living in the middle-of-nowhere Indiana. There was a Molson Ice commercial on television shot in that green wash that was popular in the late 90's with some throbbing techno music in the background. The mantra was "this is not a pizza-eating laundry kind of night." I was eating pizza and doing laundry at the time. So I popped in a VHS tape of Reservoir Dogs and lit one of the Garcia y Vega cigars my uncle had given me in a vain attempt to spice the night up a little bit. A spark of ash fell on the polyester couch cover I had received from my great aunts to cover the third-hand couch which was the nicest piece of furniture I owned at the time. It smoldered for a few seconds, but there was no real threat of flame. It was so mundane that I needed there to be more to my life. I needed there to be something deep and symbolic about my existence.

So I went over to my 486 Compaq with a blazing fast 56k modem and vented a little bit, embellishing that the couch actually did catch least in my imagination. I hope that clears things up.

Should you have further questions or require clarification please do not hesitate.