A Cloud That Looks Like Jesus
I LEAVE THE HOUSE BECAUSE it’s a better chance of getting killed off out there all at once. I’m sure the apartment I live in is killing me off but it’s taking it’s time so far and it might take years to finish. Why I think this is my eyes always burn in the apartment and I cough a lot. I try to remember to buy eyedrops and cough medicine when I leave the house, but I almost never do remember. Why I don’t remember is I think about getting run over by trucks or shot to death by hoodlums instead. I see the trucks speeding by and imagine what it’d feel like to get run over by one. I’m sure it would hurt. I saw a movie once where a woman was run over by a truck and she lived on for about five minutes afterward. This woman was covered in blood and lying faceup on the concrete after she got run over by the truck. Actually, I think it was a city bus that ran her over, but what difference does that make after you’re already run over? Once you’re run over, it doesn’t matter what kind of vehicle did it to you. She didn’t understand what had happened or why it happened to her. This is something I know all about. I don’t need a city bus to run me over to not understand what happens to me and why. The list of things that I don’t understand about the world could fill up four city buses, if not more. I shouldn’t even get into it, so I won’t, except to say that I don’t know what it is in my apartment that’s killing me. There’s some kind of poison in there, coming in through the pipes or up from the basement or down from the roof. But I’d rather get into this woman, whose legs had been separated from the rest of her, I think. I was trying not to look, so I can’t say for sure what happened. It seemed that part of her had been severed, part of her was elsewhere. Maybe it was parts of her that were elsewhere. It wasn’t what I wanted to see, as I don’t like the sight of blood, of parts, of ripped-open innards. I imagine it’d be the same if I’m the one run over, that I wouldn’t want to look down and see what parts of me had been separated from the rest. I’d rather look straight up at the sky. Maybe it’s a cloud up there, a cloud that looks like something else, maybe a president or Jesus. I’ve never seen this kind of cloud, but I’ve heard other people do. I think that’d be a nice thing to see after getting run over. This woman that did get run over, though, she didn’t look up at the sky at all, let alone see a cloud that looked like Jesus up there. A young lady was trying to comfort the woman as she lay dying, the parts that remained intact. She cradled the dying woman’s head in her hands. I wonder if I get run over by a truck if someone would do this for me. I don’t think anyone’s ever cradled my head before, so it seems doubtful they’d start then. This woman that got run over, though, she had a nice head and I’m sure some people cradled it before the truck ran her over. People probably took strands of her hair and tucked them behind her ears. They probably smiled as they did this to her. This woman, it appeared as if she didn’t want to get run over by the truck that ran her over. It appeared that she had better things to do than get run over by a truck that day. My thing is, most days I don’t have anything better to do, so if I do get run over by a truck, I hope this comes across to whomever might see me lying there. I hope they realize that this man had nothing better to do today, so it’s just as well this truck ran him over. I hope they realize that this man’s apartment was killing him off anyway and that it was best to get it over with all at once. Maybe this’ll be the day that I finally do remember to buy eyedrops and cough medicine. Maybe the truck will run me over on my way home from the drugstore and the person that cradles my head in the street will go through my pockets for identification and find the drops and medicine. Maybe I’ll ask them to pour some drops into my eyes so they won’t burn as I look up at a cloud that looks like Jesus. Even still, I should think I’d like a hoodlum to come over and fire two rounds into my head rather than have this same hoodlum cradle me in his arms and then have this hoodlum pour eyedrops into my eyes so I could look up at the clouds. I should think I’d like everything to end all at once and forever should it come right down to it, so to hell with the cloud that looks like Jesus. Sometimes when I do go out into the street and walk around I try to eyeball the hoodlums to see if they’re really as tough as they seem, see if they want to throw a couple of shots my way because that’s preferable to getting run over by a bus, depending on their marksmanship. The list of what I don’t understand might take up twelve city buses, but I at least know that much about the world.
Christine and Grace, Naturally
I HAVE TO TALK TO CHRISTINE about Grace, but I won’t talk to Grace about Christine. I have talked to Christine about Grace before and it has always been a good experience, I’ve always learned something. Talking to Christine about Grace is easy. I would even say it comes naturally, though I don’t think talking comes naturally to either one of us. I’m talking now about me and Christine, not me and Grace or Grace and Christine. Grace is a natural talker, but you can’t talk to her about Christine. If you know anything about Grace, then this is what you should know about her. Christine is a different story unless it comes from Grace, which it shouldn’t. You shouldn’t talk to Grace about Christine and the reasons are obvious. I won’t even spell out the reasons they are that obvious. But Christine isn’t a natural talker and sometimes she’s barely one at all. I have been around Christine for hours at a time without hearing word one from her. Sometimes you have to ask Christine a specific question to get her talking, but then you can’t shut her up is the problem. I remember once I asked Christine for the time and she performed a monologue about the plight of honeybees instead. She went on and on about the honeybees, how they were dying off in record numbers and how the bees were flying away and not coming back, that keepers would find boxes empty of adult bees except for a live queen. She said this was unacceptable because bees play a crucial role as pollinators and we rely on honeybees to keep commercial agriculture productive. She said about a third of our foods comes from these honeybees, including apples and nuts and summer fruits like blueberries and strawberries, and even alfalfa, and guar bean. I tried to ask her about alfalfa and guar bean and if berries were considered fruits, but once Christine is in the middle like this, you can’t ask her anything. She went on to say that bees contribute billions of dollars to our crop production and that the losses are unprecedented and fast. This is what Christine told me when I asked for the time and I believed her. That’s one of the reasons you want to talk to Christine because she knows what she’s talking about. I’m not sure Grace knows anything about honeybees, which proves something, I’m sure. Now please don’t get me wrong on this, Grace is a lovely woman and she is not inconsiderable, but I’m not sure talking to her about anything is a good experience, particularly when it comes to Christine. But that’s not the real reason you shouldn’t talk to Grace about Christine and everyone know this. I don’t have to spell it out and this is a good thing. I’m not sure I like talking to either of them, as I’m not much of a talker myself. But later today I do have to talk to Christine about Grace. There’s no avoiding it. All of us are worried about Grace and we have to do something while there’s still time, because Grace is worth the effort. Just yesterday I was reminded of this. I saw Grace at the supermarket buying groceries and she was giving a dollar to one of the local kids for their annual bake sale fund-raiser. You won’t ever see me or Christine giving a dollar to the local kids for their fund-raiser and that’s the difference between Grace and the rest of us. This trumps everything, as far as I’m concerned, including the plight of honeybees and whom you can talk about and with whom. Grace is better than all of us put together, which is why we love Grace and want to do everything we can to save her.