Finding A Condom Within McDonald’s (For Vida Wolk)I feel lost within an America I used to love. Everyone and everything looks and feels the same to me; I can barely breathe let alone feel happy about what I see, as every other minute it’s someone talking loudly on their cell phone, clutched to their ear like a lobster claw; if it’s not that it’s big, bright, blaring signs shouting their mutant wares at me. Cars all look the same, new or used. Attitudes while snappy and brisk remain glued together like bad television sitcoms.
It’s getting hard for me to fathom, but if you’re not beautiful or have a headful of hair, then nobody wants you except for insane ostracized people who will end up with heart problems later in life and who wants that burden? I’ve never been one of the lucky ones; had the right looks and all, but my slowness to trendiness has pegged me for failure AKA Doomsville and who knows? Maybe I’ll end up going around in circles singing and dancing and talking to people I don’t know and people I don’t seek out, but somehow they always find me and at times, just like now, I feel cold, broke, depressed and in general feeling sorry for myself like I do at this very moment, oh so they say; who is “they” anyway?
Oh well, I’ll get over it. A guy my age gets sick of all the same old clichés, same old confessionals where nothing is happening. There are no parties; there are no eyes smiling or full heads of hair laughing at nothing but sticks in the air.
I want sunshine out of apples. I want a cat to tell me how much she likes it when I pet her and how kind I was to choose it from all the other cats in the world and take it home. I want all the jazz songs in the known jazz markets of today and tomorrow to begin anew. I want a seagull to kiss me and tell me that she appreciates the fact that I tried to mimic her sound, but knows we’re not compatible. I want my silence to be filled with golden joys and sweet caresses from voices I have yet to hear or feel imprinted on my heart.
I hate being passed up, talked down to, looked at funny, snickered at; in fact, I want my youth back, my rusted dreams restored to a copper blue; I want my vitality; I want all of my good qualities to comeback; I want all my old girlfriends back for one week so I can tell them what inner damage they incurred without even realizing it.
I want to be the one arm-in-arm with a beautiful woman who is not afraid of exploring the unknown with me. I want my summer to be cool in the evening and sunny during the daytime. I want tragedy to turn comedic and comedy to fall into the sea.
In essence, I want everything that I cannot have and that included an America I will never get to know. And this one ill-at-ease feeling will make me empty like a discarded cigarette butt wedged between the cracks of a crowded sidewalk.
