Letter to My Screaming Neighbor and her Rotten Child

Dear Neighbor,

Why do you persist in screaming at your dumb kid outside of my apartment door? It happens every day and it makes me mad at you and when I get mad I don’t feel as good as I could be feeling. It compounds with my negative feelings towards the barking dogs and unemployment and family members and makes me want to close the window and put a towel under the door. Well I don’t want to close the window because it’s not hot enough for the air conditioning and your 4-year-old really doesn’t need to be scolded for asking questions about the tile in the hallway. Really. Yeah, he’s a piece of crap kid and he’s got red hair but give him a break when he cries for his dad on the way out the door: you are a raging, ludicrous, failure of a mother, after all.

Have some respect for others when you leave your ridiculous apartment and walk your scummy child down the stairs. Everyone’s hears you and hates you when you don’t.

Your Neighbor,

Eric

Michael Jackson Shamone

I once had a car that had both a cd player and a tape player. It was fortunate because my cd player was sketch and quit playing all the time. That was when I switched over to the old school tapes. Never bought a one; just wrote home about it and in my mailbox the next week were old school tapes galore from my parents’ house care of Mom.

Among gems like John Denver and the Fugees was a smattering of Michael Jackson and this has made all the difference. I got intimately acquainted with Thriller and along with it one of the most moving and emotional chains of music that I have ever experienced. I don’t know music. I don’t know albums. What I do know is a well-crafted progression of songs that you can sing to driving late at night and remember the next day. I do know artistry and I do know how hard it is to create something beautiful.

Among the many notorious events concerning Michael Jackson, in the press and among the public, I am happy to remember his music, along with those wheel-pounding, screaming shamone sessions above all else. What a great gift to give. What a crazy life we all got to watch.

Sad Dog Story, Piteous Really.

I hate it when dogs start whining and barking and crying. I hate it so much I could kill those stupid dogs. Why don’t they understand that people just want to sleep? Or that they could be happier if they just stop crying and go to sleep? Or that they won’t get shook if they just shut the hell up.

Once I ruined a dog because it was crying for a few hours in her cage and on the way out the door at 3 in the morning to find some 24-hour drug store to buy some ear plugs, I shook the junk out of the cage this dumb old dog was sitting in. Now it hates that cage. Won’t go near the thing so I hear. I feel really bad about it now but I don’t think I could have not done it that day. It sounded like a real baby and that made me more mad.

I would now like to deflect your criticism with a con-is-really-a-pro observation, as one might use in an interview in response to the question, “What is one of your biggest faults?”: The only reason I couldn’t stomach the tough love, training whatever we were doing for this new dog was because I feel too much for the pain in this tiny creature. It was torturous to sit and listen to and so my only option was to lash out. At the dog?

This is a true story that I would rather didn’t get around.

Bear Coat Invention

Live Bear Fur Coat, genetically engineered to live docilely as an outer garment. With hollow tubes for arms, you can slip right in and cozy on up. Just don’t forget the muzzle!

Ever get spray-paint on your fine fur things? Does it seem like everywhere you go, you’re getting blood thrown on you? Why not try a Bear Skin Coat, complete with live bear! Real organs pumping blood throughout the coat will keep you warm through the toughest winter and also give you a friend for company. When you’re in from the cold, just set the bear-coat on the ground and watch it pull itself around with its teeth! How adorable. These bear coats are also thick enough to keep you warm but not make you look fat.

Live bear coats. The answer to all the critics!

I Went Fishing

If I were a fish and I got caught, I would sit in my bucket and think on life. Probably about all the other fish I had eaten and about those times I swam past a rock and didn’t look closer. Maybe other things but those two would take precedence.

Before the death rattle, I would be happy I was no longer able to vampire my way through the ocean. No more mama fish without a baby fish coming home because of me. No more upset stomach because of fish guts and fish tears. I suffered along with you small fish and this is a fitting end. Glob, glob.

As I suffocated slowly I would also consider the many rocks gone unexplored. Adventures in floating and swimming that could have taken place. Rocks perhaps hiding female fish that knew how to have fun but also be serious and help with my issues and baggage. And, oh. Oh, the fish eggs that might have been fertilized. Hidden yes, and now forever hidden, the little Eric fish that would have looked hard through fish eyes and not made the mistakes of their father fish.

To be a fish on this day and to die in a bucket. Sweet irony of the fish world. Funny, sad fish gods! There’s fish blood on your hands humans! And fish in your fish stomachs!

No Title

The eyes, they burn.

Running

When a run comes to take my breath and spill my fluids, I stretch my body and hope for the best. The run takes me out into the neighborhood, past places I don’t want to be, but farther than legs would go otherwise. I appreciate that about the run. The legs, they pitter patter and bend and curl around pavement and torture and pull apart muscles and send pain to my head. The run tells me to keep going even when I’m done. Sleepy task master of my thoughts and body she is.