Tuesday, March 30, 2010

Kevin Needs Therapy
~or~
Murder/Mutilations/Coprophilia Make Me Grumpy

I stirred the ice cubes around my drink for a few seconds. I looked down on it away from Fly G for a moment. We were seated comfortably at a bar for a surprise round of drinks. Fly G had caught me leaving work and I gladly joined up with him. After taking a sip of my vodka tonic I looked up and said to him:

"I think I need therapy."

"You're not anybody in New York until you have a therapist!" Fly G gleefully informed me. "I just got all of these pills just now!" He took out a suspicious looking white back and shook it, it made a rattling sound. My insurance paid for all of it, I just had to pay 10% of the visit. Let me see your insurance card."

I showed him my card and he compared my card to his card while I leaned on the bar to order another drink. "Yes, I think you might be covered, you might have to pay 20 dollars, but paying 20 dollars a day every week isn't so bad, that's just 2 nightclub drinks."

We measure money in units of booze.

I saw the Sopranos where Tony's mom finds out that he's going to therapy, and she freaks out because she thinks its a condemnation of her. That's the cliche, so I'd like to make it a point that I had a very well adjusted family who raised me....they just so happened to be poor.

I suspected something was up as I walked home one day having been dismissed from class early and told to stay home because black people had started rioting due to the Rodney King verdict. As I walked the street alone from the public transit bus to my house pulling on my tacky large backpack strap, I walked past a Church's chicken that displayed a large sign through its window written in crisp black thick font; "BLACK OWNED."

I was 9.

Reginald Denny was the name of the man who I saw on the TV get dragged out of his truck and get kicked and thrown around the street. As he was trying to get up another man came up and threw a very hard object at his head. As he fell back down the attacker laughed, pointed, and disappeared down the street.

I'm worried that I somehow internalized this as something that was normal. I watched Salo on Sunday and I didn't blink, partially because I knew what was going to happen (people eat shit and die in that movie, literally), but maybe I read the book because I had been curious about the extreme nature of it. The man who wrote the book was named the Marquis De Sade, he was crazy, and we share the same birthday, month and day!

I mean, Salo did stay stuck in my mind at least, it made me a little grumpy that night.

"Look at this dick" Fly G said as he flashed me a picture of someone's black penis he was talking to via his iPhone.
"Good one I guess."
"Hmm...I bet this is about you not being out to your mother." He said
"My mom never asked!"
"It all comes back to that," Fly G said.

Well maybe he was right, but the main point is that there seems to be baggage there, and I can't become awesome with a psychosis, can I?

That last one wasn't a hypothetical, feel free to answer.

Fly G and I sat down on a comfortable bar couch. He got me a drink and I scored him a cigarette from an unsuspecting smoker using only my charms ("I still got it") and I start to think that maybe I'm making mountains out of prairie plains.

Maybe this right here is enough?

Oh btw, fun fact that let's me sleep well at night, Reginald Denny was saved by four people who saw his beating live on television.

All four were black.

-Deviant

No comments: