Cydniey Buffers (cydniey) wrote,
Cydniey Buffers

a story so short, it can only be an anecdote you had to be there for, oh and ramblings

i have this friend who is a Death Metal god. in a band, long ass hair, the whole bit. he's tough. he wears sunglasses inside because the world is just too bright. he has a pit bull. he's tough.

this friend comes over one day with his dog. we were out on the back patio just passing time when his dog corners something. i go over to investigate and see a cornered rat.

"squeak," says the rat.
"snort," replies the dog.
"it's just a rat one of the cats brought home," i say.
"a what?" panic creeps into his Death Metal voice.

i hold the rat up by the tail and check it for injuries. we don't have rats. the cats bring them in.

death metal runs away, almost dropping his dog's leash.

"squeak," says the rat, now hanging in mid air by it's tail.
"it's cool, i'll get rid of it," i try to reassure.

Death Metal looks at me like i'm going to throw the rat at him and backs away quickly. i swear i see him eye the chair.

i carry the rat over to the wall and toss it over to land on the soft grass next door.

"thud," says the rat as it hit the wall of the house next door before falling to the grass. i have thrown it too hard.

when i get back, Death Metal is on the chair, clutching his dog's leash.

Doc comes out to see what the ruckus is, and i go inside to let the testosterone build up again.


i'm reading these amazing authors and i want to write like them. they can tell such stories and have such an amazing way with dialogue and all i can do and all i can do is use the word "amazing" over and over again.

i found a pair of jeans i used to be too fat for, now i'm too skinny for them. i'm wearing them anyway. i cleaned out the bottom of my closet and found all my "fat" clothes. they are all covered with cat fur so they have to be washed before they are put away.

"i'm looking for this man, to sell him to other man"

doc has been sick. he's doing better now. but he's been home for three extra days from the weekend. tomorrow night i'll get some alone time. i actually went and sat quietly in my room and wrote in my paper journal with the door closed to get some solitude.

i finally took a seroquel and got some uninterrupted and dreamless sleep. i feel much better for it. i woke up with the bitchiest of headaches, from not having any caffeine for 18 hours. so i had a cup of coffee and a couple of aspirin and i feel brilliant now.

doc is investigating the craptastic TV choices on at 4 in the morning. i'm just listening to Front 242's "Headhunter" over and over again in my headphones.

today is the 12th anniversary of 9/11. the news is all about that. i'll wait until later in the day's cycle to catch up on it, wait for something to happen. like John Kerry's head exploding from the contradiction he is now living.

and . . . i was just told to turn my music down. and i'm listening with earplug headphone things. i will forever be a teenager. living under the illusion that i will someday grow up and be my own person. until the, i'll turn the volume down. my "mother" used to tell me that louder is not better. but it is sometimes. some songs were just meant to be listened to at ear bleeding volumes. that. that sums up the difference between that woman and i. i know that you have to let go sometimes and let something wash over you. she wants complete control all the time. that is no way to live.

the things we have in common disturb me. neither of us can keep friends. we can both go from zero to raging lunatic cunt in 20 seconds with no provocation. and her harshness. i get that from her. the biting wit designed to reach the deepest sore spot in any person, again with little or no provocation. she is just a mean woman. she fell in love and fucked everything up for herself. she gave herself up to a religion that tied her down. i feel sorry for her. if i factor in the things i suspect about her, she loses all her mystique and i'm not scared of her anymore. she's just this person. like all the other people who are so sad and wandering around that i loathe for taking up space. just a being full of regret and bitterness. and i'm turning into her.

at least i never had kids. well, there was the one, but i gave him to mormons to make sure his life was fucked up proper, didn't i?

doc let me smoke from his pipe this morning. we have separate paraphernalia. and to thank him in my own special way, i accidentally dropped it into my full coffee mug. once i stopped laughing at myself, i took out the pipe, washed it off and went on drinking my coffee. stupid small pipe.

the Pretenders! that's the music i'm missing! these things occur to me slowly. then i start getting into the Pink Floyds and the Led Zepplins and such. back further than the 80s.

ooh, i've been sitting in this position too long. my back is telling me it's time to sit up and post this.

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    i did it, i cleared the floor and enough surface area to lay out my stuff.

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