#theantsback #wishfulthinking the ants are back. the other day Logan Square approached 40 degrees there were people in the streets celebrating, I shit you not hipsters ghostriding fixed gear bicycles off two-by-fours toward the sun would-be missed connections actually becoming made connections, as if maybe all our shallow insecurity ever truly fought was a vitamin d deficiency entire alleyways of hoodlums underneath rainbows reading up on Banksy, wondering if maybe there really could be something more to their graffiti to say the hope afforded by this warmth was palpable would have been an understatement. the snow even began to melt, revealing dog shit and cigarette butts glimmering like expensive broken stemware confetti a number of people wished me a happy fourth of July that day, even though it was February; they were excited or confused or both and somehow appeared to have developed slight tans but when the sun retreated back to San Diego or Pensacola or wherever the hell it hides from our miserable winter the ants stayed. meandering up the shower curtain down the ceiling fan around the counter and into my captain crunch and yet I never seem to find them together they appear to all be scavengers, out on their lonesome I wonder if they can sense one another’s presence if they know there are others just right around the corner or if they’re for all intents and purposes out on their own on their own personal mission from ant-god to become stranded in axe body wash to do whatever it takes to explore our two year-expired honey, as if there were a path to nirvana somewhere within there, somewhere within the honey, like a rip in space time, or a stargate or something they’re searching for a vent that could turn them into john malkovich or lil wayne for fifteen minutes an alternate universe where chicago got the summer olympics and they share a swimming pool sized gravity bong full of lake michigan water with michael phelps, the way oprah and michelle obama had always intended or maybe they’re perfectly content, wandering seemingly aimlessly maybe they think we’re the goofy ones trapped in our overpriced city apartment buildings saving up for our forth wall to impress montag’s wife at book club, arguing the sociological merit of jersey shore, struggling to remember how much is enough taking showers with the ants when we’re not even all that dirty eating cereal with the ants when we’re not even really all that hungry watching television with the ants because we’re afraid of everything else we’re capable of I bet we annoy the shit out of these ants. maybe they come inside when it gets warm because they think we’ll finally go outside and do something important I spend more time with these ants than I do with myself. if I could shrink down to tiny little ant size and learn their tiny little ant language I would tell them all of my tiny little ant secrets I would tell them how I feel guilty the split second after I orgasm, every single time, no matter what the situation and I don’t know why that I get a stomach ache every time I see somebody buy something they don’t need that Joanna Newsom really does make my heart hurt, and how I could never ever deserve her that there is a sound only I can hear, and how I hear it every time I am near anyone else the noise my brain makes when it has to reconcile the agonizing reality that no matter how much I can recognize myself within another, this does not and in fact rarely ever means that some “other” is seeing themselves within me there must be a million different ways I feel in a second that could lead me to believe I owe myself better and the overwhelming notion of knowing I refuse my potential the energy it deserves leaves me reeling and disconnecting jumping through hoops to hide collecting toe nails in tiny jars to find the time I’m told is passing watching eyes as they enter busses knowing how and why the seats of their subconscious choosing there is this noise that only I can hear and I can hear it coming I just can’t tell if it’s me, or the ants this time maybe that’s the point.
Posted on: Thu, 30 Jan 2014 03:16:18 +0000
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