9 29 2020 noodles

fast not too 9 29 2020

juggling series 1

Juggling w/ strobe light and electric balls

Short Fiction: Me and My Fucking Mirrors

 Words and light fracture in much the same way. The sunlight hitting the mirror that I was carrying sent rays scurrying in shards across the sidewalk as I hiked it from Home Fucking Depot to the bus  stop, East Liberty, along the East Busway.  I was waiting for the bus, the P1, and the P1 bus always makes me think of the word 'penis.' That gives the bus many meanings, aside from being  public transportation. It's rather like a penis because it's phallic in shape, longer, that is,  than wide.  Sigmund Fucking Freud would love the way I make the association.

It's like the bus drinks people in at one stop and then pisses them out at another stop.  We're all equal in this dime store reflection of daily life. Everyone is a part of the same scintillating urine steam.   That is a fractious  meaning, in terms of a bus, and the mirror, made of safe flexible acetate wriggled harmless beams of light all the fuck over the place, so I think I made my fucking stupid point.  All the fuck I did was buy a mirror and take the motherfucker home, but a boy can think about things.  Fuck with the meaning of stupid common crap.  Fuck with what is seen and heard. I wasn't talking to anyone.  Assholes everyone were welcome to their private thoughts, like "how come that motherfucker is walking around with a one foot by four foot shit-house mirror?"   If the fuckers really wanted an answer, I would have provided them one.  Gratis, for fuck sake.  I'm that fucking sociable.

I just bought the mirror at Home Depot in East liberty and had to carry it home on the bus.  The fucking thing was intrusive.  It was reflecting light where it wasn't asked for, which is minor tough shit, no matter, no one was being blinded by it, such as with the use of a laser pointer.  But it was stealing the other passenger's image, the way photographers steal the image of people whose picture was taken without their permission.   Now that there are cameras everywhere, everyone's soul is being stolen from them, but that is by the Powers, and they are entitled to do as they wish with the images they steal. The Internet is like that. So is the not-so-fucking-great outdoors. No privacy.  I'm just another bozo on the bus, and I happened to have bought a mirror for the house.  There was a hassle.

A nut job sitting in the back of the bus, in a seedy looking, overused surgical mask, saw his reflection in  my mirror.  I wasn't stealing the jerk's soul, and I wasn't lumping the poor fuck's image in with everyone else's reflection.  I had to face the mirror in one direction or other, and they didn't have bags at Home Depot large enough to cover the mirror, so I had to stuff the receipt in my pocket, to prove I didn't steal the fucking thing out of some asshole's tacky looking budget housing unit.  But he was seated way behind me on the bus, and since he could see himself in my mirror, he took the sitch all fucking wrong.  I didn't give flying fuck about the sick bastard.   I was, on the other hand, looking at the mirror, and I could see the guy pointing at me with a prominent index finger.  The fucker started right in.

"You quit watching me, motherfucker," he said, loud and hostile, more at the back of my neck than to me.  He could probably see my face in the mirror, and I could see his.   That made things one more shitty two way street.  Pittsburgh is loaded with shitty two way streets.   There wasn't too much room between seats on the bus.  I tried to turn the mirror so his reflection wasn't in it.  There wasn't enough room.  I was stuck with the mean, crazy bastard's reflection.   

Why the fuck should I apologize to a sick fuck for what was happening.  He was looking in my mirror.  I was't stealing the bastard's soul, or, if I did, it was unintentional.  Like when you accidentally leave the Giant Eagle with unpaid-for items in your shopping cart.  They can still nail your ass for shoplifting, though, even if it was an accident. But he can't have my ass arrested for stealing his soul by accident.  Or for holding his image in my mirror, against his will.  It's almost fucking kidnapping, if you dig for the point.  And he wanted justice. Sure as fuck, it isn't really fair. 

One more ass-fucking time I was a lucky punter in Pittsburgh.  The indignant bastard pulled the cord for a stop, and I could see him, in my mirror, exit the bus, and the incident was over, no violence, no bon hommie, no meaning either.  Just animosity towards people reflected in a cheap synthetic mirror.   There were at least half a dozen people's image in the flimsy, unbreakable acetate film.  One asshole in six gave me a hassle, and then fucked off.  Statistically, I could say I'm fairly well tolerated in this miserable occupied territory.