(I’ve decided to update this blog every once in a while with pieces from my next writing project)
Bits and pieces from CRASS : A Tale of Ordinary Havoc.
Every other day I walk out of my apartment at night, maybe around ten. It’s too hot. I can’t sleep.
I walk over to the nearby park, walk in the grass and try to get the tension out of my legs.
Every now and then one of the homeless man, a schizo, sits alone on a bend and curses away the night.
“Fucking asshole, fucking loser,” he shouts. He’s not talking at me, he’s not really talking to anyone except himself. His arms are swinging violently and I can only imagine the images inside his head, horrible images.
“You’ll never be anything…GET! Fucking loser.”
The city is quiet around here at night. His voice carries in the distance. I pick a line between two large trees and start walking back and forth. The grass is damp and my shoes are soon wet from it but I keep walking, slowly breathing in and out.
“Look at me, yeah! You’d like that motherfucker, look, right. Well FUCK YOU! Fuck you. You heard me right, Fuck you, FUCK YOU!”
Sometimes he goes into a stare, does a pretty decent beat box too. But every few minutes you see him winding up like a spring and it starts all over again.
“Fucking asshole, LOSER! Fucking loser!”
The neighbour is up and coming again. The signs are there to remind me that the rich and the soon-to-be-in-debt are willing to pay to live where I wouldn’t normally take a piss. Maybe they’re idiots or maybe that just mean’s I’m really just a snob in the end, who knows?
A hundred yards ahead there’s this gigantic yellow crane with its floodlight open all the time. It keeps me awake at night, sifting through a narrow strip between two buildings in the alley and a tree. It hits me right in the face when I try to sleep, even with the curtains are closed. It drives me insane sometimes, like I want it to crash. I want it to crash right through my wall and straight to my face. 50 tons of steel right in my left fucking eye, splut!
The schizo is quiet now. I breathe in the city’s stillness while I can.
I have come to like the concrete, the streets and the density of it all. I can’t stand the people for the life of me. I stop walking and stare at the crane. I stare at this behemoth. I stand amazed at what humans have managed to invent. This machine there capable of building the finest of architectures, the greatest museums to remind us that no one is equal and some of us have managed to vanquish time and create things so amazing that centuries down the line most of us still feel inadequate compared to them.
Yet we do so very little with it. We shovel snow forward as the path disappears behind us. We corner ourselves in living units, living quarters, work cubicles, toilet stalls, stand-up showers. 50 billion square miles of free wilderness in Canada and we are now willing to pay half a million dollars for 500 square foot.
“Fucking asshole, you’re nothing. Fucking NOTHING,” the schizo starts again. “Get the fuck out of here.”
I don’t know who’s really insane. Him for cursing his pain into the night or me for still trying, me for still pretending I care. Me for still trying to find a job and pay the bills the way you expect an honourable men to pay his bills.
He’ll be done around midnight, when the cops come and bring him back to Louis-H hospital. Maybe I should take a stroll down Hochelaga and get myself checked in one of these days. Maybe I am insane in the end, who knows? It’s 10h30 now and I started thinking “time to go to bed, I got work tomorrow.”
That ought to be a sign if you ask me.