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I’d forgotten how hard blogs are. There’s a story to tell and I keep thinking it’s about Nepal. I should be writing about Nepal. I am supposed to be writing The Nepal Story, after all. So, why can I not write about Nepal?
I was once told by my mentor to trust my instincts when piecing a narrative together, meaning I shouldn’t be so arrogant as to think I can manhandle an experience if I don’t let it unfold. My story hasn’t even unfolded yet. I want to write a redemption story that hasn’t happened, so it’s no wonder I can’t write about it. Truth be told, mine is probably not a redemption story anyway. Deep down, I know Nepal as a requisite transformative experience will be dark because, when reduced to its smallest divisible parts, Nepal is all in my head.
And there’s a writer in there, too, who refuses to shut the hell up.
From a distance, a shadowed mirage is waving at me like a summer heat reflection on hot pavement and this passage comes back to me:
Despite our best intentions, we forget the dead.
Do they forget us? Jane Summer, “Erebus”
So. Leigh “Bindo” Binder*, if you refuse to die, I’ll just have to kill you off in a mediocre poem that’s an apology as much as a lament.
When the stem drooped and the petals died,
Sleeping beauty sleep
I awoke to gold
Light too bright
You offered me a dim corner
You and I shared caramelized melancholy
Like cotton candy
Adolescent sweetness, the things that grew in our heads
Restless dreams like your cigarette smoke
From a few thousand miles away
Choke me awake
Weighed together like stone
Bound and pull down like some English great, we weren’t built for this life
But mostly: Have we lived our eternity?
*Leigh Binder was a friend and fellow writer, who died two years ago leaving only his writing and YouTube videos (https://www.youtube.com/channel/UC-43KL2khFHhJ-LmRqA-y2A) to haunt me.
I went back to read your words
But they aren’t there
They aren’t to be found
The website says
There’s nothing there
Was there ever?
If I can’t read the words
I can’t be sure I ever knew you
You always knew I was of flightly, flimsy flesh
So why take the words from me
Why is there nothing there?
When the petals died and the stem drooped,
Sleeping beauty sleep
I awoke to gold
Light too bright
You offered me a dim corner
When you drooped and died,
Gold was gilded with light
There is no sleeping beauty sleep now
MedicatedLady: who let the dogs out, bindo?
Bindo: I love dogs and sunshine and butterflies. I welcomed the sun’s light this morning and rejoiced in the sound of birds’ singing.
ML: What? Are you okay?
B: I love puppies!
ML: You’re using exclamations points these days?
B: For the sake of puppies, yes! You have a right pretty Poppy-dog.
ML: Thanks. Are you planning to murder puppies?
ML: Come down from the roof, bindo. You don’t need to do this.
B: Don’t make me do it because I will.
ML: Just calm down.
B: You drove me to it. Fine, here goes, I’ll say it. I’m a reasonable facsimile of happiness.
ML: You disgust me.
Bryan has answered seven pressing questions (seven, because he refused to answer any more or less because of his ocd). Enjoy.
1. Do you find Nestle Crunch bars slightly more satisfying than love? Be honest.
When I was young, I did find Nestle Crunch bars more satisfying than love. But, truth be told, love to me then was make believing my high school girlfriend at the time (we’ll call her Melody Eclair) was actually a sophomore named Bo while a certain third wheel rocked herself crazily in the corner of my black Chevy S-10. Now, when pressed, I’d have to say the only thing I find more satisfying than love is a good creme brulee, so long as the layer on top gives you that little crunch.
2. What does it mean if a guy has medium-sized feet and squinty eyes? Don’t lie.
It means orgasm is probably out of the question for all involved.
3. I haven’t gotten a text in hours. Why is this happening to me?
Because you say things like, “I thought you’d never wanted to hear from me again,” “cooooooookies,” and “my dog peed on me.”
4. When are you going to provide me with a homecooked meal again?
You’ve requested Hamburger Helper of the Cheeseburger Macaroni variety. While technically this meal is beneath my level of skill, I will make this for you next Tuesday, with brownies for dessert.
5. Who would win in a break-neck, all-goes fight between bindo and Val?
I’m going with Val. I have a feeling she knows how to throw elbows. Bindo would get distracted by something depressing and write a wonderful poem about it, though.
6. Who let the dogs out? And what the hell was up with all the coconut in the Bahamas?
You let the dogs out, just the same way that you lost your room key and foolishly thought that, because we spent thousands of dollars to go on a trip together, I wanted to spend time with you. As far as the coconuts go, I didn’t see them. I was more impressed with all the men in speedos, which I don’t think you noticed because you hadn’t hit puberty yet.
7. Don’t you secretly wish you had a Blackberry Curve instead of dinky iPhone?
Never. All your readers who have iPhones should download the free App “words with friends” and challenge me, PoeticGrin, to a battle.
Bindo let me interview him for my blog. You know you will giggle as I did. (I suppose I should admit I’m not sure if the pronounciation is biiiiindo or beeendo.)
Bindo’s note to you, dear reader. Before I answered any of Medicated Lady’s questions, I felt it necessary to put on Beck’s “Sea Changes” undoubtedly, the most depressing record ever made. Hmm, where are my smokes? Ah, here they are! OK, everything is in place, Ashtray? Check!…Lighter?..Check!.. Coffee? Check! And now……
1. Can you describe your Dark Place?
Very dark, like a, but with a great paint job and tasteful window treatments.
2. Where does your writing inspiration come from?
It comes from years of being on the road, smoking, drinking coffee, drugs and booze, hundred’s of dead end jobs and a ridiculous amount of meaningless sex.
3. How did Bindo, the writer, become Bindo, the writer?
After being fired or quitting hundreds of dead end jobs (for good and not so good reasons), it occurred to me that I wasn’t good at anything except writing about not being good at anything.
4. In a no-holds barred, caged fight, who would you want as your “wrasslin” ally: Bryan or me? Also, who would you be up against?
That’s tough, because you are both extremely cute and I am shallow on many levels. But I think considering everything, I would have you on my team because I could sit back, light a smoke and watch your luminous hair flying as you leap through the air to put the kabash on our opponents…
That would have to be Bryan and The Dalai Lama. First, well ya know, I get to wrestle with Bryan but mostly, I just like to win.
5. I’m at my happiest when I’m terribly depressed. I am allergic to fire ant venom. Is there any circumstance in which you’d ever want to be eaten by a grizzly bear?
Funny you should ask. I was out hunting bear, back in my Hemmingway days. I had a big grizzly in my sight, pulled the trigger and fired. The bear dropped to the ground. I ran over and the bear was no where. I felt a tap on my shoulder, turned and saw the grizzly. He said, “you have two choices: One, I maul and eat you or Two, you let me have my way with you.”
At the time I was feeling very prolific and didn’t want to die at the moment, which is always a strange feeling, so I opted for backdoor number two. Well, I was depressed over my rape and was going home. When I saw the grizzly again, I sighted him up and pulled the trigger. He dropped like a bad habit. I ran over to celebrate my victory over the horny bear but he was no where to be found. Suddenly, I felt a tap on my shoulder. I turned and there he was with a grizzly smile. He looked at me and said, “You’re not here for hunting are you?”
Be sure to check out bindo’s site:http://bindo.wordpress.com/
Bryan has also reviewed one of bindo’s books on his blog: http://poeticgrin.com/2009/07/03/smoke-breaks-by-bindo/
Dear Medicated Lady,
“Can you define ‘irony’?”
I am reading a book about this schizophrenic lady who goes on rants, creating the proverbial word salad. Now. I shall attempt to answer your question in the same format.
Irony? Because I need more iron siren, crying. Do you cry? Why are you crying? Why are you trying to kill me? Killing shilling do you like the English? Cheerio. [indecipherable singing]
Dear Medicated Lady,
Oh no! My dealer just prescribed me Wellbutrin to pair with my Zoloft… But I think if I lather, rinse, repeat and fluff! I should be alright, no?
This combination is actually quite good, I think. See, Wellbutrin has an “energizing” effect (read manic), which is confusing for people who stay in bed for weeks. I remember seeing sunshine…until I started having gruesome and vivid images of me hurting myself. The problem is I feared for my life because I had energy, where before it was simply too much work to go through with personal injury. However, Zoloft has a much more calming effect. I didn’t notice it helping depression as much as anxiety…which means it sucks the energy and emotion right out of you. So, I think you could benefit from the true antidepressant properties of Wellbutrin since you’ll have the two meds duking it out on the energy front.
Don’t commit suicide.
The creating of luminous hair always makes things better. Remember to shake it out.
Dear Medicated Lady,
I’ve heard Ambien and Lunesta both have side effects such as ‘driving while sleeping’. Can you confirm or deny this?
Lastly, perhaps you could get alimony from Bryan??
You’ve come to the right person.
I can confirm that Ambien will fuck you up and you will not remember much about it (and only will it come back to you in a fuzzy state if it’s brought to your attention by other people or evidence of your transgressions). For example, I was an Ambien texter. Lord only knows (and maybe Bryan) how many crazy texts I sent out, some of which got me in major trouble since I sent them to my should-have-been ex. So I ended up getting myself back in his clutches time and time again. Also, I’ve been told that I’ve fallen asleep for several minutes while talking to people on the phone or I (allegedly) tell people I’m “crackers” and I’m dating a guy from “beef.” Also, I had this “dream” where I was driving on the interstate one night and I realized I was driving under the influence of some medication and was not staying in my lane. I had a momentary sense that I shouldn’t be out. One can only hope this truly was a dream. Now, do not get me wrong. Ambien was pretty much worth it in my opinion.
Perhaps pairing it with benadryl was not the best idea, seeing how it made the effects that much more potent. But what I learned is that I could very easily enjoy an Ambien-only diet if only I could have it. It’s a punch drunk feeling. Also, I would marry it if the politicians weren’t so gun-ho about the Bible saying people should only be allowed to marry people and not inanimate objects.
Lunesta made me sleepy and I had no episodes in which I questioned whether I ruined my life the night before. However, a word of warning: Lunesta is expensive as hell. Ambien has a generic version.
Hope this helps.
P.S. I would ask for alimony but then Bryan would call me and demand we “settle up” all the time and it would piss me off.
Dear Medicated Lady-Pot,
*this novel of a comment has been truncated due to sheer length and copious amounts of bullshit and lies*
Perhaps you should re-evaluate your relationship with this Bryan person. Ask yourselves *yes, plural* did he really mean to helicopter you out of the swing and break your ass? Or was he simply trying to give you affection and show you a good time? When he sprayed you in the eye with cherry air freshener, was he simply being a concerned friend and didn’t have a way to tell you that you smelled bad? When he folded you up into the wall-bed, was he actually attempting to – well, sorry – on this one, I’ve got nothing. Regardless, I would submit to you that despite your posturing as the victim, you are not the battered gay housewife in the relationship – this Bryan person is.
I’ve found that quite often abusers find a way to blame the abused. Like that time a guy got mad at me for making his bed the way I wanted to and accused me of wanting to change and manipulate him. Did this Bryan character intend to consistently attack me? Bryan knows my luck. Bryan is in love with my luck. Bryan likes to see what I do with life’s lemons…and in effect creates situations in which I have to suffer and overcome obstacles. Or simply suffer. Or suffer and go to bed for weeks.
Also, more evidence. Bryan once fell and cracked his ankle and used it as an excuse to refuse to go parasailing.
Also, are you trying to kill me?
Dear Meded One,
When you host “Bindo’s Eulogy Slam” with what’s his face, I would like everyone to be given free meds at the door. I figure that the meds I have not taken and the amount it would have cost is quite substantial, but my request stands. I would offer the royalties from my book sales to help out but alas, I doubt it would cover a days supply.
To cut costs, I shall begin to save all the samples I get at my doctor’s. That way, the people can flock in and get a taste to see what they like and don’t like. For those who find chemical heaven, I will have my shrink available for wholesale prescriptions and such. He’s a very nice man. He will ask you to rate your depression on a scale from 1 to 10 and you will frantically try to come up with a number, but you won’t remember numbers. And you won’t remember what you said last time, so you can’t remember what you have to go on in comparison. You will feel the awkwardness of the moment and still not have an answer. The doctor will write something in his notes.
You might ask him if he’s trying to kill you.
Dear Medicated Lady,
Can you please change the blog roll website you have posted for me?
Consider my freckles as what, sexy lady? (In reference to my writing blog last week.) Beauty marks? Connect the dots
in a tattoo parlor to resemble the Milky Way?
Hey! That’s visually appealing. Can I use that
for my next piece? XXX for a triple threat?
Dearest U. Tree,
I cannot help you. However, I will have my technical assistant and chief manipulator, Bryan, get on this right away.
Feel free to use this as a XXX supposition. I was intentionally vague as to the consideration of freckles so that the reader could consider all possibilities. My brother used to look for constellations in my freckles. I also have a freckle birthmark on the side of my face that looks like a thumbprint. So somehow, some way, Uncle, you get my cosmic melatonin and I certainly can appreciate that.