Speaking In Tongues
Scribbling In Voices


* * *

It's raining again —
Nothing new about that.
When there is no light,
And it's raining that hard,
People in Sweden and Finland
Kill themselves.
I think Seattle unofficially
Placed third after them.
Friday night finally came — yay.
Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday,
Thursday, Friday — that's how long
I've been waiting for it.  So now I can sit
and think how lucky I am that
it's Friday night, because there is
nothing else to do.
I don't go out into the night.
I don't go out, period.
I don't smoke.
I don't drink.
I don't drink and drive.
I don't sniff, or snort or smoke pot.
I don't dye my hair, or pierce my nose,
ears, eyes, or buttonhole.
I get to walk around in torn-on-the-knees
jeans, though — that's how I rebel — until
my parents take them away and throw
my made-with-scissors-rebelliousness
into the garbage, like they threw
everything else away.
I don't sleep with anyone.
I don't kiss anyone.
Maybe I am gay.
Yeah, that's it.
Ok, who am I kidding?
I am not.
I don't skip classes often
and I only swear under my
breath and moderately,
really-really moderately.
I am normal.
Yessir, I am normal.
My friends don't drink,
smoke, sleep, kiss, snort,
sniff, drive or wear
They are normal.
Yessir, normal.
They often say that I
am weird, and when they
do, I laugh and hug them
and I say: «Amen!»
The usual banter is leaking
through the walls of my
room.  I didn't know that the
people with degrees can
curse and damn and wear
each other out like that.
Heck, I didn't even know that
normal people could.
I want to drive out of here,
but I don't have the keys,
I don't have the car, and
I've got no driving hands.
And also, what if I
make the wrong turn
and jump onto the wrong
side of the road and crash
into the wrong traffic,
instead of stopping it with my
Kick it.
Spit it.
Break it.
Take it.
Make it.
Ditch it.
Switch it.
Swear at it.
Ok, I am going to chill —
The X-Files rerun just started.