Post by Steve on Jan 29, 2011 11:58:23 GMT -5
I woke this morning hours prior to the alarm, but only minutes before the roads were buzzing and humming with drones freshly released from the hive. It was passed experience, and nothing more; though I would lead myself to believe that will power, or rejuvenation of spirit, rattled my joints into activity; experience of not waking when the mind does and facing repercussions of exhaustion.
No coffee in the house left me drinking room temperature tea and ashing my smoke into the waste bin. There were piles of change lined up on the table, one for the pack of cigars I knew I’d need to buy; another for a cup of coffee I needed to purchase, and the last to replenish the coins in the car for the toll the state needed. I toppled the dead end of the cigar into the bin, opened the newspaper, and barely made it through the first column when I noticed jesus gazing at me from a crossed the table. His eyes were wide, much more perceptive than mine, and he casually smoothed the hair around from his face. He leapt into the chair silently and must have been watching since I finished organizing my piles of silver. It’s only courteous to ask if he was hungry since he seated himself at the kitchen table, especially when he could have waited until I was reading my Kafka on the sofa. He shook his head at the subject of food, and continued his analysis of me while I drank and smoked over the paper. A headline caught my attention and I pointed made clear to him which on the page it was. Without moving anything but his neck and head he skimmed the article and looked at me, as though questioning my intrigue. The headline read that the petition to remove a certain mayor from office had failed. My main concern with this trivial matter, so it seemed to be to jesus, was that no matter who was in office I as a year round resident would still have to pay tourist tax; an issue I’d rather not delve into. At the sight of him twisting his head about trying to view me like some one seeing a Dali work for the first time I caught my facial expression and threw the emotions to the back of my mind.
I had gone back to the print, perhaps a little selfish being in the presence of divinity; but then he knows he’s loved, when jesus stretched his arms until his nails pulled the edge of the paper back to the table. “What?” I asked, impatiently but none scornful. His glance was all he answered with. “Fine. Why do I have to go to work to pay for taxes that aren’t fair, not because they are taxes but because the revenue is misplaced, Intentionally, in order for salary increases and not medical insurance? If not medical insurance than why not better housing for low-income peoples? The list of people that could be granted help is endless yet the elected feel their job deserves a pay-raise. A stressful job? Yes. But the stress could be alleviated by lessening the depths of their pockets to fill the void in the state. Why can’t I have a piece of land, never leave it, become completely self-sufficient and not pay property tax? Why? It’s a tax against my life!” He closed his eyes for a second but never returned his gaze.
We sat in silence. I watching the movement of his eyes and he watching the movement of my thoughts. I poured a second glass of tea and he left the table. Another cigar was lit and a few moments later I heard the scratching of litter against plastic. He came back into the kitchen and stared up at me, I returned the favor of him listening to me by rubbing behind his ears. “That’s right, because no matter what; it’s just shit.”
No coffee in the house left me drinking room temperature tea and ashing my smoke into the waste bin. There were piles of change lined up on the table, one for the pack of cigars I knew I’d need to buy; another for a cup of coffee I needed to purchase, and the last to replenish the coins in the car for the toll the state needed. I toppled the dead end of the cigar into the bin, opened the newspaper, and barely made it through the first column when I noticed jesus gazing at me from a crossed the table. His eyes were wide, much more perceptive than mine, and he casually smoothed the hair around from his face. He leapt into the chair silently and must have been watching since I finished organizing my piles of silver. It’s only courteous to ask if he was hungry since he seated himself at the kitchen table, especially when he could have waited until I was reading my Kafka on the sofa. He shook his head at the subject of food, and continued his analysis of me while I drank and smoked over the paper. A headline caught my attention and I pointed made clear to him which on the page it was. Without moving anything but his neck and head he skimmed the article and looked at me, as though questioning my intrigue. The headline read that the petition to remove a certain mayor from office had failed. My main concern with this trivial matter, so it seemed to be to jesus, was that no matter who was in office I as a year round resident would still have to pay tourist tax; an issue I’d rather not delve into. At the sight of him twisting his head about trying to view me like some one seeing a Dali work for the first time I caught my facial expression and threw the emotions to the back of my mind.
I had gone back to the print, perhaps a little selfish being in the presence of divinity; but then he knows he’s loved, when jesus stretched his arms until his nails pulled the edge of the paper back to the table. “What?” I asked, impatiently but none scornful. His glance was all he answered with. “Fine. Why do I have to go to work to pay for taxes that aren’t fair, not because they are taxes but because the revenue is misplaced, Intentionally, in order for salary increases and not medical insurance? If not medical insurance than why not better housing for low-income peoples? The list of people that could be granted help is endless yet the elected feel their job deserves a pay-raise. A stressful job? Yes. But the stress could be alleviated by lessening the depths of their pockets to fill the void in the state. Why can’t I have a piece of land, never leave it, become completely self-sufficient and not pay property tax? Why? It’s a tax against my life!” He closed his eyes for a second but never returned his gaze.
We sat in silence. I watching the movement of his eyes and he watching the movement of my thoughts. I poured a second glass of tea and he left the table. Another cigar was lit and a few moments later I heard the scratching of litter against plastic. He came back into the kitchen and stared up at me, I returned the favor of him listening to me by rubbing behind his ears. “That’s right, because no matter what; it’s just shit.”