Reg--have you met him?
Posted: September 19th, 2006, 7:01 pm
(their are too many crazy people on the street forgoten--no one gives a shit about them--but how can you right??? you may care, but how much do you really?)
“perplexed reg?” I ask. Reg is looking off into space. He always does. He never says a word.
No reply.
“well reg you got a smoke?” The mist is coming over the field and it is freaky—I don’t know reg all that well—he is defiantly a schizophrenic.
“love is funny.” Reg says. He’s voice sounds far off. I have never talked to reg about love—he has never talk to me about love. This statement makes no sense. I have been thinking about love. Or rather the none existence of love, but it hardly would show on my face? No one sane would notice it at least.
“what does that have to do with anything reg?”
“what?” he laughs uncomfortably and unnecessarily. “Oh?” and Reg hands me a smoke. His big hands that could crush me. He is six six and I can't help but think about of mice and men’s Lenny. But reg is not stupid—we think he has been taking too much of his medication.
“thanks reg.”
the backyard to the place is a field—we went out there one day and found a shit load of toys. In the mist it looked like a deadly field of nightmares rather then dreams—which was spray painted on the back of the fence along with clowns and a smiling dog. Reg stood up and almost knocked me over with his belly. “watch it.” i said.
The same nervous and unwarranted laugh smile like a child having their first bowl movement and not quite knowing what has happened—shit! And the beginning of a whole lot more shit!
Most defiantly insane and out of touch with reality. Some people just would not talk to him, and he probably did not notice it, or care—but for some reason i thought he would need a bit of company and he had smokes. I knew no matter what i asked I would get the same blank stare and then like he was shocked by electricity he’d jolt up and and laugh his laugh and make me repeat and then he’d say “i don’t know” or something that did not make sense—it was sad...
Geoff
“perplexed reg?” I ask. Reg is looking off into space. He always does. He never says a word.
No reply.
“well reg you got a smoke?” The mist is coming over the field and it is freaky—I don’t know reg all that well—he is defiantly a schizophrenic.
“love is funny.” Reg says. He’s voice sounds far off. I have never talked to reg about love—he has never talk to me about love. This statement makes no sense. I have been thinking about love. Or rather the none existence of love, but it hardly would show on my face? No one sane would notice it at least.
“what does that have to do with anything reg?”
“what?” he laughs uncomfortably and unnecessarily. “Oh?” and Reg hands me a smoke. His big hands that could crush me. He is six six and I can't help but think about of mice and men’s Lenny. But reg is not stupid—we think he has been taking too much of his medication.
“thanks reg.”
the backyard to the place is a field—we went out there one day and found a shit load of toys. In the mist it looked like a deadly field of nightmares rather then dreams—which was spray painted on the back of the fence along with clowns and a smiling dog. Reg stood up and almost knocked me over with his belly. “watch it.” i said.
The same nervous and unwarranted laugh smile like a child having their first bowl movement and not quite knowing what has happened—shit! And the beginning of a whole lot more shit!
Most defiantly insane and out of touch with reality. Some people just would not talk to him, and he probably did not notice it, or care—but for some reason i thought he would need a bit of company and he had smokes. I knew no matter what i asked I would get the same blank stare and then like he was shocked by electricity he’d jolt up and and laugh his laugh and make me repeat and then he’d say “i don’t know” or something that did not make sense—it was sad...
Geoff
