Monday, April 9, 2012


I break things. All the time. Constantly. Not big, expensive things like amps and computers. Small, inconsequential items. I wear them out fast, or shatter them with a small touch. Socks, toothbrushes, all manner of glassware and kitchen items. Sunglasses, guitar strings, shoelaces, and the back right shoulder of my old blue jacket (blown out over and over again at the seam, stitched back together a hundred times). But I walk fairly quietly through the world; never slamming doors or throwing fits. I don't even yell, really. Unless I'm calling a dog back home, or singing (?) something sweaty and out of tune into a microphone. JT has a theory that I have no control whatsoever over my Qi/Ch'i/Lifeforce. That I need to get into aikido, stat. Steven Seagal is very good at aikido, or so I've been told. But its not really my bag.

So what to do? Sometimes I open a door only to end up staring at my hand in disbelief. There's the knob, laying dumbly in my palm. Did anyone see me do that? Hope not. Put it back together, and wait patiently to break something else. Your butter dish, the handle of a dustpan, the knee of my jeans. All mangled quite gently and without malice. Shadoobie, shattered.