I've spent the past few weeks enjoying life and allowing in creative inspiration with the help of two good friends, Kettle and Pot. They each inspired me in much different ways. The kettle says, "Be aggressive. Pour every last drop of insanity and sexual energy into your passion." The kettle and I have a special relationship. She and I became close friends back when I realized I was spending much too much time with some bottom of the barrel bitches who made me feel bad about myself. I used to spend days feeling an overwhelming sense of guilt and anguish. Sometimes even nausea, all at the hand of these cheap losers. Kettle somehow showed me a side to life I knew I deserved. But as Kettle and I have progressively been falling deeper in love, Pot has been telling me some really nasty secrets Kettle has been hiding. Pot says to me the other day, "Kettle is a product of incest. She tries to make you like her using false pretenses of warmth and euphoria but she'll never tell you what her real motive is, seclusion."
I took all of the things Pot told me into account, all the while noting secretly to myself that he tends to be a bit paranoid. Pot and I met a few years back when we were introduced in High School. We really didn't get along too well at first but when we ran into each other years later in San Diego, I found his laid back demeanor elating. Pot has encouraged my sensibility and creativity in ways no one ever has or can. The one thing that I know I can count on Pot for though, would be his ability to ruin a perfectly good conversation with a single thought. He intentionally provokes really dark ideas in the middle of a perfectly good evening. The last one for example was a rant about North Koreans taking over the world with one swift flip of a switch. He had me believe that North Korea would invade the world in a guerrilla type fashion while donning sombreros, forcing humanity into a fog of communism and hypnosis. While I appreciate his sense of theatrics and banter, he doesn't truly understand the impact he has with the level of confidence he conveys in each statement. Sometimes it takes a night of anxiety stricken sleep and a moment with fox news to remember that I live in a different type of fucked up unreality than previously described.
Taking all of these thoughts and experiences into account, I knowingly put Kettle and Pot into the same room to see what may happen. They flowed for a while, singing along together to the likings of Tina Turner. They spoke about pop culture and even snacked on mini powdered doughnuts. We laughed, we cried, we played scrabble.
The evening shifted when I said it was time to turn in. Both Pot and Kettle ganged up on me, insisting that I was abandoning them. They agreed that I have become complacent with their roles in my life and didn't feel as though I needed them as strongly as I once did. I ignored the insults and childish cries for attention as I rinsed the exfoliant from my face and brushed my teeth, then crawled into bed. Nothing could have prepared me for the events to follow. Kettle swooped into my room and aggressively spun my bed around like a propeller. I never knew the strength that girl had until I was sitting there frightened like a drag queen in direct sunlight. In came Pot, blasting his iHome with a song entitled "North Korea - Hell March." They became a blur as I was being taunted by the bass and violently spinning until I finally screamed in fear, unable to control the projectile vomit that showered the once crisp white walls and 1,000 count Egyptian cotton.
Alas, Kettle and Pot disappeared.
Leaving me cold and alone with nothing more than a mess and a really fucked up story.
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