White People Dancing

Originally Posted Wednesday, July 23, 2014

The pain in my lower back is scathing, excruciating. . . unbearable. . . but I bear it nonetheless.  I sit here and write through the alien sensations that run through my legs, though in truth, I have felt them before.  When this happens, I always wonder if I will walk again or if this is to be the last time my body does the things it needs to get me on my feet again.  How many times can a thing go wrong before it is finally and unutterably broken? 

We'll find out. 

There is something inevitable about having an anonymous blog.  As soon as you write anonymously about someone, s/he reads it.  It happens again and again.  What law of the universe is that?  In this case, I gave the site to someone I know having forgotten that I had written something based on her life.  Of course it had to be based on something, but this is a fiction not a newspaper.  When she read it, though, she recognized the thing right away.  I don't go back and reread the blog mostly because I don't edit and when I reread I get a chill at the lack of editing and want to fix everything that I didn't fix before, and now, years and years into the thing, it seems impossible. 

"Why don't you try to take your writing and turn it into stories or a novel?" 

"I couldn't stand to do that.  It is too much work." 

She reminded me of the entry with a look in her eye.  Well, at least I know she is reading it.  When I used to keep handwritten and typed journals, I always expected that the women I was in love with loved me back enough to respect my privacy.  Wrong.  Not once did that happen.  None of them liked me as much afterwards, either. 

Writing things down has always been dangerous and gets more so all the time.  Why do people think that because a thing is written that it is factual?  Nothing in my blogs if factual.  Everything is the evil trick of my silly little mind.  Writing, in toto, is a trick.  Some people learn tricks better than others.  I can't juggle, for instance, but I can make up things on a (virtual) page.  At least enough to get people to believe that it is true enough to piss them off. 

But that is not what I came here to write.  It is the madness of the pain that is driving me.  What I wanted to write about is White People Dancing.  I was looking at some YouTube videos last night.  Man. . . I dig it.  These are my people.  White People are the best dancers in the world.  I love the clothes, too.  The women are so beautiful. 

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I got to these links after I watched the opening scene to a two week old "Rectified."  If you don't watch that, you might think about it.  It is a strange and deeply disturbing show.  If you have stability issues, though, I might not recommend it.  But when I heard this old song, I went right away to search for it.  Then I sent it to a girl who might think I write about her on this blog just to prove I am a very groovy guy. 

Judge for yourself.  I must get back on the floor now and puke.