# Stop Killing Yourself



## Eiji Tunsinagi (May 16, 2010)

I do think you’re nice, who told you I don’t?  You come around, I come around -- you know how these things are.  We don’t have to talk, now, do we?  There is light and wind and all that good stuff, we’re in the city, it’s bright, there’s the sound of a horn or pothole in your rear view mirror and oh -- now we’re driving.

So of course I think you’re nice.  I’m in your car now.  I don’t ride with strangers, and I don’t hang out with meanies so that means you must be nice.  Anyone who isn’t a stranger is nice, and even most of them are nice.  Don’t chalk it up to classic ignorance -- it’s more intentional ignorance -- call that arrogance, I suppose?  

So.  If I don’t want to talk it’s because I’m busy looking -- even something horrifying can feel ok if you just give me time to examine it better, give it my own, skewed definition, if you will.  Will you, now?  Thanks, that’s real nice of you.  Come here often?  Yeah, don’t answer that.  Completely rhetorical, if not utterly cliché.  I mostly use it as my ‘comedic/self-depreciating/lame-and-knows-it’s-lame’ pick up.  Impressed by my off-the-cuff categorization?  You should be.  

But back to my point -- that is, the two of us, in your car, and me, not really talking -- so, not really making a point -- and just looking.  I like the high buildings and ask you what you think of the high buildings and you don’t really give me a definite answer -- this disappoints me to no end, and you will never know it -- so maybe a point has been made.  

Maybe I will live in a high building some day, and I won’t have to worry about my petrifying fear of spiders -- though I’ve heard that elevation is no factor in their invasion of one’s personal space.  They always find a way in.  So.  Maybe my point has been made.  

And then we pass the pink building, and it is so pink it might as well be fake.  And I say this, I make it a point to point it out.  I’ve taken time to mention this pink building, and you don’t really give me a response.  And that’s OK.  Some people just don’t enjoy life.  

Maybe someday you’ll learn to appreciate random stately pink buildings, tall buildings, buildings with long halls you can see down because the entrances are held open by someone helping an old lady with too many bags inside -- maybe you will see all this.  Yes.  

Until then, here’s my number.  Get back to me when you’ve considered to stop killing yourself and calling it living life, entertainment, your career, your future. 



*


It's been a while since I've posted here.  Last experiences.. a bit wild -- but when is poetry not wild.  So I think I'll try my non-fiction here... so.  So so so.

stephen


----------



## moderan (May 16, 2010)

Interesting. Reads more like fiction. Definitely anecdotal.


----------



## Vulcan (May 16, 2010)

It was definitely engaging because it had an almost Gonzo Journalism style to it..it throws you into the story immediately and the narrative voice is very interesting and extravagant. But I agree that it reads more like fiction..I would like to see a lot more of this!


----------



## garza (May 16, 2010)

Good writing, but I must agree with the others that this reads like a  fragment from a work of fiction, either an introductory scene or a  transition. 

If this is intended as non-fiction there needs to be a hook somewhere to  hang it. Much of today's journalism reads this way, but eventually gets  around to the story so that the introductory material adds to the  who-what-when-where narrative. 

But whatever its purpose, it's put together well. The personality of the  speaker, half bold, half reticent, comes across effortlessly for the  reader. I don't have to strain to hear the voice.

The ending, 'Until then, here’s my number.  Get back to me when you’ve  considered to  stop killing yourself and calling it living life, entertainment, your  career, your future,' could be the bridge to the who-what-when-where  bit.  

But this would also make a perfect introduction to a relationship-based  short story.


----------



## Eiji Tunsinagi (May 16, 2010)

Thanks for all the replies.  This piece (and a lot of the pieces I've been writing recently) are non fiction that have been embellished (just a bit) - but are supposed to be more like essays than narrative -- certainly more non fiction than fiction.  I'm trying to blur the two, but not so seamlessly so as to ruin the illusion of fiction -- but more to create dreamlike non fiction.  If that makes any sense... please tell me, because I'm not sure!


----------



## Reese (May 23, 2010)

Dream-like? I can see that. It's called "stream of consciousness." It reads like the disjointed tale of an individual hanging out with someone he (or she) wishes was attracted to them, but isn't.

The only thing I'm missing is the exact point of writing it.  I mean that in a good way!


----------

