I Wear No Tie

I am at work and am under the influence of a realization I've always had. Whenever I wear my work khaki's, which is everyday Monday through Thursday, I am extremely self conscious about the size of my pockets. I feel as though these pants make my hips look a lot wider than they actually are. This makes me look strange. It doesn't make me look fat, but it makes me look deformed. These pockets are so long and they're positioned in a way that doesn't fit my body. I am a sleek man. I am a slender man. No pockets should jive with my body. No pockets should jive with my mind. Fucking khaki's. I don't necessarily approve of this damn shirt either. Banana Republic, you have failed me. Why has it taken me so long to come to these conclusions? I need to buy black dress shoes. Italian boots and walk around in the nude (I believe the new Melvins album is called something like that--Nude in Boots, or something). I bought both this shirt and these pants a few months ago when I was starting at Ameritrade. I had no business casual. I had no business. God this is what I want to do. I want to wear short shorts and tank tops like a flower and write for a magazine or some dumb thing. I actually want to do that but write a poem. I love it. I love you, word. Where have my shorts gone? I can't believe the fucking wire. "You were late." haha. Is Omar going to kill that brother man? brother something or other. Brother man, not brother, man. I told Z that the only way I would play his roommate's white guitar in real life is if I were wearing white cowboy boots. But then that made me think about that naked cowboy in Times Square who actually is nude in boots, or was it Berkeley? Or that M&Ms commercial that was a play off of the naked cowboy--the peanut was wearing white boots, right? But I was actually playing that guitar. I was picking its strings in real life, and I wasn't wearing white boots. I was playing for Z, but not for real people. I am going to go shopping for some new pants soon, maybe Wednesday, maybe not. I would like to get some sleek pants and wear them to work with a nice shirt that would make me look slender like I am. I had a conversation about God and dying last night with C at 3:00 a.m. I told her about my numbness that stems from my lightning strike. She told me about her grandpa and her crazy uncle and his girlfriend who kissed a man she had never met right before his casket closed. I love that woman for some reason. The pair were playing a necessary part in my head, like a missing pilot returned from her missing voyage wearing large, dark sunglasses. Wearing a long, white scarf wrapped a few times around her neck. Her hair fell around the scarf and she kissed his head. She was from Russia but wasn't really a doctor. C knows that things will be alright. Her grandpa and otherwise. They're runners. I like 'em a lot, even if they're mean to grandma. I'll forgive you. I'll forgive everyone. Happy Father's Day.

k