20040801
Loose Narratives
April 21 2004
They chase me through my head. Which one of us is the real freedom fighter? Secondly, what do they have against freedom?
I sat on a piano bench in a fairly dark room. Fairly dark: no lights on, but two open doors with opposite light sources casting their image onto the floor. I’m staying quiet, but my thoughts are echoing off the walls, and no matter what I do, they won’t stop. I know they can hear me, so every movement I make is rushed and spastic, for fear that I’ll be caught a millisecond later, off guard. He enters. My heart gives a shriek, temporarily paralyzing the muscles in my extremities. But it’s only him. Now we whisper together, and make our plans to escape this hell.
April 22 2004
She picks me up at a location that, for some odd reason, I can only describe as obtuse. There’s no doubt on this car-ride, that an awkward silence is prevailing over the both of us. It’s not just the silence, it’s the air; it feels like one-hundred pounds per square inch, as it creeps along my forearm, crushing every single hair that had the will to stand up against the cold. I can’t help but look over at her driving and picture a clown’s over-exaggerated face. I can’t exactly pinpoint the emotion which it portrays, but I don’t like it. It’s fitting of a… an after-funeral party. It does not however suit our situation. Subconsciously, my hand has made its way across the cup holders and CD player, and my fingertips just barely make contact as my voice cracks into, “you know… I’ve really missed you.” Her clown face falls apart into emotion. Something raw. Something real.
“yeah?” she asks. “…you stupid backstabbing mother-fucker,” the look in her eyes says to me. But I know everything is going to be okay. Our hands clasped finger by finger, making a unified superfist; a love-fist. We’re capable of anything together.
April 25 2004
Into the quasi dark we drove, not quite sure of where to go. I see buildings pass by like reels of film from the 30s on either side of us. I’m not sure if they’re houses or shops, warehouses or skyscrapers, just something I feel like I should be staring at in awe. Oh, the movement of it all. The pot is hovering over me in a haze thicker than purple. Perplexed as I am even by the miniscule task of bending my finger back and forth, if I were placed on the edge of one of those skyscrapers (or are they razors?), I could probably be convinced that the clouds were indeed a bed.
Snap, come off that buzz. We’re pulling into the Reservoir Park, though it’s obviously closed.
“What are we-“
“We’re going camping,” she says at me like the whole broken-record deal with a huge grin on her face. Is it real? My only reply to this is to break out giggling like a six year-old. I begin to wonder if we’re going to have sex tonight. As I’m drifting back into my coffin with this thought and a box of mental tissues, I see it.
“Holy shit!” I shout, cueing her in just in time to swerve, hit the breaks, cry out, and swerve, in no particular order. The deer side steps, looking just as inebriated and glossy-eyed as us in those headlights. We miss him and slide sideways down a small hill until we halt by the power of a bush or two. At a complete stop, I realize how well this all worked out. Risking her own life, she did not wear a seat belt, and made this tiny little speck of time that much better for me. She was flung into my lap, and her dress was somehow torn just perfectly to hide her breasts, but still show an image of beauty. Tilting my head sideways, I ask, “are you alright?”
“Yeah… …yeah, just a little shaken up. You okay?”
“Actually, I don’t think I’ve felt better all night,” I reply with a sheepish grin I hope she notices and adores. She takes all this in with a sly smile of her own. A smile beautiful enough to kiss. As I reach out, she pulls away at the last second, leaving her taste hot on the air for me.
“No. This can’t happen now.”
April 26 2004
Tonight, we separated to carry out certain tasks that we each simply had to do. While in the learning vestibule, I subdue my entire conscience in the task at hand; denying that face entrance through my eyes. Even if there were something worthwhile going on up here, I still wouldn’t let people in, it’s the principle that’s of significance.
Just like high school… it’s just the principal who matters. Nothing and/or no one else.
But then, it hits me. I’ve seen that innocent face before. Somewhere, anywhere. Just tell me I’ve seen her outside of this moment. As I continue thinking, still subconsciously trapped by the rusty pad lock on the cracked wooden door of my mind, I unwillingly (error?) move myself to the seat next to hers. This is no easy task, being that her body is exactly across the entire room from mine. I fight the desire to kill the space between us. And for a moment, I think her blood lets that desire win. It was such a brief moment though, that it did not register on the sensors of any living creature; just me. I’ve seen her before, I’ve held her close, even unlocked that rusty lock to tease her.
Thank god I held my walls down, she looks like shit. Once skinny and small breasted, her flesh has outgrown its chin and jawbone, and hangs tightly off the cheeks. Her chest has swollen to the point where the skin must be so tight around her breasts, that she might explode. Due to her wretched posture, I cannot tell if this blossoming was a good or bad thing. She’s wearing make-up to fit in where she doesn’t belong, and we both know it.
I look down and her legs, the one thing that’s turned beautiful with the stuffing, are calling out to me from the curves inside her tight, torn jeans. I can tell she wants me. Fortunately, the flames kicked up inside of these four walls, giving me the power of resistance. “I’ve got something just like you at home, and it’s in far better condition,” the flames begs me to whisper in her ear as I squeeze her inner thigh in an evil twist on the girl’s reality. Let her know her place. At the back of the line; maybe some other time, though not likely. Yeah, probably not, honey.
April 29 2004
Suddenly, out of nothing comes a pitch black backdrop. That’s all there is.
Repetition of these words, over and over. “Nothing. Things Change. And apparently, so do people.”
The ability to feel anything is overcome by the black and fades into little gray shades of nothingness; just an echo of pain in my hollow stomach that leads to more of the same thing. There are circles in my head where I just keep chasing the same blankness of a tail around, hoping it will spawn something more.
The floor that doesn’t exist (hey, you accurately show me where it is) is sucking me in. I’d say I was sinking but that would imply a surface and a rippling effect of some sort. This presence is neither seen nor felt. Helpless? What is depression?
They chase me through my head. Which one of us is the real freedom fighter? Secondly, what do they have against freedom?
I sat on a piano bench in a fairly dark room. Fairly dark: no lights on, but two open doors with opposite light sources casting their image onto the floor. I’m staying quiet, but my thoughts are echoing off the walls, and no matter what I do, they won’t stop. I know they can hear me, so every movement I make is rushed and spastic, for fear that I’ll be caught a millisecond later, off guard. He enters. My heart gives a shriek, temporarily paralyzing the muscles in my extremities. But it’s only him. Now we whisper together, and make our plans to escape this hell.
April 22 2004
She picks me up at a location that, for some odd reason, I can only describe as obtuse. There’s no doubt on this car-ride, that an awkward silence is prevailing over the both of us. It’s not just the silence, it’s the air; it feels like one-hundred pounds per square inch, as it creeps along my forearm, crushing every single hair that had the will to stand up against the cold. I can’t help but look over at her driving and picture a clown’s over-exaggerated face. I can’t exactly pinpoint the emotion which it portrays, but I don’t like it. It’s fitting of a… an after-funeral party. It does not however suit our situation. Subconsciously, my hand has made its way across the cup holders and CD player, and my fingertips just barely make contact as my voice cracks into, “you know… I’ve really missed you.” Her clown face falls apart into emotion. Something raw. Something real.
“yeah?” she asks. “…you stupid backstabbing mother-fucker,” the look in her eyes says to me. But I know everything is going to be okay. Our hands clasped finger by finger, making a unified superfist; a love-fist. We’re capable of anything together.
April 25 2004
Into the quasi dark we drove, not quite sure of where to go. I see buildings pass by like reels of film from the 30s on either side of us. I’m not sure if they’re houses or shops, warehouses or skyscrapers, just something I feel like I should be staring at in awe. Oh, the movement of it all. The pot is hovering over me in a haze thicker than purple. Perplexed as I am even by the miniscule task of bending my finger back and forth, if I were placed on the edge of one of those skyscrapers (or are they razors?), I could probably be convinced that the clouds were indeed a bed.
Snap, come off that buzz. We’re pulling into the Reservoir Park, though it’s obviously closed.
“What are we-“
“We’re going camping,” she says at me like the whole broken-record deal with a huge grin on her face. Is it real? My only reply to this is to break out giggling like a six year-old. I begin to wonder if we’re going to have sex tonight. As I’m drifting back into my coffin with this thought and a box of mental tissues, I see it.
“Holy shit!” I shout, cueing her in just in time to swerve, hit the breaks, cry out, and swerve, in no particular order. The deer side steps, looking just as inebriated and glossy-eyed as us in those headlights. We miss him and slide sideways down a small hill until we halt by the power of a bush or two. At a complete stop, I realize how well this all worked out. Risking her own life, she did not wear a seat belt, and made this tiny little speck of time that much better for me. She was flung into my lap, and her dress was somehow torn just perfectly to hide her breasts, but still show an image of beauty. Tilting my head sideways, I ask, “are you alright?”
“Yeah… …yeah, just a little shaken up. You okay?”
“Actually, I don’t think I’ve felt better all night,” I reply with a sheepish grin I hope she notices and adores. She takes all this in with a sly smile of her own. A smile beautiful enough to kiss. As I reach out, she pulls away at the last second, leaving her taste hot on the air for me.
“No. This can’t happen now.”
April 26 2004
Tonight, we separated to carry out certain tasks that we each simply had to do. While in the learning vestibule, I subdue my entire conscience in the task at hand; denying that face entrance through my eyes. Even if there were something worthwhile going on up here, I still wouldn’t let people in, it’s the principle that’s of significance.
Just like high school… it’s just the principal who matters. Nothing and/or no one else.
But then, it hits me. I’ve seen that innocent face before. Somewhere, anywhere. Just tell me I’ve seen her outside of this moment. As I continue thinking, still subconsciously trapped by the rusty pad lock on the cracked wooden door of my mind, I unwillingly (error?) move myself to the seat next to hers. This is no easy task, being that her body is exactly across the entire room from mine. I fight the desire to kill the space between us. And for a moment, I think her blood lets that desire win. It was such a brief moment though, that it did not register on the sensors of any living creature; just me. I’ve seen her before, I’ve held her close, even unlocked that rusty lock to tease her.
Thank god I held my walls down, she looks like shit. Once skinny and small breasted, her flesh has outgrown its chin and jawbone, and hangs tightly off the cheeks. Her chest has swollen to the point where the skin must be so tight around her breasts, that she might explode. Due to her wretched posture, I cannot tell if this blossoming was a good or bad thing. She’s wearing make-up to fit in where she doesn’t belong, and we both know it.
I look down and her legs, the one thing that’s turned beautiful with the stuffing, are calling out to me from the curves inside her tight, torn jeans. I can tell she wants me. Fortunately, the flames kicked up inside of these four walls, giving me the power of resistance. “I’ve got something just like you at home, and it’s in far better condition,” the flames begs me to whisper in her ear as I squeeze her inner thigh in an evil twist on the girl’s reality. Let her know her place. At the back of the line; maybe some other time, though not likely. Yeah, probably not, honey.
April 29 2004
Suddenly, out of nothing comes a pitch black backdrop. That’s all there is.
Repetition of these words, over and over. “Nothing. Things Change. And apparently, so do people.”
The ability to feel anything is overcome by the black and fades into little gray shades of nothingness; just an echo of pain in my hollow stomach that leads to more of the same thing. There are circles in my head where I just keep chasing the same blankness of a tail around, hoping it will spawn something more.
The floor that doesn’t exist (hey, you accurately show me where it is) is sucking me in. I’d say I was sinking but that would imply a surface and a rippling effect of some sort. This presence is neither seen nor felt. Helpless? What is depression?
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