“We floated downwards, spiraling beautifully within an imaginary whirl pool of dead bodies and grocery bags. When i landed on both feet strongly, a few steps stumbling forward, i was in the middle of the street. The street lamps were weakening, the air was musty, the vibe was non-existent, and still I was surrounded. And my father was beside me, he took my white chalked hand, and together we strode down the neverending street.”
How my sleep had summoned such demons, i was still confoundedly unaware, pleasingly amazed, and silently terrified. I sat up that morning, and my eyes were heavier than usual. Empty bottles sunk into my blistered cement, my bronzed walls were mucking green sooner than i had hoped, my doorways had more holes than i had recalled since the evening prior. And i sat there, alone, alone once more.
Isolation has been an understatement throughout its entirety, including its very succulent birth and its very predictable and forgetful death. No man, not even Adam our First Father will have known my utter pain, for at least Adam had his God. In my now worthless pile of unwillingly immortal blood-clotted and charcoaled life, living is a pain so deeply unbearable that i’m sure i have fallen farther than Lucifer ever imagined he had. I have fallen so far deep below the bowels of light, my empty body has been thrust with such a gruesome force, that my once human life has been smeared across every wall; a bloody, cowardly and whimpering mess spewed upon each and every man made structure.
Oh the ways i have tried to disappear. Every hour in my first year have i struggled, my muscles never growing stronger, though staying just strong enough so that i cannot and will not be able to fall. I see my bones clearly through my blanched white sheik veil, loosely scraping my sharp and jutting poisoned stones. Shackles hang with elephants that have been cursed to never rot, attached to my every joint. I live with my mouth full of blissful death, and my throat refusing to swallow it down. A genderless mass of dead flesh, incapable of emotions and beyond any form of possible coherence that might have existed before. I am unable to cry, for my body holds no liquids, no nutrients to spare and yet still i sit here and yet still i stare. Awake in my bed and i wonder once more, why.
Hanging on a cliff, i take my fathers faithful knife and i look at it with my blackened eyes, i see my writhing bloody shaking hands holding what once was my human father’s. My head tilts upward, my eyes rolling back and my eyelids concealing it, and a slow but steady smile sticks on my face, as my once shaking but now steadied hands charge the mindless weapon repeatedly into my dangling shreds of what faintly resembled a heart. As i feel it tearing apart, as it does from time to time, the knife drops onto the ground with a clatter of metal clanging, better than any music that has yet been made on this rotting planet. I am able to, for a certain second, reach my hands down into my opened dirty wounded hole of where my heart should have been. I can scramble and reach for a few moments until i find it, i grab it with a greed that no man has ever seen and i yank on it with as much strength as i have saved up for that century. And as my last ounce of blood has leaked through every damned and dirty pore i am left with, both hands now deep inside my own body, i wrench and strain and fully extract my own soul from my damned and worthless human body. This, my true yearning, my true and utterly disgustingly raw fantasy. This is only held off for the existence of these remarkable days. Christmas a thousand fold, a room full of wishes, better than fucking heaven itself. I admit, i doubt every day that my squished beetle brain is fooling me, tantalizing my whims with this unbelievable joy.
Yet the days do come, once every century or so, where my dead and thoughtless weight of a brain is able to cough up some remnants of what was. Some insignificant shreds of my forgotten and mythical life sneezed into my lap, and if i squint with my blinded eyes, and if i peek through my phantom limbs, i am able to view seconds of what life had been.
Today, as i sat up, my shredded and dehydrated spinal cord whining louder than usual, i knew. I knew that today was that day. I heard a loud THUD, followed by an empty crack. With this epiphany my body had lost all grasp with itself and had fallen forward. My head had smashed into my cement and broken vodka bottles that made up my floor. I lay there, in an utter stupor of happiness. My smile the widest it has ever been since i was imprisoned here, the blood from my freshly cracked skull running down into a puddle around my cheek, i tasted its redness, its human smell and its human flavor. And instead of the memories flashing for a second, which would have held me off for who knows how long, they poured in seeping and generously loving waves. I was rolling on my own thoughts and memories.
The purest molly of life there ever was.
My sixteenth birthday. I had a family, a mother of 52 and a father of 55. I had a small sister of 12, who could’ve passed for 14. I had a house, a beautiful foreign structure with lights from the ceiling and doorways and fuzzy floors. Light was everywhere, I was blinded by my recollection. There were rooms, ones I could see and others I just thought of. Mine had paintings, these colored splotched designs depicting filtered copies of other life. This place had endless rooms, secret tunnels. It had boxes with moving pictures. There was immeasurable warmth emanating from the walls, from the bodies of my biological fellowship, from myself. Everything was incandescent, reflecting off of each others surface and passing around some bouton of pleasantries, of warmth and sunshine and love and impossible happiness. I could taste the warmth. It was an overpowering feeling that my body had forgotten even existed and had grown normal without. Though now my limbs and torso remembered this love, and my eternal wounds that had never been closed now felt cold and iced over, perhaps purple with utter realization that there was such a feeling besides their own misery.
Light was all over. Light was in every corner, beaming from every crack in every wall. Shining from every possible crevice. Spilling out of my family’s brightened eyes, lightning shot from their fingertips, initiated by each small movement and every subtle twitch. There were plethoras of shades and multitudes of hues, light was this impossibly calm and normal happening. My memories were taking it all so casually, as if it were some endless substance. Drinking from some fountain of light, none of them could ever think of not having it. Just as I felt so strongly as to squeal out to my loving kin, to screech with my every last ping of vocal chord usage..the light became this now, unpleasantly overpowering sensation. The light was this cackling menace, a satire of my mind, a cruel red beam on the wall for animals to confuse themselves over, smashing their own beastly heads into them. I felt used,and abandoned, and i was returning to my previous and normal state, but soon i was overwhelmed by another fact.
I felt again. I was conscious. I was finally something, once more. I was this chilled being, laying on this chopped cement and sliced glass floor, bleeding profusely, and yet in utter ecstasy. Before my neck strained itself to prepare for another yelp, now one of pure stupid excitement, it was once again silenced with another vision. I wanted to roll over and just laugh, laughing was a response i had now. But i physically was still paralyzed, my visions stronger than any REM sleep i might’ve had, it froze over my fucked up body and i lay in tingling astonishment, waiting-more than eager-to see what my mind was willing to spew for me now. I had crashed into the fire hydrant of my memory bank, and this entire summer day i am allowed to spring and frolic under its water showers, not a care before and not a care now.