2011
I'm 31 and I live in Florida in a one bedroom apartment I share with a coworker. I sleep on the living room couch.
If you follow me I can show you exactly where it all went wrong…
It was a cucumber sandwich on the beach of the Black Sea.
Sand in my teeth
or wait maybe it was the watermelon seeds from last winters last meal.
In any case
I was mixing low grade ecstasy into a glass of whiskey when all of the sudden
I remembered my best friend yelling over a pay phone at me 9 years prior “this isn't a fucking Burroughs novel Julia” and slamming the phone.
I dont know about that, it could've easily been a bestseller, except he was dead and I didnt have a pen to write with.
So there's that,
I thought
Yeah
Let's see
How words survive…
They can spend centuries atop our barbed wires
Render us useless in our mutterings
we make in the hopes to retire in a quote.
And
Eyelids are fenders
That crash
Into strangers
In the hopes of explosion
But all we end up getting
is ourselves caught in crypts and gravestones
And here I am
Where the fire escapes are fire hazards
Where the alley ends and meets my throat
sore from screaming into a scream and 2 blocks past the pizza parlors,
coffee shop teenage tragedies
and hipsters with cracked voices.
I’ve got a morticians lens eye view of the strangers finely tuned to a beat my heart forgets to ache to
Crazy impossible nothings
This is the border
I come to at the end of the page
This is my impulsive army
All the incarnations of me
Daily Schedule
When you get sick and are told you’re unable to work for the foreseeable future you go through two different reactions.
The first being excited about never having to work again, filling your days with lunches with friends, shopping for unnecessary things you know you'd never really use. Finally getting around to all the projects you put on hold because you were too tired from …..work.
The second reaction is fear. How am I supposed to live off of a savings that resembles that of a child's piggy bank. You would think I would have saved for a rainy day but my pay is below minimum wage and so was my value as an employee but that's neither here nor there. I can't just not work, how am I supposed to….live?
My routine is as follows:
5-6 am I wake up because my body is set to wake up out of habit for work (work which I can't do anymore)
I brush my teeth and wash my face. I make sure to take my first dose of medications.
I'm wide awake so I can't go back to sleep so I watch tv, there’s nothing interesting on so i put Bob’s Burgers on for background noise.
I make a mental list of all things I want to do today, which in reality I might only do two things from the list.
I don't drink coffee or tea so I grab some water and read. What I read doesn't matter, my memory doesn't hold information like it used to.
It's too early to talk to friends ...friends…friend, the only friend I have is on her way to work.
7-8 am I rummage through the kitchen for something to eat but nothing really ever fills me up.
9-10 am I contemplate taking a nap just as the rest of the house is waking up, I'm exhausted and the day hasn't even started.
11-12 am/pm I take my second dose of medications, still nothing on so I turn to youtube to watch conspiracy theories…they’re as predictable as I am.
1-2 pm I take my third dose of medication and decide to paint and work with clay. I don't know how to paint but I try, I have all the time in the world….God willing.
3-4 pm I take my fourth dose of medication and scrounge for something that looks appetizing. My friend’s off work so she calls, there's no time to hang out because she has priorities with family that outweigh girl time. She apologizes and I tell her not to worry because I get it….I get it.
5-6 pm I take my fifth and final dose of medication and make dinner for the family, well my sister and hers anyways. I wash the dishes and clean up my mess. Serving myself a plate of what I chose for tonight's menu.
7-8 pm I write stories I keep hidden because the worlds inside my head aren't meant for the people outside my head. I write poetry that's dark and opposite of what they see when they see me.
9-10 pm I get ready for bed. Scrolling through the tv there's still nothing on so I settle on Bob’s Burgers again, it's become my white noise.
11-12 pm/am I lay in silence, in the dark of night waiting to fall asleep only to start all over again.
The burnt memories
Years have been lost from the pocket of my life in getting rid of a picture after picture of those faces from my memory. Like a photo album holding the features of people, I hold a picture after a trivial farewell, light the matchstick and bid farewell to its burning remains until the last fragment of it. The stock of matchsticks has begun to diminish... Then I hold the picture that follows, no one told me that your picture would also be thrown among the pile of pictures. Then to the next picture, and the one after that, won't it all end someday? I am not saddened by their farewell as much as I am saddened by the wasted time, let's be honest, I spend more time burning their memories than the time I spend meeting them. I gaze into the trash bin, where the ashes of burnt pictures lie, I check on the remaining pictures in my memory, when will it be time to burn them too? Will we sit voluntarily like adults, with a fake smile drawn on our faces, bid farewell after half an hour of meeting, and that will be the last meeting? Or will a tear be shed, and will I shed one with you? Or perhaps as usual, as taught to me, I visit the grave of pictures in the trash bin and see nothing but a heap of ashes. And in this state, there will be no more matchsticks left, and my basket will not have room for more waste.
I sat half-lying on the couch after a long day at work, thinking about all the questions that have been proposed throughout history: what is the reason for existence? Is this what life really is? when you visit the world of uncertainty, the way out is more difficult than a maze in the Amazon forest. I do not realize that I am living the years of loneliness until these questions visit me in my usual seat, the sofa. As I stared at the TV remote, I wondered: is it time to waste some time escaping the truth? But my mind was confused and full of unusual thoughts, stopping me from grabbing that remote. As I sat half-lying, my brain almost exploded, saying, 'Let me take a breath.' But who would tell that brain of mine that I also wanted to take a breath? I thought about getting up, perhaps walking quickly towards my room, where I find the bed waiting for me with a warm welcome and saying: 'Stop thinking today, you have enough time tomorrow,' as I do every day. But something stopped me today. I did not find the desire to get up, nor did I find the strength to sleep, and I did not find comfort greeting me today. I sat half-lying on the sofa, waiting for nothing, listening to my mind's unusual conversation, staring into space... I felt something lying on top of my knee, I looked at my dog. He looked at me with his half-asleep look, almost as if he would shout: 'Feed me!' any second. I got up from the couch, it was time for his dinner. I put the food on his plate, I put the plate in front of him, and he barked at me (a way of his to thank me). I sat half-standing, watching him devour his food, and smiled lightly at him. He let me escape my thoughts without me realizing, maybe I'm not that lonely…
Change.
“Contrary to where you always are, I knew I’d find you here.”
The sound of someone’s voice other than his made him perk up, but the gears of recognition turned fast enough so that he wouldn’t have to turn around to know who it was.
“Not all that you’d expected, hm?” He merely responds, gazing out at a glittering sea, flashing good-byes in morse code with the sun’s setting rays.
“More than what I expected,” She approaches, and he can feel her presence behind him, but he doesn’t dare turn.
The wind peppers sand onto their cheeks and into their hair, pressing miniscule kisses of grains onto their skin. The two stay in silence, the only sounds being the beck and calls from birds, the hiss of waves hitting sand, and the voices and splashing of families in the water.
“Why do you prefer the beach over- let’s say- your home?” Her question floats down from above, curiosity painting her tone.
“The beach is never the same every time. It changes and it ebbs and it flows, but a room doesn’t.” He blinks, the answer coming out of him before he could really think about it. Before that, he never really knew why he came to the beach to distract himself, especially considering he was never down there to play in the water or the sand.
“You like the ‘ebb and flow’?” She mutters her thoughts out loud, quickly following with another question. “You like change then?”
“I don’t. Ironic, isn’t it? I’m at the farthest point from liking change.” He swings his legs, the huge drop from atop the seawall gaping underneath him. “I can’t handle change.”
A non-committal hum rings by his ear as she sits down beside him, kicking her feet in time with his. They don’t talk for a while, basking in the cacophony of laughing and splashing, cawing and sizzling. The foam on the sand flickers away before their eyes, the sound of fizzling sounding awfully like a farewell. The chatter and bits and pieces of conversation coming from the walkers passing behind them kept them entertained, coming up with scenarios of what happened before that when they’re out of earshot.
They stay like this for a little while longer, until the sun is barely peeking over the horizon, seemingly staying just to stare at them. It reminds him of a curious child, one too short to fully see over the counter. He stands, offering a hand to the girl next to him. She doesn’t see it until she’s already up, and takes his hand, thinking it was a request to hold hands. He doesn’t mind. It’s different from before, it’s become more intimate than he last remembers. A glance at her through his peripherals confirms this, a nervous, but confident shine in her eyes. He squeezes her hand, and the nervousness disappears, a soft squeeze his only response.
Maybe this change wasn’t so bad.
Shouting into the night
Atop the moonlit hill
there lives a lonely man,
He shouts and screams all night
as fiercely as he can.
The townsfolk beg he stops,
they need to fall in slumber
But every night the stubborn man,
their wishes he does encumber.
Their anger begins to rise
and the petitions gain some traction,
Whilst never asking why
the man repeats this action.
The truth that hides behind this man,
a truth he’ll never tell,
he shouts all night in fierce rage
to be saved from lonely hell
Raffle Tickets
If I grow my hair
And put all my self confidence
Back in the big blinding box
Where I first found it,
Let it bloom like a radio station
And explode pictures of its face
Across the sky in hot balloons
Then could I watch my way back
To the poems I used to write;
Etch my way into the whispered secrets
I used to hide in the knotted back
Of the perfect clouds?
Could I tattoo my neck
With the proper ratio of barcodes
To win a lottery with only one entry?
Could I feel the patterns in the brail
If they claimed to be a treasure map
Between the shouting voices of raw onions
And the pitter patter of the lovely litter: rain?
Or am I scratching at my own junk food cartilage,
Overflowing like a tip not a river
And irrigating my eyes with the sharp venom
That they splay on the innermost skin
Of depressed chalices and broken teapots?
When night falls
When the fall of night arrives
The world becomes quiet and still
There’s screaming silence within the air
that only the bats and owls can fill
When the fall of night arrives
The clocks all seem to stop
Time no longer moves
As if the day has been forgot
When the fall of night arrives
Into dreams, people delve
All except for me
Who sits and waits for twelve
When the hour of twelve approaches
The day will be brand new
All my worries will be forgotten
And I’ll no longer feel blue
So I sit and watch that hand strike twelve
As though it’s my obsession
Then always saddened to realise
Time can’t heal my depression
Going Out
The last two years have been the happiest of my life. After finally settling down with Derek, I’ve finally realized what life’s about. We’re not rich; we haven’t accomplished much; we don’t travel, and we don’t have a lively social life, but we have our simple life together, and that’s more than I ever could have asked for.
Which is why I’ve been ignoring Derek’s behavior recently. He’s been different. I wrote it off as him having a bad day at work, but then it continued into the next day, and then the next. I don’t want to mess things up with him, but the longer this goes on, the more I feel like I have to confront him.
He’s awake at strange hours of the night. He doesn’t talk to me anymore. He doesn’t seem to be hiding anything; he just never seems to have anything to say, which isn’t like him at all.
And he regularly walks out of the house for no apparent reason. He’s never been one to enjoy walks, or being outside in general, for that matter, but in the past week or two, he will just randomly get up and walk out the front door without saying a word to me. There’s no pattern to it. Sometimes, he does it first thing in the morning; sometimes just after dark. Once, he went out in the pouring rain without grabbing a jacket or umbrella or anything. When he came back, he was soaked to the bone and couldn’t tell me what was so important that he had to leave without a jacket.
If he would just tell me that he needed to stretch his legs or get out of the house or even get away from me for a bit, I wouldn’t think anything of it. But he won’t talk to me about it at all. When I ask him, he just gets this blank look and then changes topics or goes back to what he was doing, like he doesn’t even realize that I’ve asked him a question. It’s starting to give me the creeps.
Something inside of me has decided that I’ve had enough. I don’t want to ruin what I have with Derek, but I can’t keep acting like nothing is wrong. Something’s going on, and I intend to find out what.
So when Derek stands up and walks right out the front door while we’re watching TV after dinner one evening, I decide to follow him. I let him get out the door and onto the sidewalk before I before I get up and follow him out.
I feel guilty for following him, and I’m a little scared about what I might find, but not knowing is killing me.
I follow him down the sidewalk as quietly as I can, but he doesn’t seem to notice my presence at all. The remnants of the sunset hang in the sky, and I realize that the air is a little too cool to be comfortable. I didn’t think to grab a jacket, and my bare arms are covered in goosebumps. But I’m not about to turn back.
Before long, we reach the alley at the end of our block. The little road is much narrower than the other roads in our little town, and it ends in a dead end. Now that I think about it, it’s an odd set up. There really isn’t a reason for an alley to be there at all. But I’ve never given it much thought before.
I watch as Derek turns at the alley and . . . disappears!
I run down the sidewalk and stop in front of the alley.
The empty alley.
There’s no one there. No sign of Derek. Or anyone else for that matter.
I stare into the empty alley in disbelief. There was nowhere for him to go! How could he disappear so quickly?
I don’t step out into the alley immediately. Instead, I reach out with my hand. But as my hand crosses the threshold of the alley, it disappears. Startled, I pull it back and clutch it to my chest. My hand feels cold and sweaty, and as I look down, I realize that it looks exactly as it should.
Am I going crazy? Tentatively, I reach out again. Once again, as my hand passes the place where the roads meet, it disappears. I push forward until I can’t see anything past my elbow. I wiggle my fingers and even wave my arm around a bit, but my hand feels normal. It just isn’t there anymore.
I look around me, hoping to see something that will tell me what the hell is happening, but there is nothing. Just me staring into a seemingly empty alley with an invisible hand.
I hesitate for just a minute, but I know I’m going in there. Whatever this is, whatever’s on the other side of this invisible wall, it doesn’t matter. I have to go through. I have to find Derek. I have to find out what’s going on.
Taking a deep breath, I take one step forward, and immediately everything changes.
The first thing I notice is the cold. It’s gone from a slight chill in the air to below freezing. I gasp and cross my arms.
I’m surrounded by black walls, but there is a single, cold, white light shining straight ahead. With nothing else to do, I step into the light.
And I find Derek.
He’s staring blankly into the light, unblinking. He doesn’t even notice me standing next to him.
“Derek?” I whisper. Nothing. I put my hand on his shoulder, but he doesn’t move. “Derek, can you hear me?”
Where did she come from? I hear a voice, but not with my ears. The room is silent.
“Hello?” I ask.
How did she get in? The voice that isn’t a voice continues. The portal should have locked as soon as he entered.
She could have followed him in, another responds. If she was fast enough. She seems to know him.
“He’s my boyfriend,” I confirm, compelled for some reason to answer, even though the voice wasn’t talking to me.
She’s not a subject, the first not-voice says, ignoring me. I have no record of her brain.
“M-my brain?” What the hell is going on? “Who are you? What is this place?”
She’s beginning to panic. Use the acetylcholine suppressor.
I can’t even begin to guess what an aceta-whatever suppressor is, but it doesn’t sound good. I take a few steps back and glance behind me. There’s nothing there but a black wall, but I know it’s the way I came, and I hope I can get back the same way.
But I can’t leave Derek. He’s still staring at that light, unaware of me or the not-voices.
I still can’t see anyone other than Derek. But there has to be someone here.
Look at the scan! the second not-voice says in a huff. There’s a reason she wasn’t made a test subject. The suppressor won’t work on her. Not as intended.
“Alright, whoever you are!” I shout. “I am tired of you talking about what you want to do to my brain. I’m not your test subject! And neither is Derek!”
It’s well worth the risk. The first not-voice responds to the second as if I hadn’t spoken. We can’t have her running off and telling others about us. It’ll ruin the whole experiment!
Who would believe her? You’ve seen how small their minds are! They can’t comprehend something so outside their perception of reality. They would claim insanity rather than accept her experience as truth. There’s no need to take the risk.
But their population varies to such a large degree! the first not-voice insists. There are those who believe in what they call ‘aliens.’ Do you honestly think not a single one of them would come looking for us? It took us decades to set up an experiment on this planet! I won’t see my research destroyed because you’re feeling squeamish about one little test subject.
“There’s nothing wrong with empathy!” I call out, hoping to sway at least one of the two beings who were apparently arguing about my brain.
Fine. I suppose, if nothing else, it will at least tell us how the suppressor works on a subject with a higher acetylcholine level. But if the subject dies, you’re the one filing the paperwork.
“Dies?” I shriek. “This could kill me?”
A noise from above startles me, and I look up to see a giant metal arm extending towards me. I stumble backwards, but I’ve barely taken two steps before my back hits a wall. I push left, and then right, but I hit walls in both directions. Did the room shrink? Or was it never as big as I thought it was?
Derek is still staring at the light with his eyes glazed over, oblivious to me, the metal arm, and the voices. He won’t help me.
“Stop!” I scream. “Please! Just let us go. I won’t tell anyone about you; I promise! Please!”
But the arm doesn't stop. It keels coming towards me until I am pinned in a corner. I scream and beg for it to stop, but –
I walk in the front door with Derek close behind. My brain is so foggy, I can barely remember if we're coming or going. I reach for the light switch out of habit but immediately turn it off again, suddenly feeling safer in the dark.
“I’m going to bed,” Derek announces, starting up the stairs.
“Oh, okay,” I say. “What time is it?”
He glances at his watch. “10:30.”
I nod and then wince as I suddenly realize that I have a splitting headache. Guess I should head to bed too.
As I climb up the stairs behind Derek, leaning heavily on the handrail, I try to figure out where my headache came from. The harder I try to remember, the emptier my brain feels.
“Hey, babe?” I call as Derek steps into the bedroom. “Where did we go tonight?”
Derek shrugs his shoulders, a blank expression on his face. “Out,” he says simply.
His expressionless face feels right, and I decide to adopt it. Pointless to worry. Pointless to care. My head still hurt, but it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered.
“Oh, yeah,” I reply. “Out.”