He was not lying.
They all sat there staring at him, staring at a man who sat on his hands yet kept his tongue unbitten. He had to keep the hands contained for fear of slapping their faces. He wasn't a violent man, no, but to be accused over and over of the same thing was trying his patience. His tongue wagged again and again. It bore no fiction. It falsified nothing, yet they did not believe.
“I did not kill him,” he would say.
In came the accusations. The proof. The photos of a corpse he did not remember. The bloody trousers he swore he'd never worn. It was all quite gruesome, truth be told. Whoever had killed the fucker sure was a violent man, that was certain. Smashed the other guy's head against a wall until it split. From the picture, it looked like he kept smashing long after the legs stopped that odd, sporadic, dying-insect twitch. After the eyes had come out of the sockets with odd, wet pops, like shapes out of one of those sorting cubes that children loved to poke around with, looking for the right hole. The eyes wouldn't fit again, though. The holes were too contorted because of the damage done to the skull.
They stared at him. Their hands pawed the photos closer, thrusting them across the table and tapping with bony fingertips. Look, they'd say. We know you did it. We have the proof. We have witnesses. We have. We have. We have.
“I know what I did!”
He'd shouted it. They leaned back in their chairs, eyes widened or narrowed. They waited, expectant.
“And I didn't do that.”
Quieter that time. They scrutinized him, bore down on him with looks of disgust and then tore in again.
A man in the corner scribbled furiously at his notepad. He'd glance up on occasion, perusing the lot with a quizzical brow, and go right back to his frenzied writing. At first he imagined smoke drifting up from his pen, just to be funny – but now he was certain it was actually real.
My word. He'd burn the whole place down, at this rate.
It went on. The accusing, the questioning, the heated responses. Always no, forever no, because he would not admit to something he did not do.
It was clear in his mind's eye. Perfectly so. Rounding the corner at the bar to pick up his fiance. Seeing the victim kissing her, leaning her against the wall. Her kissing him back, pulling him closer when she should have been shoving him away. Screaming for help. He'd run in to save her, beat the man to death, batter his face against the concrete until it was unrecognizable. No one would want him then. No one would want him after -
“I walked on by. I left them there. I showed up at the courthouse to file for a divorce.”
“And do you know why the police were called on you?”
Blank stares around the table. Silence, save for the persistent scribbling of the pen. He was convinced that sound was eternal. That it would go on until the world stopped spinning and God came down to smite everyone who ate bacon and wore dresses made of various fabrics.
“He's not lying.”
Heads whipped towards the notepad man. Their expressions were incredulous, the lot of them, their mouths dropping open.
Finally. Someone gets it.
“He thinks he's telling the truth because that's the way he remembers it. You could shove the corpse in his face and he still wouldn't own up. You could drag his hysterical fiance in here and even she wouldn't be able to convince you. He's telling you what he believes happened, and nothing is going to convince him otherwise. Nothing you could say, anyway.”
“You're willing to testify to that in court, doctor?”
The man snorted. He stood up, screeched the chair over the floor and to the table, reclaiming it with a dull thump.
“After a bit more study of the subject, maybe. Alone.”
A brief, murmured meeting ensued. Glances were cast his way, and still he sat on his hands. Still he sat, though now the tongue was bitten. To be called insane on top of everything else? It was absurd. Insulting.
It was so good he was not a violent man.
The rest of them filed out, a long procession of haughty looks and pointed glares. The door shut behind them with a definitive click. The psychologist took up a place directly across from him, made a bridge of his fingers, and asked:
“Now. One more time. What happened when you found Jessica cheating on you?”
Later, he would swear that the fellow had fallen out of his chair. That he'd gotten that pen stuck straight through his throat because of it, isn't that the damnedest thing? What a way to go, honestly. What a stroke of rotten luck. It would be funny if it weren't so sad.
And he didn't know what to make of that security footage, but it certainly wasn't of him.
He was not lying.
Facts get fuzzy with time.
There are two kinds of people
the ones who as the age and wrinkle
only recall the hurt, pain and those who left them alone
then there are those
who grow mellow and wise with softened features
remembering the love, laughter and peaceful moments alone.
All people experience both good times and bad.
Those who hate being alone
will never come to terms with their own souls
so they replay selective thoughts
over and over in their minds
choosing their memories unaware.
The Mandela Effect
What's going on?
I don't think so
and it's not just me.
So many things
from Berenstein to our anatomy
like dilemna and definite
Lines from movies
the list is infinite
Many assumptions and theories
from parallel time
to brain disease
Can so many people all be wrong
about the words
of a specific song?
If it doesn't look right
just listen to insight
If something looks weird
it shouldn't be feared
Is enlightenment close
or is it a hoax?
Research and see
then you tell me.
Things are gettin' curiouser and curiouser...
I began, as I had many
Times before, the letter
"a". I couldn't recall, up
Or down? Where do I
Begin? A residual acid
trip, brain injury or The
under the dome
you felt the way I feel
the emotion of being sucked into a vortex
of your thoughts
you felt the scenery absorbing you into the atmosphere
you felt that lodging desire in your chest
to attain this feeling of stability
that moment of truth
is this reality real
the crazy thoughts surging through your head
about how you want to run your hand
through the air and slice the glass the encases
your fighting with the constant threat of shattering this world you live in
this place where insanity and sane mix
this tranquil feeling that grasp the normality
that deep-seated- longing in your chest
that feels the whole that is buried deep in your conscience
the desire for structure
the desire to be trapped in the gravity
where your world is shifted
where simple dreams become reality
this world is real
the events that happened are real
you saw the world I saw
many of you have lived it
the portal opened in your room
and you saw it closing
but you went in anyway
you saw alternate versions of your reality
where the you were was better
so you came to the center
you came under the dome
now you all want out
too late your mind belongs to the dome.....
do not entertain your mind you just might get trapped in it
My life was well at its zenith
I had you
And you had me
We were adored by all
Like Cinderella and Prince Charming
We lived and loved
Until one day
One fateful day
I was forsaken
When you left me without word
Not even a goodbye
No one saw it coming
I thought we were in love
But I guess it was just
The Mandela Effect
The Mirror Lied
Fingertips on the glass
Looking at you.
You reflect me
But is it really true?
Sometimes it seems
That I cannot see.
I cannot see the difference
Between fake and reality.
You are not how I remembered
You're not the person I knew.
You are different than before
Are you real and true?
But if only I'd noticed
before everything seemed out of whack
That I have been mistaken
The mirror has a crack.
I sat laughing at my desk watching the latest youtube video about the Mandela effect. It was so funny to toy with these humans. Felicia came on the speaker announcing the annual celestial being festival was about to begin. Silently I thought sorry Felicia I've got to get my work done.
My computer set up changed to a 360 degrees screen where I could change slight things in the humans reality. Hmm. Maybe I could change a candy bar logo. Yeah, why not? With a simple mind technique I removed the dash from the Kit-Kat(KitKat). Now what? I wanted to go a little further this time mess with their minds a lot! How about the Mona Lisa. She's famous for her frown so lets change it into a smile.
I shut off the system and then went to the festival. We celebrated it every year for being the #1 celestial company.
The Day After
This would make good poetry
I think while she sits
With her knees tucked into her naked chest,
Tears like rain drops on the kitchen window
In mid October,
For every time I've let her down.
I am so profoundly bleeding,
On my face and along my shoulder blades,
And beneath my tattooed chest.
I don't know how to end a song anymore,
Or how to choose what vegetables to steam with a New York strip steak.
Insignificant moments augment in my mind,
And what matters most has been nearly forgotten.
That's my girl right there,
So keep her name out of your uncouth mouth.
But if I can forget who I want to be,
I don't have to be responsible for my actions,
And ruin whatever I want;
Run the streets.
My romance with contradictions will be the death of me
And this Hip Hop culture will be the death of us.