The music from the stage blasted forth with staggering volume. The words on the page poured through the conduit of his eyes swirling about his brain and spilling out again from his deadened ears. The cover of the book snapping forth with the final futility of a headstone leveraged over upon a freshly dug grave with a dull thud. The fiction of latent intelligence that had provided a cover for all these many years was now dead and buried along with that once innate ability to keep trifling facts fresh and available on demand within his head. This skull a library gone to rot behind closed doors of diminishing consciousness.
That comforting stasis of a sunny solitude in the midst of a Summer morning overwhelming all other sensations. His past it seemed had been securely nailed shut. That prescient golden wonder boy conjured up within tales of legendary past hero’s now fully absent from his post. Instead one found a moribund dissipated overstuffed popinjay simulating his presence from an old script acquired by force of habit. Adept at intimation by sorely lacking in resolve to attempt to accomplish anything that lay beyond the fiction of mighty accomplishments suggested in a circus poster driven past. Going through the requisite motions of boarding a conveyance to some far off impossible notion but never committing to actually getting on board. The sum of all his fears safely deadened by a jagged path of fending off any possible success.
A dream the night preceding jumbled and confused the end of which promised a scenario of perfect attachment of intimacy without a recollection of prior contact. So dramatic and unswerving in a direct form of visceral appreciation that one wondered what was waking and what was dream. Yet upon awakening into the static world of a lifelong prolonged sameness making him wonder if he had been under the spell of some unforeseen parasitic influence that only wished to lull him into a false sense of disarmed abandon. The notion of two consecutive existences brought home to him upon speaking with another long lost in misplaced time. How strange that humanity could cue its presence within one’s intuitive perceptions before the spoken word had arrived to crash the silence?
There was something to be feared lurking about now. He wore it about him invisibly like a scent that only animals were truly aware of and often cowered from. The same sensation translated into uneasiness by his own kind. Once they figured that there was nothing similar to what they were accustomed to knowing they avoided him like the plague. A nakedness that was uninviting to those who were ever wary of being trapped by unaccustomed ruses. The possibility of disclosure in a world full of those that reveled in kicking the stuffing out from the toys of their opponents and then denying it. The game was up with them the moment that the conversation ranged passed the how do you do’s. There was no need to explain his solitude to others who instinctively ever made their ways to the nearest exist.
He arrived at the Urban Park storefront completely naked not simply in demeanor but in fact. A newspaper being the only form of cover loosely applied as needed from the auto to the front entrance. Upstairs a gathering of Bohemian types was taking place preparatory to an opening of a nondescript unstated sort. Something that now having found garments enough to trod about unnoticed as he observed the others with abandon. Somewhat of a political rally, somewhat of a craft sale the first floor was crammed with spectators eyeing eccentric forms of merchandise. One vendor in particular caught his eye by the door as he sought to make his escape from what appeared to be unknown pursuers. And he picked up a small chalkboard as the man walked over to a stack of what seemed to be oversize posters by the front entrance. The man then became deathly ill after handling them and collapsed. The general throng about the room being perplexed until the words radioactive were chalked upon the board that our protagonist had written before he quickly existed.
Having returned home he became befuddled by the fact that he had misplaced an art volume on the work of that German Expressionist artist, Otto Dix. There was no mercy to be found there within that imagery. He remained on his end of the pool from the rest of them. The silly barbers and nine to five consignment merchants that hocked their wares among their own kind pretending that they had a true sense of life in constantly gorging themselves accordingly by the calendar of the week. He could see their refection upon those savage pages of twenties Berlin. Bodies that had long become twisted and distorted covered over in makeup and trapped in poorly fitting colors that had no chronology with the times. Piercings and tattoos of past tense obsolescence like curled notepads of old forgotten phone numbers with calculations of lost moments long ago haphazardly penciled in.
Life in this time had become next to unbearable to him as far as offering a lack of potential in being poised at cross-purposes with a higher level of technology driven malaise. A Macro universe where all the decisions had been made as far as how to administer this society of human beings as a insouciant unsalvageable group. While weeding out any sort of annoying individualism that might spoil the lot. Survival for him entailing a constant battle between his wrangling self and all those other external fellows who had so easily succumbed to the notion of necessary evils daily mauling their lives. A cancellation of the possibility of uniqueness as anything more than an intolerable annoyance. A set of store bought two-dimensional protagonist’s readily offered to stand in for one’s total experience of life. Humanity simply defined as barnacles attaching themselves to the latest of the most well-advertised popularized commercially available choices. No sense of defining personal shortcomings beyond those that might serve the state. The magic principle behind following the direction of one’s intuition now completely lost.
He had defined society as simply an artifice composed of a strategy imposed across a wide social spectrum to ruthlessly gather the illusion of consensus. Smoke bombs ceaselessly tossed about for the betterment of society forged as a singular whole. The individual deprived of the ability to stumble and fall on their own without a Liberal application of unwanted help. Intimacy now a ritual of courting destruction as buffered by an intervening mechanical device. A circular dance of groups of people hand in hand around a May pole upon a PSA. Now he was naked yet again because he couldn’t keep up with the other airline passengers as they were prodded through the ghetto to get to their gate of departure on time. No help either from the cops as they were only there to protect the types of property that sold the donuts. And for all this, he was caught up in circumstances of daring to carrying a secret otherwise indecipherable of the kind that he dare not say.