That unquenchable universal angst leaving the last remnant of that thing called home. The pang of an arrow deeply lodged in your chest. Its dull ache waiting as if by an unexpected miracle that someone will call. Someone once known so well but now having no possibility of return. That possibility no longer existing. Still one goes on living in the routine waking up and waiting to it is time to go back to bed. The cycle repeating itself until it seems like normal facsimile displacing what was once considered as reality. What is life about beyond that tenuous bridge to the next second over the yawning gap of the present in flux? The next instant tirelessly fading into now. No way of stopping anything. No matter that empty stillness in surround. Senseless to play the game pretending a commitment to the waking game of picking a popular character to be. A life within interior spaces sheltered by a popular shared fantasy draped in the illusion of society and a mulch of universal consensus. That hoop skirt of science endured to remind one where they are supposed to belong. Living that temporal dream of brand aware consciousness.
He found himself at the end of a road trip to another city he was completely unfamiliar with. The look of the buildings and the arrangement of the architecture suggesting some lesser known urban sprawl somewhere along the Pacific coast. There on the street with his hands in empty pockets and no idea where he was. There was something in the haze of his fading memory about arriving there to go to a small college to speak at a lecture. But each time some details surfaced threatening some clarity they bobbed off back into a hazy forgetfulness. As best as he could figure he had initially taken a bus from a small park in a neighborhood of small two bedroom homes that looked like they had been built just around the time of the last big war. The bus stop being just after the highway dramatically curved in a long lazy ‘S’. He rode down until the street turned into an avenue and then a wide boulevard till he got off by what he reckoned was in the immediate vicinity of the university. Wandering about the city blocks near that six point intersection he found that he was becoming more disoriented. Sensing that he would be better to get back on the bus he returned to his last recollected starting point at the small park by the ‘S’ curve.
Standing there at the bus stop waiting for another bus that would take him back into the bustle of the city’s commercial center district where he had originally detrained it became horribly obvious that he had completely forgotten the college’s name. He began to walk down the street looking for any lasting visual landmarks that his previous journey might have inadvertently offered to the flutter of his inconstant mind. To his surprise he finds himself in the hallway of an old century old public school filled with young children. The sprawl of overly energetic kids and their belongings presently a gauntlet to his weary limbs attempting to avoid stumbling over them. The older female instructors fully engaged in monitoring the children so much so that he feels that his presence thus far being unnoticed might cause a stir if discovered by a fatal misstep on his part. The progression through the hall and a subsequent maze of rooms becoming ever more challenging to his endurance and maintaining the continued fiction of stealth. He collapses wearily onto a mat just in sight of an exist door unable to walk with his limbs on fire from the effort of high stepping to avoid boisterous six year olds. The man’s own possessions are now scattered about him in the playfully scattered detritus of the school’s paraphernalia. He wonders how he can explain himself splayed about in such a miserable condition as he does his best to recover his own goods.
The man realizes that his money has been exhausted down to a few quarters as he jams the most important finds back into their place. Half of the items possibly able to mistaken as some of the stuff that the kids had been playing with. And the man now is afraid that the teachers are going to notice him as a strange interloper catching him in the act of what looks like him stealing from their children. He looks over towards the door trying raise enough energy to get up enough even to his hands and knees to crawl towards the exit. It becomes evident that if he does not immediately find some way to move on that he will miss the appointment that had originally brought him to this city in the first place. Mind triumphing over matter he is on the boulevard once again hailing a passing woman on the sidewalk. But she won’t respond to his entreaties and he veers off to the left staggering down several blocks trying to regain his strength. To his surprise the neighborhood he travels through looking amazingly a duplicate of one that he had known intimately decades previous in high school. He runs into his long lost step daughter who after a quick conversations decides to accompany him to the place he is trying to find. In time she leads him back in the right direction and the board another bus heading towards the intersection that he had lost his bearings from.
Standing on the same corner with his daughter and another companion familiar to her that has joined them, he rushes off down a new lane towards what appears to be the entrance to the college’s campus. His two companions now involved in a lackadaisical discussion he leaves them behind in haste. The college is composed of several small public building giving off the aire of more a hostel than a school. There are scores of student types all with a dog walking their pets all about the parking lots and sidewalks. Back and forth through the momentary passing’s of owners being towed about by their canines at the end of taught leashes he wanders finally reaching what looks like the proper type of building suggesting administration. The residence hall looking type building next door providing as likely a destination he enters and climbs the short stairwell to what appears a lounge beset by the squalor of too many years of careless habitation. His daughter appears just behind him with her friend, both seeming more at home than the man. They sit upon the worn sofas watching the nineteen and twenty year old’s milling about energetically powered by their tireless youth. The accommodations awaiting upstairs being a warren of closet sized rooms with bunk beds sleep three or four to a space. He gets ready to ascend to our accommodations as our conversation seems to be annoying some of the more permanent occupants of the room and find to my shock that I need to pay money. Something that seems lost along the way if indeed his memory allows him to believe at this point that he ever had it to begin with. He finds out with equal shocked amazement that he is in fact now in another country left to the tender mercies of his long lost daughter’s finances to vouchsafe a night’s rest. The enfolding nightmare of this careless journey now finding the man without money, away from home, dead tired and without a clue of who to contact here, or what in fact the nature of his business was to be. All the dogs, all the kids, and his memory emptying like a leaky balloon. The temporal dram of consciousness doubtful as any sense of verifiable concrete reality beyond futility.
I T. Mordichai Mumsey, fifty-three years young, was a person that was born with a certain awareness of the world at large. Perhaps better said in mentioning a world beyond it. I was also born with an anger that seemed unquenchable. Something that had to do with all things female and being enslaved perhaps too willingly. Early one being forced by some anonymous power to have to forgo happiness for fear. pleasure for sadness and sorrow. A heaviness around the heart that seemed to keep the notion in mind that death and maybe something worse lurked persistently neat just out of sight.
Somehow I had fallen into the circle of the extremely wealthy and ridiculously famous. An internationally celebrated person who at face value lived an extemporaneous lifestyle that was inclusive of many different types of personalities as sidekicks all along for the ride. The singular primary star in their collective universe having chosen them passively without prejudice as to their backgrounds or peculiar quirks. Of course, he didn’t need to because the people in this circle, many of them, were more than happy to oblige him automatically in order to garner his favor to ensure their small part in a very dramatic and exciting lifestyle as part of his entourage. I for one had unexpectedly been inducted into this cadre supposedly by happenstance. Someone who had come by to fulfill a service after the brevity of a passing conversation that at this point could not be summoned to mind. The privilege of hanging about enjoyed by a variety of other people seemingly no different than myself of different stature and status. I knew enough to speak when spoken to and stay on the sidelines of the action but also made sure to be in attendance. One aspect that seemed strange was walking about the halls of the mansion always in the midst to change clothes from my paltry supply of pathetic hand me down glad rags all tattered and frayed that I had initially brought along. I seemed to have to be unexpectedly without trousers as the general chaos about the place made these transitions complex maneuvers around sofas and temporarily deserted hopefully remote hallway corners. Sometimes I would be caught with my pants down. All of this behavior as worse being the butt of some temporal jest but still tacitly accepted by the fact that it was otherwise ignored. Yet these encounters would still hover over me as a reminder that I personally was very very very poor in both wealth and status at the lowest end of the real crowd that could claim proper title to being acceptable. I continued with my act of easy familiarity not pushing myself too conspicuously on my host or the members of his informally royal court. This spoke to me that I along with most of all of the others was on the edge of deceit that disingenuous both to me and my more than gracious host. And I struggled mightily with myself now being under that role. It bothered me. And yet I couldn’t tear myself away and just walk out the door to get away from it. And in time, little by little, I was accepted. Another house pet? My ever generous patron was ever engaged in building the fame of his movie box office persona through action packed blockbuster movies sequels. Though he was aging he was ever more a force of nature in demonstrating a wellspring of physical endurance and dare devil regimen of stunt work that would have paled the complexion of the average army Ranger. Here and there he would deign to hold a short conversation or grant a nod of acknowledgement in a very democratic sense of total awareness of his own immediate surroundings. More and more the little tasks I assigned led to ever greater even more important ones. My status slowly rising within the pecking order of the general melange. The two orders of conversation existed, one being polite that topically concerned the events of that day. And another more salacious and gossip ridden as to who was on the outs or wheedling their way in a little deeper. More and more I was being considered as part and parcel of this scene. The fact of this weighing heavy on my private thoughts leaving me unsettled.
Deep in this crowd where I was literally camped out between a coffee table and a sofa with people milling in and out. Some for simple recreation from much larger suites while other going from one end to the other attempting to fulfill the master’s requests. I squatting there in my own form of silent self-loathing. Not liking the fact of an issue with myself and myself. Would I descend to a point like so many others where I would perform? Would I surrender myself to always being fully available? Or would it be more moral to maintain a remote distance? Or best yet, just to just unceremoniously pack up and leave? When evaluating the benefits that I was presently enjoying when weighed against all this what would I finally conclude? But then there was something else about this, a feeling of unease . . . one bordering upon fear. Something repellent and yet just equally attractive. The only analogy that seemed to relate being an animal in a cage whose only desire was wanting to perform for its master for crumbs or maybe a treat. I didn’t like that! I didn’t like the fact that this place and the people in it brought out thoughts like this about myself. But then I wondered if there was another aspect to this situation? That something much larger and more deviously subtle was at play lurking behind this scenario? Something that was beyond my own ability to perceive or easily pick up on. That in some strange unfathomable way my inner depths were being plumbed by an undefinable force and I was being used as a test case of a sort in a clandestine experiment. An undisclosed agency of some sort that was compiling information in terms of the boundaries and limitations of the human personality. That all the rest of the flash and performance was simply a front to set the subjects at ease and keep them unaware. Perhaps a sort of finishing school of a sort indicating that my entire life had been observed and recorded to such a degree that this mysterious ‘they’ could even reveal the identity that I had held in past lives. A thought that was mind numbing to the point of shocking to even consider. I felt like a rat trapped in a metal cage. I wanted to believe that all this mental anguish was simply my own paranoia dome of too many disappointments. That this situation was a positive turning point or at the very least a hiatus from the vagaries of the indifference of an intemperate society that cared little whether I existed or not. That bothered me. Yet to continue this way in this place would dissolve my identity. Something that had always been precariously in question. I wanted to be my own man but yet I also wanted to belong within this lap of apparent luxury that currently surrounded me.
And then, I had to admit that this brought out a Sadistic / Masochistic element in all this. Something that brought out a deeply held secret element from within that my conscious mind had always steered clear of acknowledging. I could only say that at some time in the past, despite sorting through all the experiences and various forms of actions that one customarily goes through in life , those short bouts of errant behavior, that I must have been a slave. Someone that was dramatically abused at will over a period of time. And then alternately pampered? And alternately enjoyed the abuse visited upon them. Enjoyed being humiliated and led around upon a leash. It was very sick! Venal to think that my psyche relished this sort of treatment and wanted to continue to indulge within. Further deep down I felt that I had been afflicted with a poison as if bitten by a snake. It’s venom slowly spreading through my body over the many intervening years. Disconnecting those cables to my independence and chaining me to something dark and unspeakable to be able to cogently imagine.
If I have lost my belief in myself, and if I don’t believe, then who will? Your point of view shifts the world’s interest in you, no doubt. Continue looking through the lens of the down and out and see closed doors everywhere in your path. Diffident attitudes abound perhaps? A collective vision of popular consensus derived of similar viewpoints may mean something? Or in some other inexplicable manner hold sway. Yet a new coat of paint over old wood or a pair of recently shined shoes still suggest that the will is there even if the way ahead still remains unclear. Like it or not, we are all anchored in the fiction of a time of our own making. Perhaps being that one individual that can revive the notion of male desire being able to spit forth such outrageous disparities as one enters a room of strangers, “I’m here to make your cunt ache!“, and despite this antipersonnel era, get away with it. Where then is the joie d’vivre so prevalent in former times?
Like it or not we are anchored in these time by the point of commencement of our own most earliest memories layered over by the playing deck of initial experiences that framed the picture planes of our intellect. A perspective that is all too unappreciated by successive generations stuck in the commercially assisted fantasies that massage their own era as being prime above all others. Initially, one accepts their immediate surroundings at face value as the boundaries of their known universe. The few questions posed being how to better understand the rules and limitations of its conventions. In time, or rather as one is matured by repetitive experiences, they begin to relate to how things actually operate in the world as being driven by other individual anonymous personages rather than some mystical form of heavenly imposed magic. They begin to see that they have been imprisoned in the conceptions of others that once seemed undeniably true and universal but now are revealed as simply thinly veiled self-serving opinions. The exercise now being to separate the wheat from the chaff in deciding which maxims best apply. Then make positive choices between the players and the actual truth sayer’s and of course, the real good from the many undeniable evils. Life then becomes a game of brinkmanship of official hide and seek as to what one needs to steer clear of in terms of belief and the usual social pitfalls.
Since humans have been engineered by their creator to eventually atrophy at some pinnacle to suddenly go into decline it is inevitable that a appreciation of what one will lose grows within. Lurking within the wings of the path of successive experiences is a never ending series of goodbyes. The sadness and frustration of slowly losing the world as once known gives way in some to a necessary tacit acceptance of things no longer being the way they once eternally seemed to be. Perhaps the severity of this break is driven in great part by the incessant worship of fantasy as reality by this media obsessed era? A commercial paradise of misperception of one’s own alliance with a favorite commercially distributed superhero defying the notion of death in endless recombinations of big budget sequel based appearances and generational rebirths. To those caught up in such a dimension the idea that one will age and all that they experience directly will drift away and die is horrific. That anathema of a realization that all the wealth that one has worked tirelessly to amass along with all the possessions hoarded will all too soon tarnish and lose their value. The only survivor in one’s life being the impression that they leave in terms of their character. Who they were and who they tried to be.
I see the once young and proud of my own generation hobbling past in a stilled arthritic quiet contemplation seemingly ever measuring the degree of their experiences up to this point and how that relates to ones in the present to the certainty that little future remains beyond today. Some things remain as they once were to some degree. The passing of many volumes of water vapor against the blue haze of sunlit sky. An atmosphere of whimsy and timelessness that one can oft lean back to enjoy. The general direction of the mental conversation centering around that point when all has been taken then what if anything will remain? What is the good of life, one might ask? Perhaps nothing beyond a very personal sense of simply being alive. The artist tries to become the savant of society by gaining the ability to through his art freeze time. The writer to capture a communal nod of agreement from his audience in diggin up some all encompassing universal truth. The aged by still realizing that they are still reasonably functional and have yet another day. Water drips down in the wake of a massive flood eventually coming to a stop. Yet inevitably, it is renewed. The enigma behind all this being that so many unimaginable species of different awareness’ coexist all of them patently ignorant of the struggles of the other.
It was so cold out in the middle of nowhere. The few mice that scurried by were unable to dig. So I dug out a bit of sand for them. Then put some paper cone shaped cups in the depression to keep the sand from filling in. The idea was to create little shelters for them to escape the cold. At one point it felt like my tooth fell out. Now the exercise was to simulate what would happen if one was caught under fifty tons of rock. You weren’t allowed to have any heavy equipment or explosives. The time to accomplish this feat was equally limited as well. Occasionally someone would call in from home to see how things were going. They needed to see if the contestant in question would be washed out of the competition as they couldn’t figure out the necessary procedures. There always being a way if one had sufficient will to keep trying. The most direct method of attack was to figure how to pry away the right stones with a sledge or crowbar to avalanche the rest to the side without crushing those trapped beneath down below in the center. The Pearlstein’s, frozen anger, frozen in time, plastered messages! The contestants nosing around the pile trying to find some clue as to the best way to proceed. Realizing early that every moment taken away was another irrecoverable moment lost. This problem demanding that it must be calculated before resorting to trial and error. The exercise had been devised by party officials as more of a trap than an honest competition. Yet, the young contestants refused to give up.
The perennial stark guest of fictional personages that emulate people that were actually once alive. A giant of a man extremely powerful and impossibly large. Almost up to the limit of what people in general think is humanly possible. Someone with a temper but also intense pride. An another who was his rival. The two were always on the edge of fighting making nearby bystanders very wary of getting caught around them lest they get injured or worse in the heat of the former’s capacity for unchecked rage. People that he encountered generally played verbal softball with him so as not to inadvertently anger him. Quite frankly, the less they said the better chance for personal survival the would possess. But inevitably, peaked by this rival the contest would start soon on the basis of the bad blood accumulating between them. He would tear up the furniture and threaten others with mortal harm for the most minor infraction of his pride. Some fully aware of the consequence of such a meeting some neighbors had already evacuated the area going into hiding fearing the continuation of wrath that might ensue if he won the battle. Though no one would voice it out loud the smaller less powerful looking David vanquished the mean spirited Goliath making everyone who was still physically weaker to keep their joy to themselves. The nervous exhaustion of such an all out showdown had left him incapacitated which eliminated this possibility from occurring. So beaten down was the giant that some couldn’t help but feel a certain degree of empathy for the totality of his total defeat. His spirit had been permanently crushed by losing the title of the meanest and strongest bully around.
The final confrontation had been held in the yard of the house nest door. The owner had sent his wife to her mother and was going to sequester himself in his basement having turned off the lights and locked all the doors of his abode. The fight kicked off before he could get from his garage to the back door and he had to hide behind an overturned metal lounge chair. He knew that if the giant got a cross the fence that he would be toast. He might have been able to reach his own door but was stopped by a strange compulsion that told him it wouldn’t be right to abandon his neighbor if things would go against him. As mentioned, the severe beating that had been doled out had left the former bully with a degree of silent reserve that he had never before exhibited in the past. The man even demonstrating a degree of unaccustomed humility to the local neighborhood royalty, such as it was, in his midst. A displaced countess enjoying the pleasure of being the first. The giant seem to settle for the personality of a gracious loser quite opposite to that of his former self. Being very vocally apologetic for the violent deeds resulting from his past anger he soon became part of the group. Everyone glad that they no longer had to fear seeing anymore examples of spontaneous mayhem. Equally glad that the few having previously demonstrated mixed loyalties would not be hunted down and treated like a traitor.
He was in heavily occupied enemy territory in some place within South East Asia. Japanese soldiers were everywhere. The presence of the group scouting them was on the verge of being discovered by a garrison of the same traveling on sampan river boats. The few native militia members with the small contingent of British was barely adequate. Too often these ‘militias’ were neutral. Their loyalties bound to shift with to stronger of the two invaders. The native boys that we had were told to play dumb and stay away from any direct contact. But to no avail as the the Japs treated those that they encountered like escapees from the colonial rule and encouraged them to defect with gifts to find out what they could.
Someone had driven a school bus onto an ice rink and was attempting to perform tight circles causing the bus to start to slip around. The absurdity of this situation being that this very same event was taking place in deepest darkest Africa.
The old Jewish guy who owned the big warehouse had it filled top to bottom with aisle after aisle of junk. Stuff that had been picked up on the road or traded for in bulk. Too much of it appeared by virtue of its dilapidated condition that it wouldn’t travel much further than the scrapyard. Rows and rows of it piled high to the ceiling. Somehow the many had been conscripted along with a few other unfortunates to work for him. The man had a terrible temper and a bad habit of riding everyone without stopping. God knows, you didn’t dare cross him. The look of his constant beady eyed scowl telegraphing the message that you couldn’t tell what he was capable of in terms of unexpectedly pulling out a gun and shooting you. Not to mention that he was tied up with the wrong crowd. The sort that too often literally got away with murder. At least that was the backstory. The young guy made sure to butter him up as best as was possible to try to escape some small measure of verbal abuse. The guy playing a little game with him diverting his wrath by keeping him talking about trivial business matters. At the end of the day when the boss wanted to dive the man and another companion somewhere last minute at quitting time his battleaxe wife showed up. The old harpy was worse than he was with a shrill voice that over a short period of time could drive anyone insane. The companion talked to his fellow worker quipping, “Oh great, the old bastard is going to get all pissed off now and take it out on us!” “The shit will definitely hit the fan!”, the other man replied.
A little while later the two assistants were alone in the bosses’ automobile on a mission to get gas for the old S.O.B. One of them attempting to park out of the way of a gas station’s car wash exit. His partner getting out to use the restroom. The partner returned and standing on the far side beyond the rear view mirrors of it giving bum instructions. The other one attempting to park had to half back it out slowly to pull further over in order to get the car’s rear end out of the way from blocking exiting vehicles. The ‘traffic cop’ friend kept attempting to direct the driver while getting in the way preventing any positive progress. Two other guys from the station walked over and to the would be traffic cop companion and gave him a stern lecture. “Look!“, one of them spat out, “You got to let this guy back out of the other lane and let him proceed the fuck out of here!” Having been given the opportunity to finally pull aside without interference from his friend the exhausted driver went to the Car Wash’s men’s room. He was aghast when he opened the stall door to find the commode covered in shit. The man grabbed some paper towels from a dispenser to try to clean it off the best he could without choking from being sickened. “It’s no fun being a slave to someone else’s bad behavior!“, he said aloud, “But that is how this f’in life is.“
It started out back in a suburb in Skokie. A man walking out the front door of his family home who had now become used to occasionally seeing the old generation of his neighbors being slowly replaced by a whole new generation moving in. A strange looking guy was outside and while he didn’t at first appear to be menacing. The guy approached me and asked in an offbeat way the single question of, “Where can I find a used car?” This being a time long before the Internet had even been thought of, the home owner responded by saying that the querent might consider traveling back into the city to Western or Ashland Avenues as he would be likely to find a number of used car lots run by the many car dealerships located there. The stranger stared back at the man inertly as if completely unmoved by his response like a block of stone. “There were always the classifieds in the newspaper!“, the speaker retorted to the continued silence. The now silent stranger becoming ever more creepy after the short one-sided discussion. The homeowner then continuing swiftly on his way keeping a wayward eye at the stranger. The weather about him now completely transformed into a sort of overall darkness of a typed that one would expect from an impending thunderstorm.
The next stop was an ad agency that was housed within a massive old warehouse near the city center. The man had arrived there to deliver some large art boards, that from their general appearance, suggested that they were to be used for planning some sort of film or photo shoot. The messenger was sent past the reception desk with a simple wave of the hand and wandered back on his own through a maze of vacant sections and empty spaces where the only ample evidence of photo past shoots was a layout or two haphazardly pinned to a wall. Young men and women occasionally appeared. Each walking back and forth completely self-possessed through the abandoned chaos of walls splattered paint. Occasional piles of debris hastily swept over to the side and then forgotten. One smarmy youth walking up to snatch the art board from the messenger’s grasp only uttering an offhanded command to wait. The man stood there out of the way quietly marveling to himself at the sheer amount of surrounding destruction. A diffident young woman speaking to an unseen companion startled him by breaking unexpectedly into his thoughts. She rattled on in her monotonous nasal tone conversing about the previous night’s events. Breaking away from these trivialities for an instant to question the waiting man and then just as abruptly walked past as if he was simply like a stick of furniture or any other inert object. The man continued to stand there completely immobile for many minutes wondering just what he was supposed to wait for. But no answer seeming imminent. Gradually becoming restless and caught up by boredom, he wandered slowly forward following his curiosity into each room after room. Each space more ravaged, torn down and torn apart. The next locale even more incomplete than the last one encountered a space or two back. No evidence of equipment! Nothing to suggest anyone was doing any useful beyond the languor of casually dressed teenagers lazily milling past. The messenger began to wonder if he wasn’t like some sort of ghost caught up in a dream?
Minutes long ago having past into what seemed like hours he felt sleepy. At one point finding a portion of the floor swept clean enough to sink down upon and lean against a less devastated portion by a wall. He soon closed his eyes. The longer he waited, the fewer people passed by him. He began to realize that his presence had most likely been completely forgotten. Then in turn pondering how soon closing time for this operation might be? The voices of a group passing somewhat close to him but out of sight talking about the installation of a unique accessory to the building. Something that allowed those few with ‘huervos‘ enough to attempt it to slide down within its series of large twisting pipes quickly to the street below. The messenger aware that his wanderings through this place might lead to him being so lost as to being unable to find the front door before it would be locked for the night. He hurriedly got back on his feet. It was obvious that there was no purpose to be served by staying there any longer. By this point there were no more voices encountered as he hurriedly made his way back towards where he hoped to find an exit. Wondering about how he was unlikely to ever get paid for the delivery. All of this was just crazy! In the back of his mind a fear arose. Would I have to seek out this terrible tubular chute as my only means of escape if all the doors were now locked? Eventually a doorway with a glowing exit sign appeared in the dimness. He put his shoulder against the door and it opened to a stairwell within. The hurried sound of his own footfalls echoing in the empty column as he hoped that he would end up at an exist to the street. Along sections of the outside walls of each a landing he noticed the intercession of sections of what appeared to be a gigantic plumbing pipe. This being the mythical device within which those with exceptional daring do might test their manhood. He shook his head as he speculated how long a journey this convoluted path would provide when fully stretched out? Maybe amounting to hundreds of feet in length. What sort of terrifying experience might it be to jump feet first into its darkness to brave so many bone jarring twists and turns? However harrying that might be was now a matter of useless speculation. For someone of his age group some several decades past the elasticity of youth it might occasion a heart attack leaving him to die crammed into a tight crook of this snake-like tube. The doors at the bottom of the stairwell now in sight he broke into the alley. Traversing the parking lot he looked back over his shoulder to see the gigantic carnival colored twisting python structure across the building’s entire side. He was struck with the thought that the entire place ws little more than a fun house for Millennials rather than a place of real business.
An experiment was ongoing kept hush, hush within a nearby glade of the forest. One that involved participants from each sex, a conventional man and a woman, one might guess? The general impression of the purpose of this event being to see how to manipulate each of them in some unique way with an energy field. The result of this manipulation being very extreme and causing a sort of initial memory loss in one of the partners. Odd considering that only one of the two would ultimately be present for view after the completion of each round of experimentation? The inference gleaned from the initial rambling whispered impressions of some that had survived the ordeal suggesting that the bodies of one or the other were remotely motivated in a very unorthodox way. The minds of each participant going totally blank within an hour or two then descending into a state of total amnesia. Thus no one either male of female would ever be aware if they had been brutalized or in any other manner handled roughly up to the point of rape. The details of these experiments remaining safe in the hands of their experimenters. The cumulative results of this program became so heinous in nature that the tales surfaced that the surrounding forest had come alive and then as if in a human state of consciousness and taken those handlers immediately in control of the victims to task by tearing them limb from limb. A coverup quickly ensued producing in its wake the urban legend of this vengeful destruction so that anyone who had heard about it would never be found near to the site again. Warning enough that was enough for all living in the general vicinity to abide from that point forth. The sponsorship of this abomination by the government never spoken of again.
Why it was that I continually found myself alone in a strange city traveling in the midst of unfamiliar regions of highway and concrete on foot going from here to there and yet never finding a definable destination . . . ? And on top of this, could never answer the specific reason for doing same beyond the fact of just being caught perpetually in the midst of doing so?
Stuck in a mental foxhole, the rhythm of life interrupted like all the previous trends and drifts left and right before it had been. Bound inside by some unbreakable daily schedule as if there was somewhere else to be beyond sitting here. True fantasy. True existentialism. The persistent dilemma of having to express myself creatively to some audience for the sake of mounting the continuous fiction of a dialogue. Building a bridge. But to where? And based upon what footing? Without any emotion there cannot be anything human. Without some humanity there can never be art.
Games. Oak Park. Really bad ones. Somehow, somehow, somehow I ran into a bunch of hoodlums who wanted to run to me to demand my guns. But I didn’t have them. So, I had to go out and get some for I knew that it was a matter of time until they would come by and take care of business. There were no gun stores open at this time of night. So I would have to run home and pick up what I needed in terms of ‘gats’ and ammo. Unfortunately, fortunately, through inadvertent situations, they never showed up. It never went down. But it showed me the importance of self-defense. What is going to save you in this world is you. Positive action.
Back in Seattle, I guess? Supposedly living in a house with some other people. They’re moving away. It turns into a basement. So like I’m moving back and forth helping them. In the end however, they grab anything that’s worth anything and I am left with next to nothing. And, well? Finally I am comfortable enough in Seattle. Driving on my own in Seattle on my own in an open car which is not in the greatest shape. It’s hard to explain. Everybody leaves. I want to be helpful and everything but they all ignore me. It’s like I go to sleep and wake up again and everything is gone from the basement. And I know I am going to have to leave next. It’s terrible! I couldn’t breath all night due to shortness of breath. Kept waking up and falling asleep. Waking up and falling asleep. I really have got to sleep and I wonder if my heart is giving out? Could be! Running real hard. To catch a bus among other things. I don’t know?
Once again visiting. Probably Canada. Big lake and empty land. Long distances between where I was and where I was supposed to be. In terms of a city, I’m driving and end up in the middle of a snow storm. And I am returned to this most empty of places at the end of this snowstorm. It’s the next day and I’m snow blind. A whiteout more exactly! Some dot placed in an arbitrary location where though everything in any direction was simply white and covered in a heavy snow that had ceased falling just moments before. Totally dependent on someone else to show up and drive me out of here. Thick layers through which my feet broke through ankle deep from the surface were soaked in rising flood of water. The only sight of anything beyond an empty horizon filled with white resembling civilization was a small distant industrial structure by the long expanse of body of water. Soon to be washed away by this unseen phantom Tsunami. What hope was there to escape this folly?