As Random As It Gets...

I sit in a room bare to my very toes and sleep eludes me so I do what I do. I share.

I struck out on a cold night alone after plans had fallen apart having been more fragile than gossamer to begin with… And in the course of the cold travel came to a place where the people were warm. Among the talent that swirled and eddied I introduced myself with the phrase “I’m crazy” and knew it as truth. We all are. The norm does not exist. My particular psychosis? Life. I met those with a love for music so deep that it emanates from their very bodies and they too share. I met one who questions my dreams. You asked so here it is:

I lay upon the bed motionlessly when they came. They swarmed under the door, their many feet clicking against the stained, warped wood. The dim moonlight reflected on the black armor of their shells and shot concentrated beams around the shabby room. The little brothers, for they were, hastened to me with metallic cries. “Run sister, run. They will make you speak.” I ignored them. They did not bring my daily bread. My silence had been so long that speech was a forgotten thing. My tongue firmly cleaved to the roof of my mouth was in no danger of wagging senselessly.

The stiff door swung open, hinges screaming in defiance and the little brothers scattered with the scraping of tin upon wood, hidden from prying eyes. My visitors came in greatcoats holding a selection of fine knives. They smiled winsomely as they minced toward where I lay stoic, silent and unmoving. With gentle hands they lifted me from my repose and still my form was rigid. They cooed and clucked as if to a child “yes my little poppet. Sweet little thing. You truly are the one.” I knew not of who they spoke. I only knew that my hair brushed the ground as they carried me out and I wondered idly if anyone would tread upon it. As they carried me out of the room, the little brothers jostled like tin cans “Woe, woe. They have taken her.”

The journey itself was unremarkable. Time passed with only the view of the black sky, the black necks and shoulders of the greatcoat covered abductors and presently the jamb of a door passed over me. Down the hall we moved, my eyes gathering in the design of the ceiling covered with curlicues and cupids that looked like they screamed silently. These things were personal to me. That which others found endearing had long since aided in me losing voice. Under another doorway we passed and the echoes of their boots gave lie to the size of it but there was no impetus for me to turn and view this place.

Turning me over I now had chance to see the deep mahogany of the floor on which the trod before I was dumped – rather unceremoniously I might add – onto a bed. That I would stifle in the pillow must not have crossed their minds. They clucked and cooed anew rummaging through my clothing while my struggle for air was begun and quickly lost. Blackness took over.

My back was cold. A strange wet cold. A seeping cold. I opened my eyes, wondering if I was thankful to be alive and knowing that I cared for nothing but the sensation of the awful, final cold that owned my back from my head to my heels. They stood before me in a mass that hid something. “It is time little poppet. Time for you to find your voice” and with that, they stepped aside revealing a mirror. They had split my skin, exposing my flesh. Perfectly and expertly they had lifted it away precisely so that I seemed a painting. They had taken only enough and done it just so. They had taken the loose flaps and nailed them to the wall. It was time to speak. I parted my lips and screamed.

Fin

If you can figure that one out, I await your analysis. Continuing on, I was told that I owned a Glowbrick and found that to be a truth. I warn all to be wary when I wield it. I went on to write 60 pages of inspired tripe. Words bounce and cavort when being herded into order. They seem so very together, but being my own worst critic, they become so very mundane when looked over. I went on to laugh at the phrase “Nigga I’m only 10!” and solidified my belief that Aaron is a mad genius. I retired early – for the sake of argument, early is debatable – and when I awoke, someone I care for mangled the truth until it was all but unrecognizable. What’s worse is I stood there and smiled bemusedly while they did. Pointed questions often have a point much to the detriment of those who do not realize it. Putting that transgression in my pocket, I went on with my day to find that a favorite had been fired for naught but a whim of a ruling class fancy and my distaste for my Che Grand hating boss grew.

The bindings of other responsibilities grew tight around my already slender form until they cut uncomfortably into my flesh. I want nothing more than to cut them, but doing so will leave a ship afloat without mooring so I struggle against them futilely while trying to find a dock for this particular Titanic. I hung out with a powerhouse who repeatedly admonished that I, yes dearies, I, was “on some bullshit” because the randomness of my gum-flapping amused him, and he chuckled heartily. Then it was decided by a fool that harassment was the best way to gain something senseless from me. I laughed at the little girl as she has always been just this side of dunce. And her threats cause me to detach. What am I willing to endure? What is she willing to endure? I don’t want to answer these questions just yet so I sit in my room, bare to my toes and I share.

It is not always so heavy in my head… some old fucked up shit will come back… just not today.

P.S. nicotine patches still suck ass.