garage

I’m up against a wall of sleep that is my future, our future. There are no sudden movements and no questions asked. I’m ready for an unforgettable experience and I’ve tried not to take stuff too seriously. This letter is so fucking confusing though. I followed its instructions and they led me here. There’s a closet full of white gowns and robes that I’m supposed to change into, again without question.

wound up no sleep, skydiver inside her

Sitting here in the mall food court  listening to a Japanese guy shout nonsense as he passes out teriyaki chicken on toothpicks and watching a broken down old woman watering the fake plants to fool me into thinking they are real, I think about that question.

Is this where you thought you’d be in life? Stupidly I asked if she meant socially or professionally or what, exactly. I’m constantly having the slightest of anxiety attacks about something.

It’s all very serious and it’s all either: very depressing or very exciting, depending on your outlook and whatever contributing factors are included. We talk and we analyze and we compare. It’s an involved conversation and it feels good to actually think about these things constructively rather than just tolerating them. I don’t envy anyone who complains incessantly but the reality is no one has gotten to where they need (or want) to go. The need people are probably in rehab.

The escalator is moving, sometimes up and sometimes down, but it’s always moving and I’m trying to figure out its pattern. The day-to-day is acceptable but the side projects are what really matter. The movie theatre will be, one day.

energetic rejection of all advances

It’s not just that the air seems thin and lacking in oxygen. It’s like tiny daggers stabbing my lungs each time I inhale. They used to hook me up to an electric rig that had dozens of wires and flashing lights that calmed everything down temporarily. I would stare at paintings and wish “Starry Night” was interactive. During the day I would look out the window and watch the sunlight bend at strange angles around trees and other obstructions. At the time I was at the high-end of the low middle where the unified theory of everything was based around masterful and dense works of fiction I could never comprehend. Instead I asked for shots from above – aerial views that showed me the bigger picture.

intracerebral myiasis

I’m the mailman up here on Edgewood. Have been for twenty some years. It’s a steep climb but I’ve always enjoyed the challenge, a chance to get some exercise on my route and be away from the city for a little while each day. I park my truck down the hill and take the back stairs off of Willard. No one knows about Edgewood and the people who live up here are grateful for that. I know everyone on the street. I deliver mail to thirty-one houses and all the residents know me by name.

Most everyone on Edgewood falls into one of two groups. There are the young families with the new baby or two and a silver Mercedes in the garage. Their houses are brand new with modern features I don’t quite understand. Then the lifers. They live at the end of the street by the giant eucalyptus trees and have done their best to obscure a view of their house from the street. They too have the silver Mercedes but it’s on the street not in the garage. They are proud but reserved. When I ask a simple question I usually miss my deadlines for deliveries but my boss understands. They like to talk – Mexican vacations, grandkids, whatever. I’m happy to oblige. I don’t have much going on since my wife died a few years back and it gives me a sense of comfort.

In all these years I’ve never opened any mail. I realize that shouldn’t be a source of pride but the temptation used to be really really strong. Those plain brown packages used to spark my curiosity but now I’m exhausted from life and I realize how strange Edgewood residents probably are. I don’t need the thrill. I remember one day about seven years back when I bumped into Agnes, the old frail woman who lives at # 23. There was a dark sadness in her eyes and I froze, unsure of what to say. She looked at me directly, carefully taking her magazines and correspondence from my hand. She said confidently, “Why take a break when you can last forever in misery?”.

Saturday. Edgewood and Belmont.

The Breaks of Noxapater, MS

Her face is beat the fuck up. All I can do is lay in the bath tub toiling, wishing I could do something else. The red SUV sits outside on the curb and needs to be moved every couple of days to avoid a stack of parking tickets. The front end is smashed up against the windshield and she’s in no shape to deal with it even now, all these days later. She keeps asking me, “When you start something do you imagine how it will end?” which is a ridiculous question. All I respond with is a simple, “Everything ends, it’s just a matter of when not how”. It’s my own fault, I just want lies until I am confused.

Awake at Dawn with Nothing to do

Another morning of meditation on the most mundane of things passed by in the parasitic head attached to mine. Each day is not extraordinary. Nothing is as perfect as the initial idea when the church bells ring at 6:24am. It’s simple. These sunglasses were ten dollars – they’re dark and that’s why I need them constantly. My eyes are bloodshot and barely peeled open. A vague drone of clunky suicide metaphors leaks from my headphones and I maintain a state of pacified boredom. There are tiny wars people experience in between the big dramas – they are little more than annoying interruptions.

Low – “Try to Sleep”

STAMOS!

Low – “Especially Me”

liquid brain with no concept of beginning

So on. And. So forth. They try to carry the story along, but I’m dragging my feet – digging my heels in against progress. Most of the time I’ve spent with my eyes unfocused waiting for something to happen. Something to jolt me, but it’s nearly impossible to see through the blood. It poured from the front of my scalp and made my eyes burn. I laughed in the moment and I’ll laugh harder tomorrow about the absurdity of it all.

Once I traded in my expectations for reality things improved, but I’m not saying they’re gone. Money let’s me do the things I want and compromising (a little) my goals is acceptable today. Bit and pieces of this, that and the other are enough to get me through. The whole of one is not.