Time to say
what you
dont really
never wanted
expected anticipated
to mean

Oh Hemingway
you paint so darkly
would you mix a little blue?

I mean
am I asking?
no im more telling
demanding
wanting
yelling
screaming
killing
pillaging you to do so
I mean, is blue that bad?

I thinks its quite
better
nicer
pleasing
prettier than the others
I don’t like Atom bombs
or hydrogen
scuds
torpedos, ill tell you when to butter
that toast
to us, for a better life for you
topian ideas
and all that spreads like love
less relationships and fear
full wives sit read books in the dark

Come on, Give more
titions their due
sparkling trout never looked so good
bad and the ugly, say cheese
the camera always make you look heavier
your wallet
dont matter, its all quiet
on the western front

“Oh don’t fucking tell me that.” he slammed his fist on the table and looked away. She looked at him scrubbing the plate clean with her anger.
“Yeah, he was better than you, he fucked me so good,” she was grinning wildly now and basking in the pain that shot off him like rays of light.
“I SAID STOP FUCKING TALKING.” he erupted onto his feet and clenched his fists. She looked him up and down and laughed menacingly.
“What are you gonna do tough guy? Are you gonna hit me? You’d like that wouldn’t you, you would, you sick fuck.” she turned and continued scrubbing the plate like nothing had happend. But he stood there like a waiting bull brooding in his own anger, weighing if killing her would justify the satisfaction of it. He bottled it up walking towards the door like a ticking time bomb about to explode she looked over her shoulder at him and chuckled. He turned to her and bit his lip while his head twitched in anger, blood started to trail from his lower lip and he grabbed the doorknob and thrusted it open.
The breezy night air didn’t cool him off like he hoped it would, but it was better than in there. The stars were out tonight and he took a long hard look at them, millions of them like little cities across the galaxy begging to be heard, he lost himself in them wondering if there was life on them, people just like him. Do aliens have feelings too, do theyre little green bodies have a heart that beats inside them too, or did the creator save that for the planet earth to test out. I hope that he noticed that it was a failure, that even though it does alot of good, it does so much bad, its what makes the humans weak. He shook his head. What am I thinking, this is ridiculous. He paced a bit and walked over to his truck, he leaned his head the side of his truck on his arms. He closed his eyes and thought about Lilith. They had been happy once, real sweethearts, they have been dating for oh a while, 4 years was it? Then they got married and everything changed.
It’s the big things that change first of course, the way she acts in the morning, she acts like a wife instead of your girlfriend, how she asks if you want breakfast, its more a slave tone than to make you happy. And the way she acts about money since your sharing it 100% now, the look she gives you when you get your paycheck. And the thoughts about children and making a family that creep up on the couch when you’re trying to watch a movie. Then its the bills, you hear her stomp her foot in the kitchen when she reads the light bill was 140 dollars last month. Or that the mortage is overdue. And then its the little things that kill you. It’s the little thing that make you wish that you never got married, that make you wish you never met her. Just how she looks at you, she doesn’t see you as a man anymore she sees you as this thing that lives with her and this thing that gives her money. You become less than a person and you become money, just walking money that gives itself out and is only smiled upon for the pure and simple fact of people want to use you and thats it, they don’t love you, they want to use you. You’re in a relationship at 21, fall asleep one day and wake up. You’re 36 have 2 kids, a job you hate and a wife who doesn’t want to iron your shirts anymore along with a house that is filled with things you can’t afford and the riding mower that you had to downgrade your grandmothers care for, hello real life.
The reality of it made Eric’s body twist violently and he closed his eyes tight like in doing so would relieve him of this horrid dream, but the sound of the screen door opening brought it back to life. It was her, in a pink robe with matching slippers. Her hair was a mess and the wrinkles she had been getting shown through like the lies she spewed. They just stared at each other for what seemed like 10 minutes but in reality was about a minute and a half, there seemed be what a glimmer of what was left in their hearts but it drowned in the black oil that now filled it.
“Where’s the fucking trash.” she waddled towards him.
“I said where’s the fucking trash.” he couldn’t take it anymore, why did she have to ridicule me so. He wanted to break down and cry, or cut her head off, either one was going to happen.
“Does it look like I know?” He said emotionless as possible.
“Does it look like I care?” she rolled her eyes and dropped the trash besides him as if he would automatically put in the trashcar that lay on the otherside of his pickup truck, which he did.

A room

I

Why are you on the floor?
I’m looking for god
On the floor?
Yes on the floor!
May I ask why?
Let me ask you this, where would you look?
Good Point
Did you try the ceiling? That would make the most sense
Yep, couldn’t find him, just made pictures with the brush strokes
Yeah, used to do that when I was a kid
Will you get off the floor for chrissake?
Didn’t I just tell you why I’m on the floor?
Yes
Well isn’t that a good enough reason? I mean its god we’re talking about here
I suppose your right, in theory
Damn straight I’m right
Now look here-
Are you trying to sway me from finding god? Are you Satan?
Yeah can’t you see my horns?
Take off your hat
No
Who are you anyway?
A man
Aren’t we all?
Yeah, unless you’re a woman, then you’re a woman
I see your logic
So what do you think god looks like?
Well, a lot of people say he has a beard
Yeah, a lot of people say a lot of things
You got a point there; I heard someone said he was black
No Shit
Yeah, people, huh?
Fucking People alright, always making judgments
Don’t move, your about to step on god
That’s a cockroach
Like you said, how do I know what god looks like
That’s a cockroach
I’m just trying to keep on open mind here
Why are you looking for god anyway?
Just wanna talk to him I suppose?
About what?
Stuff
Stuff?
Yeah Stuff
What stuff?
A lot of stuff
If you say stuff one more time
A lot I wont say stuff
You just said stuff!
I said I was going to stop saying stuff!
You said it again!
Ok, Jesus tap dancing Christ, calm down
In my profession, everyone always repeats themselves and I can’t take it much longer
What do you do?
Stuff.

II

Same room

I see you’ve moved to the chair
Yep, maybe someone dropped god in-between the cushions
Aren’t you referring to money?
Money, god, same stuff
Are you going to start that again?
What?
Nevermind, keep looking for god in the seat cushions
I intend to
I mean in all honesty, what do you want to accomplish by that?
Isn’t that what we all strive for?
Wait, are we talking about money or god here? I lost my train of thought
Good Question, Anyway…
I mean if your looking for god, wouldn’t a better place be somewhere more…well….
More what?
I don’t know how to explain it
Exactly
But how do you know god even exists?
They told me
They?
They
And you’re going to believe that?
Why would they lie?
Money, power, lots of things
Well I have faith
I can tell
Was that an insult?
No
Why don’t you just leave me alone to my investigation?
What else am I supposed to do then?
I don’t care, go sit
You’re looking for money in the bloody chair
God
Yeah, that
You didn’t answer my question
Go, read a magazine
Sorry I’m not interested in Teen Fashion
Well I’m sorry you are so interested in my search
Well I find it intriguing that someone would search here
Why is this place so different than any other place? You tell me where to look
What about a church?
Why would god be in a church?
Well you know, people worshipping his every word, priests, the body and blood of his only son…
Do you really think god wants to see sculptures of his son being crucified and people eating his body and blood
That is a good point…
Or people singing in monotonous voices?
So maybe church isn’t the best place
You just gotta think sometimes, that’s all
Well I was thinking
No you were thinking, you weren’t thinking
What the hell is the difference between thinking and thinking?
Think about it
I’m going to strangle you
Maybe then I’ll find god
Funny
Alright, let me ask you this then, how do you know he exists?
I don’t
Then why look?
So I can find out
But what about if he doesn’t exist
I can still say I tried cant I?
But doesn’t that mean you wasted all that time
It depends how you look at it I guess
Like if the glass is half full or half empty
I see it empty or full
But the point it’s that it’s in the middle
I see it empty or full
Fair enough, so what are you doing here exactly?
Waiting
What are you waiting for?
Guess
You better not say Godot
Godot?
Nevermind
Guess
Um…I don’t know
Good Guess
Wait, what?
I don’t know what I’m waiting for
Hey look a quarter!
No, that’s god

Legs of steel that prance around the room like ecstacy creep up beside me on the couch. I cant understand its dialect of sicilian so I turn the other way, and hope to god it doesnt see me. Que in fireworks and lightning of bright green and yellow that run up the walls with a loud bang that settles in everyones gut like lead. I never did like monopoly it yells out to me, but I act like I dont hear it and continue looking at the wall. I know if I act interested theyll suck me in like a mutant octopus and fuck me like a rag doll. Times are changing and nothing is good for you, not women, not H, not nothing. Theyre still next to me on the couch and I whimper like a dying wolf. Finally they get up and move to their next abomination, I watch them hobble away like a broad who got fucked in the ass to many times and relax on the sweaty couch made of what used to be linen. Times were shitty and I was tired and out of luck. The opposite sex always rubbed me the wrong way, prissy shaven men who dance around in tights and shake their asses at men through car windows, lipstick as red as a dogs prick and nails as long as a banshee, they prowl the streets in search of someone who can open thier wallet a little bigger. Blonde, Brown, Black its all the same to me, its a pussy with a smile, simple. I was naive like you once and clung to every woman I knew, I waded in their shadow and waved green like a tree. Only thing is it never got me no where, they always did their thing and left like some two bit hooker, and I always thought it would be different, but like the dumb fuck I am, it always happend. I would sit there like some silent film actor with a dingus in my ass and stained cheeks wondering why this kind of shit happend to me not realizing that this broad behind me was calling her boyfriend while smoking my cigarettes.
Fuck the control machine, fuck him. He pisses me off, doesnt dish out, ya dig, he always wants a little more, like that fucker with the halo. They always give but take a little more. Crooked bastards who carry crosses and books filled with 3 letters. Look at the fucking Man standing on the corner with his deep blue suit and blue tie, Like a fucking Van gogh blot. I hope your face melts like a cassorole. They got jobs, they got money, and they probably got a cunt that sucks their dick like they owe them money, which they probably do. So cross that street buisnessman, suck that smoke deep into your black lungs, because cancer is in. I tried to be a prick once, I even had a cubicle with my name on it in Times New Roman, too bad I cant read and I fucked the system like a wrench in the gears, they fired me and told me never to come back, fuck em, I dont need em, fink bastards. Let me bend over so my asshole opens a bit further, the dildo is too big, hows that buisness man? Wide enough or has your dick grown. Fuck the control machine, never did me shit.
Brown updike umbrellas with silver ectoplasmic handles that disapear in the failing light sit in a row on the table in some ritual format. Bipedal nomads of all shapes and sizes step up and take an umbrella and wave it in the air like a headless chicken, no thanks I say and stand at the window. Look at these fucking mooks, sing in the rain why dont you, when I was your age I worked sucking coal into my lungs while thrusting a pickax into whatever was infront of me. Bulls flap in from all oriphaces and stomp the unsuspecting raquteurs into a pulp of shit and blood that resembles primordial soup. Freeze you cocksucking monkeys I hear, a pig wanders in and unzips his pants. Bring the fucking queen. They throw an unsuspecting broad up and he throws his lizard out and smacks her across the forhead. Colors explode like candy mountain tops and run down the sides of your imagination like melting butter that stains the carpet red, before I know it im out the window and in a pile of trash that smells like joey the kykes mother.
Dark alley, green sky that twirls like sewage and musty sailors that run grimey fingers through rotting fruit trying to find the worms like some morbent fisherman. Shmucks pedaling on all fours like wolves searching through dumpsters howl at the moon and pull their thumbs out their asses. Dont mind the shit on the wall cackles a ghost and I try to turn away. Two men fucking each other in the belly button with knives and a midget with a soldering iron soldering his dick hole shut come into view. Fuck it, oh yeah, I want to feel it down the tube. Pizza slides down his back and rotting food is splashed around like water, lapping up into the men like the sea. Wild hair grows like weeds from their bodies, two trees fucking in the distance, botany, botany botany. Cant miss my train, I feel it rush into my thighs and down my legs into my toes, I fall down and start to smile the smile of king and roll around in my bed of roses. My ticket says nowhere, but ive been everywhere.

I.

The boat shook to and fro with a rhythmic pattern like a fat man hobbling down the street looking for his daily fix of chocolate, pushing onward into the darkness. The water slithered by seemingly wrapping everything in its course, squeezing the life out of all that rode its muddy waters. I stared at the water for quite some time seeing all sorts of things, at one point it had shown me a picture of my own father writing in a journal. My father never had a journal, I looked back to see his skin start to turn into a reptilian scale, climbing his body like frantic mountain climbers edging toward a peak. Suddenly a noise stirred behind me startling me with a jumping reaction. A snake hung from a tree limb near my feet, it brought its head up and smiled. “You fucking imbecile, what do you think you are doing?” The snake hissed. The whole world shook as the snake reeled closer and its eyes glowed of fire. “Don’t judge me snake” I said, “You don’t know me.” I got to my feet and noticed the snake had stayed floating the air as the branch it was on had passed from view. “O but I do, I know you very well” He said staring at my face with totally apparent pleasure. “I know all about what you did to land you here, all about why you think the way you do. But it troubles you that something could know your motives doesn’t it, it troubles you to know that something like me could kno-“
“Senior, are you alright?” the boatman said edging his hand away from my chest. “You were talking to nothing a minute ago.” He looked at me judging me with his big fucking brown eyes. “Yea, I’m alright.” I totally ignored his notion that there was no snake. Everywhere nowadays it seems people think you see something you don’t, or there isn’t something where you think it is. Its not even the principle of the snake, it’s the fact that they always prove you wrong, they have to be the ones who make you think your eyes have deceived you, but what makes something there or not? If someone is alone and sees a ghost and no one believes them, there very well could have been a ghost there, there could be ghosts everywhere, but no one believes it. It’s all what you want to believe, what seems acceptable to them. For example, the mathematical equation 2 +2=4 is undoubtedly correct in our society it is one of the very first things we learn as a child. But where is the solid evidence that 2+2 equals 4. Who said that 2+2 is 4; couldn’t it just as easily be 5 or 6? If right now some mathematical douche bag said that contrary to popular belief that 2+2 did in fact equal 5 there would be some resentment in the beginning it would soon fade into an entirely subjective society that 2+2=5 was indeed the way it always had been. What is to say the same about something like apparition or ghosts as you might call them. Scientists have now and again agreed that there is no such thing and that is a figment of an imagination triggered by some sort of chemical reaction in the brain or simply that if you want to see something really bad, you will see it. But if scientists for some reason discovered that there is a purgatory and that ghosts are very real people would say “Looks like there’s ghosts.” And go on with their lives thinking there are ghosts. It’s not about us it’s about them. Remember that at all times.
I got up and looked around the ship which was now glowing a deep yellow and giving off a light source. We had been sailing on this liquid for some time now, I can’t recall the exact date, but I’m sure it didn’t really exist. Dates, what is the reality of a date, a Name and a number to a specific day. What if everyday was the same day and there was no time, time was a fable made by early man to calm himself that life wasn’t just some stretch of eternity littered by petty events like walking to the fucking grocery store and taking shits. And that day was called Zero, not the number Zero but Zero. And it didn’t involve the letters z,e,r or o, because those don’t exist. Nothing exists don’t you get it? Nothing exists until someone makes it exist. So I shall state that today is Zero. There is no tomorrow and there wasn’t a yesterday there is Zero.
The boat halted to stop like a car going eighty into a brick wall. The boatman and captain lumbered out of the quarters to see the enigma. They started babbling in some form of gibberish, and then turned there faces at me and said “We are stuck on something senor.” Good to know that I’m in the company of brain surgeons. And then suddenly a violin started playing in the distance. I turned my head to distinguish the noise. My ears clasped the notes and tore them apart with tenacity raping each note until it disappeared totally. “Beautiful isn’t it?” I uttered to the surgeons. “What is beautiful senor?” Just as I suspected still in a dream world surrounded by invisible barriers, blocking all sounds and sight of the real world. Notes weren’t confined to music as some people might think, they had there own language that they used to communicate like whales to each other, but of course no ear had heard it before, the barriers had been there from birth. That’s when they get you, when you’re wet and drippy with blood from a gaping vagina. They bring into a room and put it in you. The device. It makes you oblivious to the real world around you. All the things that you never know, such as talking animals and music the way its supposed to be, the way that metal has a way of feeding itself. All those things. Back in the days before technology the world didn’t need barriers to hide them. Only when technology started about then did they start realizing things that really happened. Some people were able to open their mind to what was really going on, only a few but then it became every person did and it upset some people, and those people had a lot of Money or power as I call it. They wanted the people to obey and do what needed to be done to make the world operate smoothly, the wanted people to go on with their meager lives not knowing what there missing. People would get too powerful and question the government about things and the government was going to run out of answers sometimes and one scientist knew this. He created this chip, which inhibits all perception of Pangaea, what I call the real world. It makes you think that you are living in the old days, around the years of the 20th century. But in reality the higher ups in Pangaea had so much more than the people could possibly imagine. They had things such as energy gas that could assimilate people completely and you would never know, they even have a way to avoid death. But they wouldn’t want you to know about that would they. They want it all for their fat greedy slimy fucking hands.
I fidgeted in my position and a scowl turned on my face like a twist piece of meat. I suddenly had the desire to kill both those idiots on this “boat” I wanted to cut up there body’s and feed them to the piranhas. Just then I heard it, the slow rumble. Ha-ha! It was time you son of a bitch. I felt the thud behind me and the two surgeons vaporize before my eyes even the boat had disappeared and all that had remained was the eternal river, by the way didn’t exist

II.

The world blurred around me grey images floating past like the boat on the river. I saw blurs of music float by in rainbow colors covered in blood. One persons face melted onto the floor and another man bent down and ate with a smile, across the way a brown substance laid on the floor and all eyes fixed on it like some great spectacle and all of a sudden a human figure rose from it and was ripped apart by the rest. I knew I was there. This was the real world. Not some little old grandma with wrinkles all over her ass crossing the road. People killing each other for no reason at all, Death and starvation were your only friends. They had taken the chip out of us. We were real. On the wall there was a saying. “Reality is what we say” so true it is. They owned everything and everything could do anything back. I figured that they would surely kill me soon because I was the only one who wasn’t completely insane. Or was I the only insane one? Were all these people acting the way you should I am the one who doesn’t know what going on. Thoughts flashed in my mind like hand grenades one wiping another out in continuous motion.

I looked back at the wall and it said “Reality is what you believe.”

My God
She looked absolutely gorgeous coming out of the long black doorway. Time slowed with each step, he eased his hand on the steering wheel trying to look comfortable, trying to be cool that is. She reached the car window with a smile.
“Hey how are you?” She said batting her big eyelashes.
“I’m good, but you look great!” he said with a wide tooth smile.
“You are so sweet.” She said blushing and opened the door.
“So you got the reservations at Lucatoni’s right?” She said, and turned to him with her ocean blue eyes gleaming in the failing light.
“Y-Yes I did, we should get going.” He said turning to the road trying to get his eyes off her, but she still looked at him, or so he thought. The road stretched for miles the only sign of life, a bleak white stripe rearing every so often.
“You know, that was a long time ago. Things are different.” She did trying to apologize. He looked straight foreword watching the road, pretending he didn’t hear it.
Finally he let out, “It was along time ago, but it’s not like it didn’t happen.” still looking ahead. “You just don’t forget things like that.” He said trying to hold his feelings at bay. “I just want to start over, clean slate, right?” she said almost pleading. He turned to her. It seemed like eternity, all he saw was the woman he was in love with since god knows when. He turned back to the road. “You know how I feel about you.”

There was a long pause, the car protested with its hum.

She went for his hand on the cup holder, her face sincere and ashamed. Her hand touched his and he felt a rush of heat hit him like a blanket covering his entire body. He gripped.

“Thank you waiter this looks great.” He said and smiled at her across the table. It really wasn’t an ornate restaurant but quaint, it even had the candle in the middle of the table. She smiled at him staring deep into him, looking for something. They ate without a word. Delving into the food as looking for some way to set things right. When he was done he looked up to see her looking straight at him. He smiled and she felt relived smiling back. After he paid the bill they went outside. “Food was good wasn’t it?” he said trying to make conversation looking at his feet. “That’s not what you really want to say is it.” And she picked his head up. Their faces met close, he thought about it, but she did it. His put his hand in her hair and remembered the old days, like a movie playing in his head. They walked back to the car hand in hand. He opened the door for her and she got in and smiled. He walked around trying to look smooth and got in with a smile as well. He started the car up and then he looked over to see her looking alarmed looking at her side. “What’s wrong?” he said, “My purse, I don’t know where it is.” She replied. “Don’t worry ill go in and get it for you.” He said smiling. He opened the door and felt the breeze grace his face. Maybe life is going good he thought and he walked back into the restaurant. The soft jazz still playing he asked the waiter if there had been a report of a lone purse. He said no and apologized. He stood puzzled, wait did she even bring a purse? He went out into the cool air to see a car with no one in it, rumbling silently. He stood there for a minute just standing no thinking at all just nothing. After a minute or two thought to himself “can’t say I didn’t see this coming, but at least I changed, I changed enough to give someone a second chance.” He walked slowly to the car and put his hand on the cold metal handle, he shivered, but if it was the cold or not he could not tell.

Some things never change

Sometimes its hard to look at what you really want. Because you know that once you glance at it, you will never be the same.

The tuna was terrible, it tasted rotten and had a rancorous odor, I casted it aside and smiled to not suggest any problem.
“May I be excused?” I asked
“Most certianly, Heighman guestered a limp wrist towards the bathroom. After I wiped the vomit off my face, I took a long hard look in the mirror. Is this what I really wanted to be doing? Do I want to be looking in the same mirror 30 years later smiling with false teeth and grey hair. I cringed at the thought. Obviously not. The florescent light flickered off. Great, I thought and felt for the door. Stumbling out into the corridor I reached into my coat and found a smile and walked over to the table.
Heighman wasn’t really the boss you wanted, he was that old man who seemed to have his own agenda. Those fading eyes darting about and seeming to have a mind of their own inside his sunken brow. And not to mention the fact that he was known to try and force the young girls he hired to have sex with him. But nonetheless, he was the boss and I was at his mercy. And for some reason he liked me. He always seemed to be ready to give me the benefit of the doubt, which kind of caught my attention, on multiple occasions. I mean god works in mysterious ways, but Heighman isnt god, i hope. If god was the owner of a small accounting firm in rural michigan, we have a problem. I always remember the words of my father,
“Mitch, you have to do something with your life, dont be like your ol’ man and work in a factory.” he would say inbetween coughs. I could see where he was coming from though, he spent all his life hitting a lever and what did it get him? A gold watch and lung cancer. I know I sure as hell didnt wanna end up like that.

I dont know where accounting really came into the picture, I always had wanted to be a Pro football player. At one point I was the captain of Jefferson High, and a damn good one. State Champions 71-72 infact. A surplus of colleges would come to my door and I was giddy as a schoolboy. At one point I was gonna be on the Miami Hurricane, but then one day, i think i woke up. I had realized that all my life i was living in a fantasy, I actually thought I would make it to the big leagues, but i forgot that they lie when they tell you that you can be whatever you want to be. So I started focusing on academics and realized I wasnt bad at math and i had an uncle in accounting so why not right? I would be lying if I told you I wasnt miserable. Everyday was a labor to get out of bed and put on that same blue suit, my fathers suit. I would walk out to my red El Camino and try and start it for 10mins and then finally it would catch, then a 45 minute ride to hell on earth. And there would be Heighman with his Joker smile and bald head staring out the window of the second floor with both hands behind his back. The American Dream? Working in an office cubicle pushing little keys and hearing the phone ring every goddman minute. I hope to god it isnt.

And then, one day, it was Different.

I heard a faint noise in the distance. Music. I got up and looked out the window. There was some sort of band at the restaruant across the street, and my shift was over in 10 minutes, why not?
I sifted through the smoke with my both arms and made my way to the makeshift stage. 3 men stood, well 2 men, one was seated actually. The man closest to me worse a leather jacket and slicked backed hair and carried a white guitar. He sang into the microphone as if screaming to the world. The other man was dressed in all black with black sunglasses and a pony tail. He had a black bass guitar and was basically motionless. And there was the drummer, a somewhat thin red headed guy with a pink suit, quite a motley crew. I sat the whole night actually, and listened to their creation. It was beautiful, and at that moment I realized that I loved music.
“Thank you, we are Mantra, and see you next Friday.” the singer said and started to pack up his guitar. I put one hand on my head and was amazed what I had seen. 3 men who could just do what they want and do it for a living. I went and bought a guitar.

The only thing was No one said it was hard to play, many a night I sat their like a primape hitting the strings and getting nothing. But gradually I began to develope the incling of how to play. I even bought a book, Rock Guitar! it read in big red letters. I used it everynight and then one day I went for gold.
It was Friday night and Mantra was onstage at Freddies Diner, I sat in my usual chair and watched them do theyre magic, but then I made my move. While they were packing up I went over to them.
“Hey…um excuse me?” I tried to say cooly
“Yo, man, whats up?” The singer replied looking over his shoulder.
“I was wondering if you knew of any bands that needed a guitar player” I said and put out my arm to lean on the counter, trying to look suave. He eyed me for a second and then turned around.
“Sorry Dude, but I dont.” He said packing up his guitar. And something I had never seen in me came out. I walked infront of him and bent down.
“I know I dont look like a musician, but I sure as hell can be, cant I?” I cocked an eyebrow.
“You got guts kid, ill give you that.” he said winding a guitar cord.
“Will you just hear me out, listen to how I can play.” I said pleadingly.
“It doesnt matter how good you are man, Theres something musicians have, that you dont, come back when you get it, and we’ll talk.” he said and walked out the back door. I stood there and stared at the backdoor and went over what he said in my head. The neon sign flickered above the door. Exit shown in big red letters.

What did he mean?! I thought to myself all that night, theres something I dont have? I rolled over and watched the rain fall. My eyes wondered, my blue suit rested on a chair in the corner of the room. I chuckled at it, it was obviously old, its lapel too large for fashion standards. I closed my eyes and tried to go to sleep.
I stumbled into the office.
“Long night Mitch?” Heigman said and i snapped around.
“Yes Mr. Heighman” I said balancing from the recent poise change. and at that moment I realized that I was at the mercy of my job, if i was myself and didnt say Mr. or some title i would probably lose my job. I was weak and powerless.
“I hate to see you like this Mitch, youre a good kid, just gotta get your prioritys straight” he said and turned around.
“They are straight” I heard someone say, but I realized it was me.
“Excuse Me?” Heighman said and turned around.
“My prioritys are straight, and this job isnt one of them.” I said and walked out. His mouth agape Heighman watched me walk out.
What in gods name did I just do, I looked in rearview mirror of my El Camino and threw my head back. I felt somehow relieved, as if stress had instantly lifted off my shoulders and flew out the car window. That day I played guitar all day.
It was Friday night and I went to Freddies like usual. But it wasnt usual. I wasnt Mitch anymore. I sat in the same seat. my ghost loomed over me in disgust but I laughed. I watched the show and appreaciated it much more than ever. I even clapped and whistled. My ovegrown hair falling before my eyes, I brushed it up, and brought out a pair of sunglasses. No more blue suit either, I had bought myself a pair of jeans and a leather jacket. Times were changing.
After the show I went up to the singer and said
“Im Free” and lowered my shades. He glanced at me for a minute and then smiled.

Fire is the devils only friend in this land
feel it curse up and down your skin like the hands of little children
and slam into you, take the fucking witness stand
Stand all alone out on the plank and fish for sharks
Make those toes dangle and dance
Go look at the sky and realize its really black
let it suck into its abyss and rape you
Fuck you, and hurt you, try and kiss it

Four weeks later, with a funny walk
spit out on the cutting board you fumble
do the walk; do the walk
Fuck you and your formality
I dont dig that shit
Open them, open them up

Look beyond your dashboard, through the blinds
theres a light out there
hes called the Sun, he theres everday
he rises, he sets, he rises, he sets
Never faulters, never lies, never stops
Hes there
open the blinds

Imagine a dark and maniacal place. Where the demons from the deepest recesses of your mind crawl out and smell fresh air. A place where you’re worst childhood nightmares become reality. This place has no bounds, it has no rules, and it is not even a place. To call it a place would mean it is a piece of land or some kind of mass, but it has neither of these. Imagine your brain as a cube, a hollow cube with a person standing inside it. The man is a normal white collar man with a shirt and tie with well groomed hair and a smile. When this man thinks he thoughts bounce off the sides of the cube and come back to him, so he knows which of these thoughts are rational and which are irrational. That is how the normal mind works, but in this place, the mind is not normal. Imagine the walls fall down and the man is looking at eternal white surrounding him. He begins to panic and thinks too much. But he is used to these thoughts being bounced back to him and when everything is rational he does not question. What he doesn’t know is that he believes that 2+2=5. He believes that glass is the product of the slow vibration of Garth Brooks hitting an American frog at the velocity of 55.687 mph on Tuesday March 20. He sees things that scare him and bleed mayonnaise. This is what happens when the walls fall down, you fall into a state of discovery and the mind doesn’t know anything but to expand and relish in the information it never, soon he gets idea’s that sound brilliant and he feverishly grabs a pen and writes them down in Aramaic to preserve their holiness. 4 hours later he has 199 pages of this and keeps going like a machine he pumps out words, he doesn’t eat, he doesn’t sleep, and all he does is think. He thinks freely for the first time in his life, his thoughts swirl around him and run down his spine into his thighs like some kind of opium high. He sees like a camera angle and is able to move it behind him like in some third person video game, and watches from that view. He begins to have an out of body experience that lands him in the hills of feudal Japan. His eyes are quick and frantic like an intimidated rodent and his skin becomes oily. He then strips down to his underclothing because his shirt and pants have offended him in a way you or I could never understand. He breaks the pen and throws it because it doesn’t do him justice. But now he has nothing to write with so he lets out a bloodcurdling scream that wakes the dead. He rushes around the room in search of a pen screaming “THE SQUARE ROOT OF 1 is 0” when he realizes that there are no more writing utensils he stops in the middle of the room and just stares at the walls, through his eyes you can see the brain working, thoughts slithering around like snakes in the Amazon waters. He knows what has to do, he grabs the closest blunt object and smashes the pinky on his dominant hand completely off and continues writing in his own blood. He pays no mind to the wound nor made a face while he did it, it was something that had to be done, like paying taxes. It’s been days now and the stench rises in the room and a small green cloud begins to appear above his chair. He still writes like his thoughts have no end, because they don’t, it flows out of him like the blood of his little pinky. His stack is now well over 3000 pages and he still writes on, a man possessed. He once green eyes have now turned to a hazy gray and his hair is beginning to fall out. He rips it out of his scalp as it hangs down before his eyes. Nothing will obstruct the product. When the pinky runs down he throws another fit, bashing a hole in the wall in the process. The wall falls down and a small vacuum appears in the void. He looks out the whole to see the galaxy swarming around him, there are stars and planets as far as the eye can see. He plugs up the hole with money, and finds a hammer under the desk and smashes another finger till the blood flows freely. His fingernails are starting to become long and are affecting the writing so he rips them of at the root and blood oozes on the paper, he pays no mind. He then realizes that he could save the blood and use it later because he doesn’t have enough fingers to write. He finds a small makeshift inkwell and lets the blood drip into it. He then runs into the kitchen and find some toothpicks with which he will use as quill. After running back he curses and screams for the strangulation of his ideas. He has been too busy to notice that the green cloud above his chair has started having its own precipitation and small electrical storms onto a month old turkey and ham sandwich that is considerably green.
He continues on some form of energy that the mass population hasn’t been able to access. He hasn’t eaten in three or 4 days and he is becoming ill and sickly. He coughs in between every word or so, and he screams that it isn’t coming out as fast. His pages have now reached the 10,000 mark and he is starting to slow down mildly. All that once was his former self is completely gone and some primal core remains. He runs out of blood and starts crying because he has no more fingers left to gouge and he is completely dehydrated and he cannot find any place to draw blood, he is dying and he knows it. He doesn’t cry because he is dying he is crying because he can’t continue to write. He now notices the green cloud raining on his ham and turkey sandwich, he tilts his head like an animal and stares it. He then zooms in and sees the microscopic animals swimming around. He watches them with wide eyes and watches them progress. They turn from single celled organisms to multi celled and he even watches them as they become visible on his desk. He sees the walking on the sandwich walking around astounded on how they have life. “My children!” he yells in a regal voice and all eyes fix on him. They stop and continue to grow at an 800 times speed and they become miniature people and worship their god, who is now dead because he hasn’t eaten in months and his mystery fuel has depleted. They mourn their fallen god and continue to progress on the turkey and ham sandwich, they become a whole civilization with heroes and tyrants and laws and religion. They name their land masses and elect governments. A new world has started. They wave war on the inkwell and claim it as Man Mountain in remembrance of their god. Soon there are old ones who tell marvelous stories of the old god and the young gather around. The cadaver is now starting to rot and bugs flock to it. The small people are enraged, their god is being eaten, they form an army massive as any man has ever seen and they attack the bugs, a 37 year war ensues and results with the little people winning by one man who is badly wounded. He stands on top of the fallen god and screams “FOR FREEDOM” and falls to his death among the bodies of men and bugs. The room is empty and then a dirty pile of clothes begins to stir…

Then you step away and look at the paper in front of you that reads only one sentence. His hair was short.

Some people arent good at showing their feelings, some people arent good saying what they really want say. I guess i’m a little bit of both. Its destroyed me at times, and others it has saved me, but it doesnt matter, because thats past tense. This is now. I dont know what to do, I wish I did, I wish it could be so easy like some people make it look. It makes me squirm just thinking about it. But you know what makes me squirm even more? What keeps me awake at night, prying my mind open. Lonliness, I’ve lived with it like a brother, even when I have people around me it still never made me feel whole. Maybe once in my life ive felt complete like that, but no more. It infects you like a virus, it starts slow and you only feel it slightly, when your totally alone. Then it increases slowly over time, you start to think things that you never thought of before, will I be alone forever? Is there someone for me? Is this worth living? It never stops. I live with it everyday, a demon scraping at my soul, eating me from the inside out. Theres only one way to get the demon out of my me, her. Shes the only way. Shes the only one who can cure my disease and rid me of my burden. The demon can only claw so long, then, then it gets loose.

I havent always been like this, a ghost. You know, the guy who lives with his blinds perminently shut, the person who doesnt eat to punish himself for not being someone better. I was a happy go lucky kid, and I had alot of friends. Everyone seemed to like me, I was kind to all and listened to everyone, no matter what anyone looked like or said. But later, they couldnt do it in return. I started gaining weight, not much, just a little, and i noticed them. I saw them staring at me, all of them. Staring. They saw, they saw it a great big spectacle, a circus, thats what I was becoming. I could see it in their eyes, theyre expression and their voice. I was no longer myself at that point, I was something less. When I went to middle school, it only got worse. Alot worse. People ridiculed me, and made fun of me because I was fat. They screamed words like “Hey Fatty” and laughed when my expression turned to frown. They enjoyed my pain, they loved, they basked in it. Not only did they call me Fatty, but they called me Ugly. They called me everything, nothing was sacred with me, I was free ground for everything, not even the sweetest of kids would hold back when everyone started. Like an orchestra they shouted, tearing into mind, they wrought such pain inside me, that all I could do was bury it deep in my soul. Hoping it would go away if I tried to forget about it. Day in and day out, I dealt with it. The jokes, the ridicule, people looking and laughing at me. Everyone looking and laughing at me. No one would take my side, no one would rise up and speak out against them. I was alone, and then, I realized I was always alone. Walking from to class to class was harder than you could ever imagine, I looked at the tile and hoped that I could slip by unoticed by people, become one of the crowd. I would purposely move with groups of people so I wouldnt be seen. I would never walk out alone if I didnt have to, because I was vulnerable. Sitting in class made me feel like nothing I could I describe. It was if the whole world was looking at me, staring at me, watching my pudgy features and and waiting for me to give a wrong answer or do something stupid. I swear they could see right through me, into my beating heart, they could read my thoughts and laugh at my pitiful nature. I never answered questions because I feared to speak out, afraid someone would make fun of me if my voice cracked or if it was a wrong answer. I wouldnt look at anyone in the eyes. I felt i wasnt worthy, and im not. Im scum.

I have friends, but not many, and some have left and some come over the years. But they all have done one thing. They have called me fat. Not even my friends could spare that for me. They had to bring it home, like a hammer splitting my skull. They would joke about it, if we were playing and I would get out of breath, they would laugh at me, huffing and puffing feeling as if I was going to die. We would play baseball and I would never seem to run the bases fast enough, they would always blame losing on me. Everything was always blamed on me. I was the trashcan, anything that was bad and needed a scapegoat was attached to me, I was easy to target, I never protested. I learned that resistance was futile, you just take it and bury the pain like a hatchet, and move on. When I was younger, none of this really affected me, I could play it off, I had a deep grave to bury it, 6 feet of it. I could just cast it down and it wouldnt even stick out into the light. I would temporarily feel bad, but then the next day it would be gone, like a bad dream. and then it would happen again, and I would bury it, a cycle that never ends. But one day, the grave started filling up and I could see all that was in it. All the dark things, all the pain. And ive never been the same.

If there is one thing that can hurt me like no other, its women. I would see all these movies, where two people would fall in love and have a great life together and die in each others arms. It seemed wonderful to be in love, it was all I ever wanted. But reality is, I never found it. I started to notice women in middle school. And just like everyone else, they made fun of me. But they were worse than the boys, they were far worse. Some people would know when they went too far, when I would cry infront of everyone, but the girls, they wouldnt stop. They drive me into the ground like a drill, spinning my agony into a noose they could hang me in. Then the would laugh and go about their buisness. But I never hated them, I always thought that someone would be different, there would be that girl like in the movies, the person who would help me pick up my books when they fell and smile at me, not stare into my soul. I waited and I waited, but nothing ever happend. Everyone was the same. I learned that life wasnt like the movies, not everyone had a soulmate, they lied. There were people who died alone, there were old men rotting in their houses with dried tears on their faces. Wrinkled hands that never been held. Lips that had never been kissed, and never would. I would be one of those people, one of those old men. Who would live on, empty. They would roam the earth in search of something they could never find. I lied when I said I never hated anyone, I hate myself.

My parents werent much help either. They were always fighting, I could hear them after one of them tucked me in. Screaming, saying how they hated each other. I would hear something break, and then more screaming. Sometimes I could make it out. “Its your fault hes not doing in school” I would hear them say. “Its your side of the family that makes him weak” I could hear like yesterday. “Why do you let him eat so much.” was another one. There was more, but if I wrote them you would never believe me. And the worst part was, they would never admit it. When I would come downstairs they would smile at me, and say nothing was wrong, they would never mention any of those things around me. I never knew the truth, I coudl only hear it in my bedroom. They didnt know I listened if they did, they might have stopped, but I doubt it. My mother would tell me that I looked handsome and that I wasnt fat, but she was lying, she lied to me, to my face. I could see it in her eyes, they would get hollow as if she had to detach herself to say it, and I would nod as if I believed her, but I never did, and she knew it. I would go to bed and stare at the ceiling, and think. Think like no child should ever, ever have to think. If I had one wish on this earth, I would wish that no one would ever have to think I like I do. I would review everything ive ever done, and see the weaknesses pointed out to me, and no matter how hard I tried to block it out, it would flash there, like a neon sign, I would see what I did wrong, and I couldnt make it go away. I would relive it a thousand a times a night, and feel the same pain each time. There was nothing I could do it scream at me saying that I was a failure and that I could do nothing and I squirm and pray to god to make it stop, I prayed that I would do anything to make it stop, but not even god would listen. I would feel the pain rip through my flesh and work its way to my heart and squeeze it, untill it begged for utter mercy. Over and over this would happen, and all I could do was cry, I would cry for hours and no one would ever hear me. I would cry alone.

And now, my grave has been filled, there is no more room to cast my pain down, its surfacing like lava coming from inside the earth, it bubbles up onto my skin and pours down slow burning my flesh, I can feel it ripping through my organs pouring out my eyes, and my ears and my nose, like blood it flows out of me leaving a trail of my past. There is no room to take the pain, there is too much, not worth anything. I would say try and imagine it for yourself, but I wouldnt do that to anyone except myself. If I hadnt been a failure all my life, I could have amounted to something. If I just hadnt been born, if I had been a stillborn, rotting in a trashcan somewhere, I would have never brought my worthless self upon this earth. I never would have had to step foot in anyplace and disgrace it with my presence. I dont want to die and old man who has never had anything. And I know that this girl would never like me. Girls dont like failures. Its my fault im this way. I made myself fat. I made myself the way I am. I dont blame the kids for doing it, they only pointed it out. The weak dont deserve to live, and that is me. The weak. If I go to hell tonight, I will be relieved, because this world, is so much worse.