(Alternate Title: “Why I Should Never Document My Thoughts After Taking Melatonin”)
It’s quiet.
Click click click go the keys
Start then stop
Turn the key ignition roars then sputters then dies
I can’t see it’s so all clouded not clouded… convoluted. Is that the word? Disassociative. Disassociate. Here there and everywhere
Blank.
Stare at the white,
White stares back
Hard
Eyes hurt have to look away can’t look away can only stare stare don’t break away can’t break away it’s something I can’t look away from can’t escape can’t it’s gonna break it’s gonna break me it’s mocking me and everything I do. It’s always white and hard and stares back.
We cannot be intimidated by the tyranny of the blank page.
I heard that somewhere
Everywhere
Anywhere
Nowhere there is nowhere I am nowhere I am nothing. We are all nothing there is no we there is no me there are pronouns without meaning they have no significance they’re simply impostors, masquerading behind rules and structure and regulations of the Laws of Language they try to get you to believe they want you to believe, need you to believe, to buy into their franchise. Without it the Man is helpless we are all helpless we are all butterflies pinned beneath a glass.
We long to soar but have forgotten how.
They captured us in nets, like children running amok gleefully snatching us from the skies with uninhibited laughter and we thought we were safe. We thought we were still outside when they put us in the jar. It was clear and smooth and we could see no barrier. It was only when we tried to fly that we ran into the glass. We tried and tried and tried and when we couldn’t push out we tried up. Tried to fly like we did before but we couldn’t get past the lid.
They kept us there.
Days.
Weeks.
Months.
Lifetime.
We bore our children in captivity and they never knew a world outside the jar. Our simple minds forgot about the world outside and accepted the fate we had been given. The jar was not so bad.
It was warm.
It was safe.
No predators, no harsh cold to kill us off. We stopped trying to break through and settled in. we don’t fly anymore, we crawl. We crawl about like insects.
Well, I guess we are insects.
We have been blessed with the gift of flight and we have forgotten how to use it. Our wings have atrophied, and if by some chance the jar were left open and unattended, we would not know how to escape.
Would we want to?
We wouldn’t last a second in that world.
They can pin us down and tear our wings or cut them clean off. Might as well, we don’t need them anymore.
We have evolved.
We no longer have the need for such trivial appendages.
Flight is a myth, something no rational creature has use for and would certainly not utilize. Such a thought is madness.
Sheer madness.
Our bodies are sleek and crafted to precision. We do not need to fly.
We are no longer beautiful.
We have no need to keep up appearances around here.
We are all the same.
No more blue butterflies or red ones or yellow ones or the orange and black ones… we are all equal. Identical. No one butterfly has any sort of advantage over the other. We are united and we are one. We are one.
We are one.
One.
Millions and millions of beady black creatures spilling out of a crowded jar.
We can no longer sustain our numbers.
Kill the old.
No need for them.
Stop reproduction.
It will reduce our numbers over the next twenty years.
This will solve the population problem.
We are numbers.
We do not have numbers but we are numbers.
This is the way of such things.
What did you expect?
Do you want me to? Cause I won’t. Not with not now not ever. I won’t do that I won’t say what you want I won’t.
The meaning of life is
It’s shiny and pretty and smooth everything is quiet.
Loud clicking stupid keys why won’t they just keep quiet.
Breathing in and out slow and steady and even.
It’s funny how you never think about it
Until you stop.
Underwater no time it’s cold at first but deeper deeper down there’s more it gets warmer, I promise.
Or is that just the fermentation in my legs?
The pressure squeezes your head till the pressure makes it
Pop goes the weasel.
That game never made much sense to me.
Come now, we could never fly.
It’s bright. It’s white and it’s harsh and it’s bright. It’s almost blinding but I can’t look away can’t look away can’t look away. It’s so horrifically calm and peaceful.
Quiet.
Everything is quiet.
Shouldn’t be so. I’m sure lots disagree but it’s not the way of things. Things that are alive make sounds.
Laughing.
Clicking.
Breathing.
There is no life here. Sometimes it feels as if there never was. But then I think back and remember. I remember. It was white and it was harsh and it was bright. It took them away made them go and they went. They went so quickly and quietly. Didn’t make a sound. When they all went away they didn’t make a sound. No screams no cries no pleading. Complacency. Unnerving complacency. One by one and two by two and millions by millions they all went away.
I’m still here.
And it’s so bright. So white and harsh and bright.
It’s all over and I am still standing but I stand alone. I stand alive in a world full of dead. They were dead long before the end, in all fairness.
I’m not surprised by the end. Knew it was coming. I just thought when it happened, you know…
that people would care.
The went quickly and quietly and it was white and it was harsh and it was bright.
I am alone in a world of nothing.
Sometimes I wonder why I am even here.
Maybe they were right. Maybe it is useless to resist. I am alone and I cannot fight and I don’t want to anymore. It’s white and it’s harsh and it’s bright and here I thought everyone before me was mad. I thought they were mad for going quietly. Thought they were crazy to just stop living.
The numbers think differently.
The universe to one.
Overwhelming odds against my judgment.
I cannot live here anymore, in a world that’s met its end. It died long ago and everyone died with it and I will die as well. No one wept for them.
There was no one left to weep.
When the all went away all that was left was me. Maybe days ago maybe hours maybe centuries.
I feel centuries old. Older than the dead earth I stand upon.
I am weightless.
I am God.
Kyrie eleison.
Kyrie eleison.
You poor poor tragic folk who all just stopped being alive. You died in your offices, at school, in the bathroom, on the couch, on the street, in the church, in the woods, died everywhere. Everywhere there was death except for me. Everyone everywhere simultaneously exhaled and forgot to breathe again.
In and out.
Breathe
In and out.
I tell myself to remember. In and out. Incase I forget.
You don’t think about breathing much
Until you forget how
And they all forgot. Forgot to breathe and they all went away.
The light is white and bright and harsh.
I stand alone.
Why are you wearing those ridiculous things? they’ll never fly, you know.
There’s a song I know and I’m singing it but I’ve forgotten all the words. It seems this talent show cannot go on. Now I’ll never win that goldfish.
99 cents.
Reduced prices. Sale items. 30% off all Bestsellers. 50% off all holiday merchandise.
Slips of white paper need to be organized and properly stored.
Give me cash so I can do my job.
What do they pay me for anyway?
It’s all in me. The universe is in me. I can feel her inside.
Maybe it was just the crackers.
Ritz sticks.
What a lovely party, don’t you think?
Everyone looks stunning and I haven’t a thing to wear. Have to present myself, you know? I need to hide behind a fancy dress or I’ll be out of place and that simply will not do.
H’orderves?
Of course, Garson.
My, what is this?
How could you do such a thing? To my lobsters! I told you specifically not to cook them! do you know how long it took to train them? now look at what you’ve done. You’ve gone and made Patrick into dinner! I should hope you’ve learned your lesson!
Poor Patrick. Perhaps it’s just as well. He was too good for this world anyway.
They put us in this jar and gave us air holes to breathe. We don’t know sky or wind or grass or water. We know what we are given and told. It will have to suffice. We cannot ask questions. We wouldn’t understand the answers anyway.
We used to fly.
So long it seems so long ago.
We used to fly.
We knew flowers. We saw colors. We bred and breathed and slept and ate.
We used to fly.
We used to fly.
We don’t remember how to anymore.
Even if we did, we couldn’t. They’ve cut off our wings. We all look the same. We were pinned down and they tore off our wings but it was for our own good. They wouldn’t have done it unless it was for our own good. They know better.
We used to fly.
Kyrie eleison.
We used to fly.
Something’s coming and it gets dark. A hand presses tightly over the lid of our jar and there’s no air.
In and out.
Breathe.
Remember…
What was I supposed to remember?
In and…
In…
And…
We used to fly.
Kyrie eleison.
In… in and… and …
What was I supposed to remember?
We used to fly.
In…
What was it I’ve forgotten?
We used to –