I Get Lost In The Night's Machinery

Half naked. 

Arms raised like some prophet preachin’ what nobody wanted to hear

but I bleed for ‘em 

so they love me

Get punched. 

Get kicked. 

The more it hurts 

The more they feel it 

that stuff people think is the holy spirit. 

Tightness in the chest 

need bed rest 

but the show must go on 

the roar of the diabetic souls 

that in the night 

tell me not to mix those two things 

gets me through another one. 

Fly to victory 

and then the waiting room. 

The world will terrorize the fuck out of you. It does not need your help.

Maybe I should have more swagger, more attitude. 

Boy, you just high. 

There is this .gif of Margot Robbie looping over and over mashed up with Sharon Stone in Basic Instinct. I keep stealing glances at it. It’s cool. Kinda hot too. In that Hollywood Kinda Way. In that bullshit kinda way. That way that don’t actually exist. Sugar for the soul. Too much sugar puts holes in your soul. 

I should fake confidence more. Sell that shit. Just for fun. Only reason. 

Boy, you are so high. 

Maybe I am. 

I ain’t so bad at this. Fuck. I sound cool, right? 

I’m not cool. I got no fucking clue what I’m doing. I might be going to hell. I don’t think I ever grew the fuck up. I don’t got people. I ain’t ever had that moment where I thought,”These are my people.” I say I love the world and the people I’m on this trip with but god damn it, who do I really love? Who do I choose to love? Like really? Sincerely? 

I’m sorry about all the bullshit I’ve written in this space. I’m sorry for every time that I did not honestly bear witness. 

Yeah. I’m a bit on the high side. That isn’t an excuse though. I stand by every word. 

Friday reflection

I re-read my story of the fight with the printer. 

I dig how soaked in style it is. I dig the voice. Even though it was a really mundane incident, I like how inspired it felt. Of course, I don’t really know how it reads to anyone else. You might read that and think, “God. What the fuck is wrong with that guy? Really?” 

It also occurs to me my tendency to freak the fuck out about pretty much any motherfucking thing. Let me tell you, It’s not an easy thing to live with. It’s a bitch from hell. I don’t want to sound like I’m martyring myself but what you read there, while the dramatic flair is turned up a few notches, is a fairly accurate portrayal of what my internal world can be like. If it were possible, I’d love to visit someone else’s internal world and see what it’s like for them. What is their internal monologue like? How do they speak to themselves? 

I tend to be pretty harsh. 

“C’mon, you dumb motherfucker. Think.” 

As you can imagine, that doesn’t do me any favors. I’ve been to therapists here and there. They always bring up self-talk and all that. Be nice to yourself. I never really got good at that. I’m so far into the way I do things mentally that I can’t even imagine what doing it different would look like. 

There is a desire in me to do something other than these navel gazing sessions but I have no idea what that is. 

This whole thing seems a bit adolescent. There is a bit of an eye wink at that with doing this thing (whatever it is) on Tumblr. I occasionally joked with people about how, “I’m totally gonna post on Tumblr about this later. Well, here I am. Maybe what I’m going to end up with is a chronicle of me maturing. Maybe I’ll just become more self-aware. Maybe I’ll end up a threat to the system. 

Heh. I’m just messing with you. Smile, okay? Fist bump me. C’mon. It’s cool. I’m just messing with you. I was going to go really far with that sudden shift in tone there, like maybe start talking about an angry manifesto or something but I don’t want to freak anybody out. I don’t know how this is really reading. I’m honestly am joking though. 

I’m not funny. I can make people laugh sometimes but I don’t know how you really do that. I don’t know if anybody who can really knows how it works. Imagine understanding that at a deep level. I wonder what it’s like to understand anything at a deep level. Mostly I just have a vague idea about a few things but I could be nobody’s guru. 

I was browsing Netflix. Instead of watching something, I’m writing this. There really isn’t a damn thing I need to be watching. 

This is a man thinking. Have some respect. Wish him luck. 

I could say this is a man shadow boxing but that’s bullshit because I’m not a boxer. That’s me appealing to something manly because I’m not the bad ass warrior even someone like me thinks they are supposed to be. I’ve taken a punch without crying though. I can take a lot of abuse. See, I’m doing it. Damn. So fucking dumb, right? Shit. I’m smarter than this. I’m wiser than this. 

I was sober when I started writing this and now I’m not. Go back and re-read this. When do you think I started feeling it? If you really went back up and tried to re-read that, thank you. That’s really god damn cool of you to play along. 

Alright. Get ready for some next level shit. You ready? Fuck. Got nothing. I thought of how to proceed there but just came up empty. I thought of several things but none of it felt too natural or clever to me. 

How the fuck is this going to read to me tomorrow?

WHAT THE FUCK AM I DOING? 

Do you know what the fuck I’m doing? 

Confusing the reader. Wink and pantomimed finger gun thing. 

I could see this being really dumb and maybe irritating. I could see this being a serious waste of time. 

Peace. Drive safe. 

We repeat the nonsense we hear. Find decent nonsense. 

I’m not sure what this is.... 

Maybe it’s just a little venting with line breaks. 

I got kept inside like 

some girl in a tower. 

I’m a 21st century digital boy. 

World was small 

so I came here. 

Everything is late

I’m not normal 

but not in some cool way. 

I’m wise 

but I’m weak 

Mostly I go no idea what the hell it is I’m doing out here. 

Hi.

I'm the voice in the wildnerness.

I'm smart gone crazy.

I'm the prophet that's gonna pay

with his life

that lives in the hearts of those who wanted to live instead.

What the fuck do I call this?

If you know where the dream ends, you’re being watched. 

If you can find the seams, the stuff you jerk off to that you don’t tell anyone about is being written down by a government agent who is slowly falling in love with you. 

You make the nipples of their soul hard enough to cut diamonds. 

I clear my throat, “Look. This is bullshit. See, the beginning of wisdom is being able to tell where the dream ends while at higher frequencies. If you can do that, shit will be less scary.” 

See. There were moments here. Undeniably. Some of it was bullshit. Maybe most of it was bullshit but some of it was not a dream. Sometimes I heard right. Sometimes I heard just right. 

That song I know. That I heard somewhere. One time. 

Yo man. I don’t know how I feel about that song thing, man. 

This is garbage, isn’t it? 

Maybe. There were moments though. 

There were moments you thought I kinda had it. 

Maybe. 

Maybe. 

Maybe. 

The audacity. 

to try to utter the unutterable. 

Holy shit, I better stay in my lane, right? 

The crowd builds messiahs. 

Nobody is insane enough to believe that about themselves unless they are high 24/7. 

I don’t gotta worry about that though. 

I’m not that good. 

This though. 

This is courage. 

If you tried. Fuck. That’s cheesy. Good night. You know what I’m getting at though, right? 

Seriously though. Good night. 

Halloween: I Was That Guy That Didn’t Wear a Costume

I get invited to a Halloween party by a fella I used to work with about 4 years back. We were call center slaves once and sorta young. We survived the brutal, terrifying drudgery of that white collar McDonald’s. I can’t speak for him. I emerged as the man writing this. I got wiser, weaker and my eye got keener. Reader, this is me bearing witness. This is the mundane drama that gets us where we need to go, I suppose. 

It had been a brutal week of pretending I knew what the fuck I was doing at my day job. I had my suspicions I was probably gonna get found out that week. I made it through. 

Let me make one thing perfectly and abundantly clear to you sir or madam or whoever it is that’s reading this. I don’t get out much. I sorta know how real life works from TV but I don’t spend a lot of time out there. I spend a lot of time alone with my stupid thoughts that melt the steel beams of my life every once in awhile. I’ve been in this period of trying to get “right” again recently. I know I’m gonna be too anxious and inept to drive out there so I don’t. I summon a poor soul with the Uber app on my Samsung personal surveillance device to get me out there into the land of pick-up trucks and country music and maybe god damn Trump supporters. 

Yeah. This shindig or whatever the fuck was way the hell out there. The Uber drivers I get when I use this terrible, dystopian service are usually these motor-mouthed go-getters who probably do a lot of Adderall or they tend to be these earnest, polite immigrants just trying to make it in this fucked up, racist, brutal country. I get this gentleman from Eritrea who barely says a word the entire ride. I should note that before I got in the car about 15 minutes before, I had ingested some cannabis infused chocolate. If I’m not mistaken, that put about 10 milligrams of THC into my system. I then pick up on something. 

The driver of this Toyota Prius criss-crossing it’s way through this autumn night is getting worried, he’s getting flustered. He is getting lost. Oh shit. See, I haven’t been in the exact same spot this guy was in but I know what it’s like to feel utterly alone in the night. I know what it’s like to feel sweat collecting on the back of your neck. I know what it is to feel like your body is itching with fear and dread. He starts apologizing to me. Something happens to me. I know what I gotta do. 

“Brother, don’t worry about it,” I say. “Do not worry. Aight. Just go straight and follow the road for a few miles. You don’t gotta turn for a bit.” 

THIS IS FUCKING CRAZY TO ME BECAUSE I’M NOT USED TO BEING THIS CALM CAT THE UNIVERSE PUTS IN PEOPLE’S PATH BUT THAT’S WHAT I’M GONNA DO FOR THIS GUY. 

He thanks me and thanks me and thanks me. 

“Alright. You gotta turn right in a few hundred feet. There we go. See that road sign? Just turn there when it’s safe. Don’t even worry about it, man. Why do you think I ain’t drivin’ myself? I’d get lost out here even worse. This ain’t my hood, man.”

He calmed down. I’m not sure when I started to feel the cannabis. I’m not sure if me being so fucking kind is the cannabis or if that’s just me. It’s just me. Being alive has hurt me in the weirdest ways and as a result, I’m basically a wannabe Mr. Rogers who is angrier and curses a lot. 

I get to the party. I guess it had a circus theme. There was this circus tent. My friend is in a cover band. 

I walk in. I have a brief conversation about the health impact of vaping and I deftly steer the conversation away from whether Trump is really all that bad. The weed was starting to kick in. I was high but I sure as fuck ain’t stupid. I ingested the second piece of cannabis infused chocolate that I had in my coat pocket. I’m starting to feel it. I know I am. 

I’m in uncharted territory. When I’m high, I’m usually alone. Yep. I am the weirdo that gets high and will just let the chips fall where they may. Sometimes I cry. Sometimes I write. Sometimes I just waste time. So, there I was getting higher and higher around a bunch of strangers. 

Some of the things I say that night, 

“Holy shit. Is this what an episode of Miami Vice is like?” 

“See. I feel like I should tell you. What you’re seeing right now is a cat who don’t get out much.” 

“We don’t need secret police. We build the dossiers on ourselves. It’s crazy, man.” 

“I’m too old for this shit.” 

“FREEBIRD!” 

“THATCHER WAS A CUNT AND I’M GLAD SHE’S DEAD!” in a dubious working class English accent. 

At some point I get offered beer. I don’t ever drink. In fact, I will admit that I had never been drunk before. I start drinking and drinking and drinking. I end up stoned as fuck and somewhat drunk on um light beer. I can feel my inhibitions lower. I’m definitely keenly aware of it. I shout things at the top of my lungs. I even dance and don’t really give much of a fuck how it looks. 

The lowered inhibitions start to concern me. I lean in close to my friend. I say in his ear, “When you get a minute, I need to talk to you.” He nods. See, I ain’t used to alcohol. It’s the weirdest thing. I’m very accustomed to being very high on marijuana and I’ve lived to tell about a few intense trips on psilocybin mushrooms. Alcohol just isn’t something I have a lot of practice with. In fact, being out ain’t something I have a ton of practice with. 

I become intensely concerned about what I might do while under the influence. I worry I might become Brett Kavanaugh. I’m terrified I might flip out and kill someone. I nod to my friend’s friend. He’s dressed like The Driver from Drive and has this weird kinda charisma. I see something in him. I see a kindness. I see a light in that man. I ask him if he’ll step outside with me. In fact, I’m pretty sure I say something like, “Forgive me if this is weird but will you step outside with me for a second?” He doesn’t even question it. We step outside and I lay it all out. 

“Like I said. I don’t get out much. I don’t get fucked up with other people around so this is a new experience. Do you ever worry about what you might do under the influence and does that scare you?” 

I actually start crying. I don’t even recall what he says now. I just recall that he listened to me. He told me it was okay. I remember telling him that something told me I could come to him with that. I told him that even as a complete stranger, I could sense the goodness in him. I told him he was a good man. 

Yeah. So, I got to be the shepherd and the shepherded that night. 

I spend some time just chilling outside in the dark. I get to talking more to the dude who was dressed as The Driver. As I write this, I am sober but everything is slow. I feel sluggish. In retrospect, I say too much. I guess that it might be kind of a bad idea to get all cross-faded like that. That’s a young man’s game and I ain’t so young any more. I say too much. I guess that’s what happens when you don’t get out much and you’re drunk and high, you start sharing the thoughts that terrorize when you’re alone in a dark room. 

I spill about my upbringing. My overprotective mother that wouldn’t let me out of her sight and wouldn’t let me grow up. I talk about how I BS my way through like half my day job. Driver tells me how badass that is. I feel the need to keep mentioning I don’t get out much. He tells me, “You’re an astronaut, dude. Exploring new worlds.” I say, “I know what you’re saying but that’s a little too dramatic.” 

I spill about the heroic mushroom trip. I talk about how dreamlike everything was. I talk about how I had only messed with shrooms a time or two before but the last time, I suddenly found myself drowning in a psychedelic ocean. I tell him about coming to grips with how weird and terrifying that could get. I look over at him with a straight face, I say, 

“This is the part where you tell me about Jesus.” 

I was kidding. He says, 

“Do you wanna pray with me?” 

“What? Are you fucking with me?” 

“No man.” 

I size him up. “You’re being sincere.” 

“Yeah man.”

“I did not see that coming. I don’t know how to respond.” 

“You think mushrooms are amazing. Wait til you commune with the creator of the universe.” 

God damn it. This is a hell of a plot twist. 

“Do you want to pray with me?” 

“No offense but I don’t feel led to do that.” 

“That’s cool, man. I’ll pray for you though.” 

“Aight. I just wanna say though, if you are only talking to me to get a convert, you can fuck all the way off. That’s not comic exaggeration. That is not me playing a character. Fuck all the way off if that’s what you’re doing.” 

“I’m not doing that, man. Don’t worry.” 

“Okay. I’m just gonna be chill. It’s outta my system.” 

I had more intense, way too intimate conversations that night. I don’t feel the need to recount any more of them. 

I get home somehow. I don’t sleep much. I only sleep about four hours or so. I have a lazy Saturday. I don’t feel quite normal all day. I feel tired and need to take a nap at some point. 

My soul changed. A little. Maybe.