a fellow’s drift

February 12, 2010

1. SHIT! i think, figuring my assumptions i wasn’t dead true… DAMN! i was sure, close to certainty, that i’d perished in that wondrous nothingness between sleep and dreams…”OH WELL.” i live…misunderstood, though the very flesh that encases my brain was fore-skin…SENSITIVE! yes, my cerebral tenderness…in these more immediate under-achieved years, i’ve found my brain’s become immaterial, yet the minds massive and without end.”SHHH.” i relax. I’M SITTING…BE COMFORTABLE…I’M SITTING…BE COMFORTABLE…I’M SITTING…BE COMFORTABLE. i often repeat my activities like mantras. I’M SITTING…BE COMFORTABLE…I’M SITTING…BE COMFORTABLE…I’M SITTING…BE COMFORTABLE. an instituted habit that’s become my only friend, accompanying me through the continuous duel with my life’s nemesis, memory. I’M SITTING…BE COMFORTABLE…I’M SITTING…BE COMFORTABLE…I’M SITTING…BE COMFORTABLE…

(KNOCKING) SOFTLY. “HELLO?”. i open my eyes, and naturally sit quiet, not sure whether the voice was internal or x. content, i close my eyes. I’M SITTING…BE COMFORTABLE….(KNOCKING) LOUDER! “HEY, IS EVERY-THING ALRIGHT…YOU STILL ALIVE IN THERE?” ALIVE! i ponder the idea, but again neglect to answer. I’M COMFORTABLE, BUT AM I ALIVE?…I’M COMFORTABLE, BUT AM I ALIVE?…I’M COMFORTABLE, BUT AM I ALIVE?…(POUNDING!) the entire vertical, coffin-like, capsule trembles. “HEY GOD-DAMN-IT!…HEY…” taken aback i quickly conclude and exit. the door slams, like an apprehensive slate; actions called, i’m confronted. “WHAT THE HELL PAL, YOU HARD OF HEARING? HUH? WHAT THE HELLS YOUR PROBLEM?” he’s sizable, beaten by yrs of heavy labor and unnatural let-downs. i’m relax. “I’M FULL OF SHIT, I SUPPOSE.”

perhaps from my appearance he’d expected confrontation, almost wishing, he simply stands, staring, dumb-founded. between us sits a mutual relation, an allied view. it’s apparent we’ve played similar roles in this hardhearted production; experienced common pains within the same fabrication. our faces share the exact hardened disguise, like two compromised brides. our eyes differ only in hue; there color are distinguished, but there outlooks are scrutinized, simple theory. despite this sense of connected distress, there’s no question, at some point, this man had, enthusiastically, held belief… FAMILY? this had defined him, it lightened the weight of purpose and self-distinction; a safe-guard, protective cover shielding his mind from indecision, apprehension, all the pleasant-multitudes of confusion. how-ever, like all dreams, the pressure of earth’s incredibly slow rotation eventually rubbed it clean.

in a series of synchronous blinks our realities focus, and with the gentlest of nods the man turns, entering where i had earlier come. the door slams again from the pubescent spring. i remain, by choice, an unattended man. i could always credit the company of anothers disconnection, but i’ve come to realize that the only actual companionship is ones own loneliness.

taking a step i sense another approach, at my left, and i further sense more questions: a man, a younger version of the first. “HEY MISTER, THAT YOUR DOG?” he wears a similar appearance: red and black flannel, blue jeans, flesh-colored work boots, and the same bright-orange helmet…FOR PROMISE? though unjust. the young-man’s question fails to spark a proper response, the words “your” and “dog” confuse me. i simply stand and hold his stare. his eyes convinced, they possessed strength, like the other, but were carried with a more clear and natural swagger. there enthusiasms foreign, they enticed and allured, yet looked quiet, and quite distant. the boy had held talent, but it’s reached potential felt short, and underachieved.

“MISTER?” the boy comments, snapping my silence. “DOG?” i ask. the young-man answers only with his eyes. following, i catch sight of the source of his question. sitting, at a man’s average length, a dog. i experience, at first, a jolting reduction of pain. all the anxiety and dismay the question originally brought fades. “SIR?” i continue to stare at this “dog”. his visual appearance is strange, but his presence is as familiar as any unfulfilled self-promise. turning to the young-man i smile, though moon-struck. he returns the smile with the natural mockery the normal tend to express towards those with tender senses. ” I SUPPOSE…” i say “IF HE FOLLOWS ME, HE HAS THE INTEREST TO BE.” with that said, he turns and sets off. as he trots away i can’t help but laugh, to myself…IT’S I WHO’LL HAVE TO CHOOSE!

2. we start along-side a highway described as scenic, and despite the very long stretch of asphalt, like a streak of shit in a small boys drawers, the scenery is quite luvlee. I’M WALKING…I’M WALKING…I’M WALKING. moving my view from my feet to the skies blue, i admire the touching illumination of the day-times glowing moon. I’M WALKING…I’M WALKING…I’M WALKING. the slight chill of the season has convinced the trees to adjust their colors, using a careful regard and subtle hues. I’M WALKING…I’M WALKING…I’M WALKING. my companion, of the most intimidated stock, strides, he moves without curiosity or hobby, but rather with intent and design. WHERE WILL THIS PATH LEAD? his ears perk-up. HAD HE UNDER-STOOD? having no reason, i do not ignore his attention, but instead doubt my own ability to interrupt his perception, my consciousness being inferior. disregarding my short-comings i continue to comment and question, a simple colloquy between two lives. although my companion offers no advise, or agreement to further escort my ego, i pay ample thanks for his kind civility. i find him to be a creation of unwavering zeal, a creature of the most handsome character, a bountiful conception between the purest of seeds.

DEATH! i stop. i’m stilled by the odor of decay. looking about i spot no body or hovering flies. how-ever, my mind trials no case, but immediately accuses man of guilt. any road that cuts through such beautiful country not only chops past standing breaths, but also butchers the most dear, those truly sacrificed upon the cross. taking a half step forward i stop again. the odor, though i’m certain it’s death, contains an…AWFULNESS! it hasn’t the purity i’d expect from an animal, but instead a stale fragrance, which my mind affiliates with rot, a self-marinated soul…MAN?

we continue on, and naturally my own character falls to question. i doubt my-self, the imaginative soul, my inner most confession. decades in a disfigured mentality. for yrs my own mind has greeted me with a smile made of false teeth…”SHHH!” I’M WALKING…following a continuous routine, i walk until dusk, the darkest part of twilight, before heading into the woods. how-ever, as night approaches i also witness the formation between shade and shadow. and with a moments pass, i’m fully enclosed within it’s very structure. forcing my head down, i march on with a focused motion…I’M WALKING!…I’M WALKING!…I’M WALKING! it’s intention never changes, the craving never sustained, it’s vigorous appetite hunts, persuading my thoughts, with skill, away from memory. I’M WALKING!…I’M WALKING!…I’M WALKING! working slow, but with clever understanding, the gluttonous mass of shade bates. this unyielding interrogation always concludes in my self-confessed agreement for sabotage. I’M WALKING!… I’M WALKING!… I’M WALKING! confident in a mastered technique, the evening waits, a patient and perverse persuadence; the night air lays still. frozen in the breeze, it’s slow to rouse, an unruffled stimulant. I’M WALKING…. I’M WALKING….I’M WALKING.

drained, i stop. i stand easy. the mind’s senses level; and within this quiet spell they estimate the surroundings. my initial hunch is pleasing. at a second glance, how-ever, the impression is nearly too agreeable. by chance…OR DESIGN! i find my-self here. here i stand just outside a small circular clearing, furnished with a single tree stump, unembellised and plain-spoken. there’s a stone-lined fire-pit, cozy and surreal. i gawk gingerly. the entire production is lighted by the evening’s night-dreamt moon, like a calculated spot of light. i sit and feel…RELIEF!

the tree stump, though time-worn, feels new-fashioned. it’s antique appearance makes it’s usable value through comfort. plunking a match from my pocket, i strike the head, and with a pop detonated burst, it’s livelihood burns; full-spirited, i release it upon the pit, it lays for only a moment, a creature among temptation, it ignites; fully perfected, the fire warms, allowing all the aroused affection to melt…SLOW!

my eyes fall upon my companion, who sits counter and erect. his eyes reflect the blaze with such validation and esteem. the penetrating gaze reveres the warmth, not so much it’s heat, but it’s compassion. he sits the color of the purest albino, but opposite, and exists in complete contrast to it’s defined clarity. he illuminates tenderness, as though the fire itself were his sole consumption.

i remove a small piece of jerky and chew it. i do so, i notice, not so much out of hunger, but habit. i’ve recently marked that my appetites decreased, and my thirst too has also dwindled. how-ever, the bodies partiality for rest has increased. i lay back defeated, and stare upward…AH! the stars and sky, like a blind-fold with poked holes, they give me a small sense of resolve: perhaps there is something behind the darkness…LIGHT! some form of radiant energy, that will act upon the eyes making true sight possible. although i’ve heard my vision lated to perfection, it’s my minds-eye i fear that’s lost vision. my mental pictures have become utterly distorted and blurred…”SHHH!” with three deep, yet easy, breaths i become fully intoxicated. like any confident substance, the night air is bold and well-assured; it’s quietly absorbed, and with a keen tactic it swindles my mind into paying…POOR MEMORY!

3. DOORS! i wake. with a heavy glazed notice my eyes take things in. the senses, again, concur i’m dreaming…ONCE AGAIN! ill-at-ease, i whine at one and a half a whisper, “SHIT.” shaking my head my mind’s calm simmer turns quickly, engulfed, into a impassioned flash…”FUUUCK!” three seconds pass. already seated, i slump forward, exhausted. i stare at floor and remain ready. with what appears to be personal liking, the embarrassment swells. similar to any corpse, hydrated with bloat, i wait for the diagnosis. self-enclosed within this human condition i shut my eyes and i breathe, slow…IN…OUT…IN the gentle pants bring my senses, and the minds commotion…PEACE!

“WILLIAM.” my eyes open, my heart’s slow rhythm dilates. “WILLIAM.” immediately i stand. erect, my head and body rotate through search. “WILLIAM.” although the voice inclines no distress, i move about as though the proprietress needed rescue…MY HEART!…MY STOMACH! “WILLIAM…WAKE-UP.” i turn, and there on the wall, before my very eyes…”MOM!”

upon her face, she smiles. “HEY…” i sit, floored. i’m over-taken by energies, ones believed i no longer possessed; emotions thought dead. i submit none-the-less. her projection is exemplified by the light of a door-way to her left. “I’M SORRY HONEY, TO WAKE YOU.” a goiter size lump in my throat hampers any possible response. “THAT’S OK…” how-ever, the voice of a small child ensures. my posture stiffens. “I WASN’T EVEN DREAMING YET.” confused, i ease-back, recline, refrain any illusion, and become a patient audience. my mothers face is in perfect bloom. “I’M GOING OUT FOR AWHILE…” she began, ” AND I DIDN’T WANT YOU TO WAKE-UP AND GET SCARED… I WON’T BE GONE LONG.” i sense, though slight, a bit of misbehavior in her voice…GUILT? “I DON’T GET SCARED ANY-MORE…” the growing voice demanded, “I’M NOT A BABY.” her smile ripened, delicate and real. “I KNOW SWEET-HEART…” she reached out…AH! an unmistakable sensation, i feel the warm touch of my mother’s hand…ON MY VERY SKIN! placing my own hand to my face, i remain in complete disarray. “YOU’RE GROWING UP SO FAST…” she continued, “SOME-TIMES…” her voice fell, soft to fragile, “SOME-TIMES, I GUESS I DON’T WHAT TO BELIEVE IT…I WHAT YOU TO STAY MY LITTLE BABY BOY FOR-EVER…AND EVER…” again i’m touched, this time to my mid-
section. the child giggles. “AND EVER…” again i feel the ticklish caress. “AND EVER.” by now the child’s in complete ecstasy; i too, i notice, am entranced. i sit, rejoiced. my mind, now in a state of abatement, the remedy comes with comfort and ease. this is not just a dream, but a memory, a token in time, a keepsake, that’s been put before me in full view.

although i look upon this projection with significant value, i see it through an authoritarian eye, and i begin to question the cost. “SO WHERE YOU GOING?” i’d asked. “OH…JUST OUT NO-WHERE SPECIAL.” my mother answered, again with a sense of misdoing. “WHO YOU GOING OUT WITH?” i’d asked. i notice now, and i believe perhaps then, a hint of distress at the question. “OH…” as though on clue, a figure deeply shadowed in burden and bleak, appears in the doorway. “EVE, WHAT’S THE PROBLEM?” the mans voice was rabid with drink, his shadow shades my mothers glow, giving the notion that it was actually draining her very life. i couldn’t make out a trace or contour, but i knew her face was compromised. “EVE!” the man displeased. “OK…ONE FREAKEN SECOND.” requested my mother, staring somewhere in-between the two of us. turning and facing me, “I’M GONG NOW…” i squeezed her hand i sensed. i stand and approach the screen, placing my hand gently upon it. “HONEY, I’LL BE OK. DON’T BE WORRIED, YOUR A BIG BOY REMEMBER.” her words feel reassuring, but blunt. she squeezed back. “I WON’T BE OUT LONG…OK…EVERY-THING’S OK.” these words didn’t convince at all. kissing my forehead, she’d said goodnight. she rose, as did my beating heart, and moved towards the door. she turned back and paused a moment. “I WILL ALWAYS LOVE YOU.” she prophesied, then left.

this last remark feels like a blow to the privates, unexpected. in trauma, i stare, nauseous, the screen goes blank, fading black as the door closed. in a divine stupor, i begin to pace. the body and mind’s combined motion flood truth, like prediction, an overflow of a yesterday, horrific pain. my mind, an unpolished conductor, arranges my thoughts with clumsy and graceless skill, but still the notes play sad, and the past, ultimately, rings clear.

4. (KNOCK! KNOCK!) looking up, i find the screen blank, but the audio continues. (KNOCK! KNOCK!) “WILLIAM…WILLIAM, IT’S MISS MATTER-HORN…YOU IN THERE SON?” the woman’s voice is placid, yet troubled. (KNOCK! KNOCK!) “WILLIAM?” the visual substance of the room slowly takes form within the tuckered flaps of my indolent eyelids. “YES…MISS MATTER-HORN…I’M HERE.” my voice was so soft, so gentle…PITIFUL! what a tragic process, this passage, a superior paradox. we begin as such ideal forms, of highest attainment, yet grow into irregular  shapes, contorted and stretched. we regress by falling forward.

my stomach feels as though it’s consumed with butterfly flutter; my body trembles light, like a candlelit flicker. gingerly i left the bed, and in minor hardship unlock and open the door…BRILLIANCE! i’m accosted, the day fills the room, though holy…MADNESS! i shield my eyes to help detail any misunderstanding. at 1st grasp, i make out miss matter-horn, who stood seasoned in a white-flowered night gown, her buxom structure was steady, yet her jolly face stared restless. “HELLO WILLIAM.” my mind withheld any response: at a 2nd review my brain conceived two others, they stood both large and slow digested. each ones expression held a uniformed question. these men appeared interchangeable, like the numbers 6 and 9.

“HELLO SON…” one began, “MY NAMES DETECTIVE HEARTY, AND THIS IS MY PARTNER DETECTIVE FILLMORE…WE’D LIKE TO ASK YOU A COUPLE OF QUESTIONS…IF THAT’S ALRIGHT?” his request didn’t feel genuine. in nervous fun i’d respond, “DO YOU GUYS REALLY HAVE THE SAME FIRST NAME?” my mother had always said to question and doubt strange men, especially those in suits. “WILLIAM…” miss matter-horn commented in a light comic tone. “THESE MEN ARE THE POLICE.”

as i sit, with a refreshment of salted wounds, i recall the men’s questions: they entailed my mother, her plans, and a special interest in her company. the people my mother befriended were men, all which defined it at variance. these flim-flam creatures, her father included, existed and formed from insufficient matter, like a hot-dog or half-wit. my father, however, my mother had always said was just a boy, who held wonderful potential; but, his dreaming went pursued, along with himself, one evening after my mother had already long been asleep. he’d been a man in travel, someone who pushed and persuaded, a barter and hawk, a creature who went, and prevailed upon. my mother was able, and so stayed to work at the very place my father left her. she was fortunate, for once, and was embraced by miss matter-horn, who owned and operated the small and homey residence. she’d related, and with a plump and veteran hand, helped and guided my mother into and through the numerous experiences of mother-hood; becoming the mother my mother never had.

5. “OK GENTLE-MEN, YOU’VE ASKED YOUR QUESTIONS, AND THIS BOYS DONE A FINE JOB ANSWERING THEM, SO…” miss matter-horn had never left my side, “IF Y’ALL DON’T MIND, I LIKE TO GET WILLIAM SOME BREAKFAST, AND ALLOW HIM THE TIME TO ENJOY IT.” her voice was full of guard and overtone. “WELL IF WE…” one of the men attempted, “YOU KNOW WERE TO FIND US!” miss matter-horn trumpeted. the two men were shooed away, and i was ushered kindly into miss matter-horns home, and into her kitchen.

“DID SOME MAN KILL MY MOTHER?” once seated, i was unable to hold the thought. “WILLIAM!…” miss matter-horn was unprepared, “WHERE’D YOU COME UP WITH SUCH AN AWEFUL IDEA?” “MISS MATTER-HORN…” my thoughts had been wild and fresh, “I COULD ALWAYS TELL…” i’d paused. “TELL?” “I COULD ALWAYS TELL BY THE WAY THEY LOOKED, THAT…” “THEY?” “THE MEN MY MOTHER KNEW…THEY LOOKED…” “BAD!” “YEAH…BAD.” miss matter-horn shook her head, “YOUR MOTHER…WELL…SHE WAS YOUNG AND WELL…NO, YOUR RIGHT SHE PICKED SOME REAL LOSERS…SOME REAL SHIT-BIRDS.”

i had really liked miss matter-horn, she said what she thought and never apologized for it. “SHIT…BIRDS?” i had needed clarity. “YES, SHIT-BIRDS…IT’S A MAN…” she emphasized, using her finger-tips, “WHO CUTS CORNERS, SCAMS, A LAZY MAN…SOME-ONE YOU DON’T WHAT TO KNOW, OR BECOME…BUT SADLY YOUR MOTHER HAD KNOWN ONE TOO MANY…” she paused, taken by a backward flash, “WE’VE ALL KNOWN ONE TOO MANY.” “DO SHIT-BIRDS KILL PEOPLE?” “WELL…” she paused again, though turning pages in her mind, like a mental-pictured photo album. “WELL, THESE MEN ARE USUALLY COWARDS, AND VERY SLOW, SMALL BRAINS, SO THERE USUALLY NOT VERY SMART, BUT…” she stopped, once more, taken aback by recollection. “MISS MATTER-HORN…ARE YOU OK?” her attention slowly returned, “I GUESS I DRIFTED OFF…” her brow had begun to sweat, she patted it off with her sleeve. “IT SURE CAN BE FRIGHTENING LOOKING BACK…I’VE KNOWN SOME REAL S.O.Bs…I’M SORRY HONEY, WHAT WAS YOUR QUESTION?” “SHIT-BIRDS…” “THAT’S RIGHT…WELL, I SUPPOSE IF THEY THOUGHT THEY COULD GET SOME-THING OUT OF IT…YOU NEVER CAN TELL WHO’S CAPABLE OF KILLING.”

i’d sat there quietly, then, “S..O..B?” i’d asked, discovering a new vocabulary. miss matter-horn smiled, “I’LL LET YOU FIGURE THAT ONE OUT.” she stood, patted the top of my head, turned and began to fix my break-fast. i remained  anxious, i still had no answer to my original question. “SO?” i’d set forth. “SO?” she returned. “SO DID A MAN KILL MY MOTHER?” the question hung like a bad odor, it clung to both of our hanging breaths. “WILLIAM…” she said, returning again to sit. “YOUR MOTHER…” she thought a moment, “YOUR MOTHER, WHERE -EVER SHE IS, I’M SURE SHE’S…” she hardened, “WILLIAM, I’M NOT GOING TO B.S. YOU…” she noticed my reaction to the remark and shook her head, “YOUR MOTHER IS GONE, AND!…” she quickly added, anticipating my next question, “I’M AFRAID I DON’T KNOW WHERE SHE’S GONE…BUT, I’M AFRAID…” she softened,”SHE WON’T BE COMING BACK…I’M SO SORRY WILLIAM.” she concluded and leaned slightly forward, placing her hand upon my knee. i looked up, and held her concern. “SO WHAT HAPPENS NOW?” “TO WHAT, HONEY?” she held my concern, and eventually discovered my discomfort. “OH, OH HONEY I’M SORRY, YOU, YOUR GOING TO STAY HERE WITH ME, IF THAT’S OK WITH YOU, OF-COURSE…I SURE WOULD LOVE IT…I’M SLOW SOME-TIMES TOO…SO, WOULD YOU LIKE TO STAY HERE WITH ME?” i”d shot up, though sprung. we embraced, relieving the immediate, and most tormenting concern.

the picture fades, my emotions gather, and like heavy clouds upon a drought, a vaporized effect takes place, bringing forth drizzle and mist. i sit, and stare with a blurred and saturated recollect. this much needed soak softens the hardened layers of memory, letting the seeds of thought spring, like newborn sprouts. with a delicate push i handle these memories with a planters-concern, allowing the till, and then the flourish. as the memories mature, i begin to see them flashed-developed on screen, like the last moments of slide-show dream.  

there i am, a new-born, and then an infant, and now a young-boy; there i am, a little older, i sit befriended, at the end of boy-hood, with my favorite toy, my teddy-bear; there i am, i stand a little taller, i’m 8 may-be ten, i’m standing in a complete delusion, my future my only fate, we grow full bloom into self-pretending men; there i am, i’ve grow strong, i’ve the look of confidence, a young-man glutted with fancy, mirth, and song; there i am, i stand a man, stiff, erect, and now fully blown, my eyes revealing the pain i own, and the minute worth i measure; there i am, consumed with all i’ve known, and every-thing i’ve never; there…i was, alone, standing flush with confide, once a boy and once a man, and here now i sit, my mind gorged with thrill…“SHHH!”

the motions still, my life on screen dies-away; the screen fades, and again i stare, wondering whether the show had ended, or only just begun. i sit in needed silence; my mind and body ache with remembrance. i sit with closed eyes, looking out and into the deeply-colored landscape. my minds reflection stirs, like the movement between energy and overcast. directly, my senses, simultaneous, pick-out the scent and sound of rain. my skin, with stimulated dash, feels the palsied shower of my soul. i open my eyes and it’s…MORNING!

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