Chapter Y, as in You’ll Never, Never Know

A roaring something or other jolts my brain, and I’m shaking as my eyes open as my head snaps up.  I’m flat on my stomach and looking toward a bright light, and it roars by again, and again, somewhat close by and very close by and close by.  I shake my head and water goes flying — it’s coming down hard — and to the left a grassy trench fills with water, almost before my eyes.  I pull my arm out from under my body — it’s a lump.  It doesn’t work.  I guess I’ve been laying on it, so I use the other to prop myself up.

I’m on the side of a busy highway, and I’m very vulnerable — there is nothing between me and the road.  In fact, I’m ON the road, on a very narrow shoulder between the road and the ditch.  I’m laying facing downhill and the water is running into my pant legs, and water streams around my shoulders and down.  I’ve started to get up but like I said my arm isn’t working, so I have to push myself up and get my feet under me, difficult on this wet road — and while looking behind me here!  A horrendous rushing and whirring sound, of 400 and 300 and 250 horsepower and tires and exhaust and revving and braking, and it’s so close by, by and by, and I’m soaked in my clothes and in this water coming down, and by …

I’m not even wondering how I got here — I mean, I’m lying, I’m wondering how I got here — but I’m more concerned with where I am going, for seconds, and for firsts how I am going to get there and survive along the way!  I shield my eyes and look across the road — traffic going one way and it ooks like there is a watery ditch on the other side.  The ditch on this side, it’s running fast, and opposite that a very steep bank that looks like it’s made of clay — no way to get up that.  No good to cross the ditch, no good to cross to the other side of the road (not to mention the roaring autos!) because of the ditch and same type of bank on the other side, still raining, look behind me and see darkness, darkness and sound and roaring mechanical fierceness coming down toward me.  I wave frantically at anyone to stop, help, tell me where I’m at or if I’m luckier where I’m going, and with the rain and water splashing from the road into my eyes and ears and mouth, I’m fed up, I’m going, walking!

Down the road, traffic to my back, I’m realizing how I’m squinting from the rain and moreso the brightness ahead, hard to see, but I’m feeling my aggravation tensing up all the way to the fingers of my working arm, the other still dangling at my side!, and I’m slogging toward some light (this light, how much good does it do me) and walking as close to the ditch as possible, with my right foot on the grass sloping down, left in the middle of the small shoulder, cars still whizzing whizzing whizzing by, and me, on the move, in the middle of I have no idea where, going I have no idea where.

Something roars and roars behind and all of a sudden beside me and I’m enveloped and pushed by water over and around my head and shoulders, snapping my head back and my body forward.  I stomp my right food on the grass but it’s already on the wet slope and the slope carries my foot down followed by my body into the cold rushing water, my body swings around to grab for the slope so I don’t go down but with one less arm than I should have.

I’m now swimming around in the wetness (I mean, not swimming, but you know, under the water) and flopping and trying to get back up.  I grab at something that looks like I can grab on to, that is stuck in the ground, and it comes out!  And I slide back down, and into the water and down the stream, dirty water in my mouth and I can’t see underneath and the cold …

Chapter V, as in Lateral to Vertical

I open my eyes again, and again I see darkness.  I mean, I can’t see darkness, but rather an absence of light, and it’s moreso because my eyes are adjusting than because I really can’t see anything.  But the more I look, the more I realize it is quite dark where I am.

As my eyes start to collect, my ears pick it up, the sound, from far away.  Some sort of mechanical sound, perhaps, but it is quite removed, and distinctly coming from …

Above.  I look up, and the light is bright, almost blinding.  Now I’m squinting again and covering my eyes, looking down, and now I see less than before.  I take some time to let my eyes adjust again.

I do see there is a wall of some sort.  I mean, I didn’t see it until after I reached out and felt it (brave, yes, I know, because who knows what’s REALLY out there, and if we make this a touching and feeling game, I KNOW of several ways I could lose out), but it came into focus, as I walked along it with my hands to my left, walking.  I’m now sensing the curvature of the wall, because as I move left I move backwards, gradually, and after moving for some time I have the sense I’m now moving in places I’ve already been.  Without looking up, but knowing what’s up there with the sound and the light, and feeling along this wall, it seems as though I’m in a silo.  How I got in here, not sure, and how I am to get out, not really sure.

I look back down into the complete darkness as I fumble toward my pocket, pull out the pack of the good stuff, select, locate my flame, ready aim fire.  I can now see, from the light of that flame and now a bit from the cigarette, that I was right about where I am, in a circular sort of silo, maybe ten feet in diameter.

I’m not worried about the smoke being trapped in here, although maybe I should be, because it should travel up and out of here.  So I’ll still have some oxygen, when I need it.  And for now I can see my surroundings, just a bit, a bit of enough to notice a bit of a route: a crude ladder, made of what looks like a damp wood.

I take one last pull and stomp it down, then approach and grab the ladder, testing it a bit by pulling backwards.  It seems to be sturdy, somewhat, at least sturdy enough to hold my weight for at least a few seconds.  It’s a ladder that seems to go up, toward the sound, that low whirring, and the blinding light.  I already followed the ladder up with my eyes a bit farther than I should have gone, because I caught a glimpse of the light source, and it’s blinding.  It almost knocks me out.  I have to look back down to readjust, for a few seconds.  But I’ve already decided I’m going to give this a try.  Probably because I don’t see any other way of passing my time, other than sitting in the dark, not knowing how much time is passing, without much on me!

I put my right hand on the right side of the ladder, and within my grip my hand slips down a bit.  It’s a bit moldy, but the rungs, at least the few lower rungs that I tested with my hand, seem to be sturdy, so I at least trust that part of this exercise.  I put my left hand on the other side and that too slips down, but not far enough to discourage me from slinging my foot up to that first rung.

Now I don’t even put all my weight on this rung, and I shouldn’t have to because I plan to jump right past it and up.  It snaps in two.  My grip on the sides is strong, but in not being prepared for this slip my whole body jerks a bit and it comes back down, my leg awkwardly jamming down into the ground (again, not prepared for that one either) and I lose traction, sliding and smacking the ground with my forearm and elbow.  This doesn’t feel good, and it snaps my head back into the moment.

I sit there for a second, holding my elbow and staying still.  I guess I’m contemplating my next move?  I can tell you that I am a bit perturbed!  But then I realize that I have a thing or two to worry about otherwise, as it comes down.

And down, and down.  Drip to drip to drip, on my forehead, each one getting stronger, first dripping in the same spot and then all over my body.  I slide on the ground on my side, gripping my elbow, heading for the wall — no respite — heading along the wall to my right.  The water keeps coming down, onto my hair, hitting my first layer — it’s soaking through, really through! — I move, now more actively, and I try to look up at the source — all I see is bright light, and drops coming down, neverending, through the silo from above and into my cavern, and the water starts to collect on the ground, puddle by puddle, millimeter by millimeter.

I shake my elbow off and grab the rung, this time surehandedly, and I don’t even test my weight as I shoot myself on the up and up!  The ladder creaks a bit, but at this point, with the water still coming down, I have other things to focus on, as I go up another rung and then another and …

The water stops.  And so do I.  I look up and quickly back down — the brightness — but the water is not coming.  I look forward at the wall behind the ladder, and then down.  There is an inch or two of water on the ground, no more.

Now that I’m already up here, I might as well keep going up.  I mean, where else am I supposed to go?  So I look mostly straight ahead as I go from rung to rung to rung.  The wooden ladder is splintery and wet, and sometimes the small splinters pierce the palms of my hands, especially when my hands slips down a bit on the slippery grip, although I’m most concerned with my footing on the rungs below.

But now I’m up and up, fairly smoothly, when several unidentified objects float in front of my face and down!  Bugs?  Butterflies?  Bats?  No, it’s more than that, and they start to collect on my arms and the top of my head, I can feel …

Feathers!  I look to the side and a bit down, and feathers are absolutely RAINING down past me and on top of me, and a quick look below proves to me these feathers are much greater in number than the drops of water just a few minutes before!  So much so they are already weighting down my shoulders on the wetness that has accumulated from said water!  I grab and grab and keep going up and up as fast as I can go, because when I glance back down I see a pile of feathers below, below, and I go up and up, because certainly I don’t want to drown in feathers!  The feathers are coming from the brightness, and the whirring noise from above is LOUDER, and I blow out of my mouth and nose to get these feathers out of my face, and now one went in my eye!  I shake my head back and forth still going up to somewhere getting louder and brighter and more feathers coming down and down and legs up on rungs hands grip sides and rungs and up and grab and FEATHERS and hand slips! and foot slips! and hanging from the edge of ladder with feathers and look up and brightness more feathers in eyes and gasping let go–

–and down–

–and muted smack of a feathery landing, several feet of feathers, sink down into, and lifting head up as feathers keep coming down and shielding eyes and seeing nothing but light and the raining down, and the louder buzzing, and muting, and fading …

Chapter U, as in Under It All, You Can Still See

My eyes are open for at least a few minutes, really, before I settle in to the location at hand.  I’m laying with my back down, my face toward the sky, except the sky isn’t there.  It’s a ceiling.

I’m back in a room, and quickly (probably not quickly enough) it becomes apparent this is my ceiling.  But this revelation does not come to me before I get to my feet, quickly, make an advance for the door, grab the handle and twist and push until I’m going all the way forward, all the way in …

And once I’m in, I’m in.  There, I’m confronted with what I probably should have seen, or should have not seen.  I still haven’t decided.

(By the way, sometime around this time I look down at my watch.  5:30. Some things never change.)

Before I begin, I must add something, and that is I usually, as in never, come out of my room to witness much of anything, if indeed I am sure that there is life beyond those doors, which there most certainly is before the hour of nine and after the hour of five.  I must continue to add that coming at a half of an hour past the mark of five is not only unorthodox for myself as an individual, but highly unlikely and a sign of something, well, surely, amiss.

Then let me begin.  My eyes are sharpened for this very task, and the task is at hand: on one side of the room, one roommate of mine, sits.  On the other side of the room, my other roommate of mine, sites.  There is much space between them, and that’s not all, because in between them is a something, something that focuses my attention away from those who are familiar.

In the middle of the room, right on the floor in plain sight, and able to be engaged upon by anyone, including me, is an ear of corn.  I mean, I know what an ear of corn looks like, not just from the picture books but also from television and movies and my limited experience visualizing the many things in this world that I have never truly held and smelled.

Now, interestingly enough, both of my roommates remained entirely still as I entered the room (not that I expected them to greet me — certain things, I just don’t expect) and they continue to remain still as I now look at this ear, and then at each of them, and then back at the ear, which is obviously the focus of all attention at this point.  And being the center of attention, it will also become the center of action, I decide, and so I walk toward it, and kneel down.  Next to it. What I’m doing, I mean, I’m not entirely sure, but I am sure I won’t get a good idea of what I’m up against here if I just stand there without reacting.

It seems as if the entire room is frozen in time, really, if I wasn’t the one walking through that room.  I mean, I am in control of my movement, or at least it seems to be that way, for the moment.

I’m now in the center of the room, practically touching the ear, this inanimate ear that I’m entirely convinced will not move, flinch, grunt, shake, or do anything to otherwise prove that it is not a lifeless object, at least an ear that has been collected and that is recognizing that life, the one we all lead, is slipping away.  Or at least doing so as much as is possible considering the grand equation.

Now that I’m here, I feel obliged to take one last look up toward my roommates, to see what their reaction is.  Surely they have one, although at this point and at other points, it’s hard to tell what that reaction is.

Amazingly enough, or at least surprisingly, they are both looking away.  Now I have never been one for conversation, and have never been one to gather around a conversation piece and make idle conversation, but I would expect at a moment such as this — wait, it’s true, at THIS moment — that a conversation would be struck among all parties involved, of which I am one, at least about a benign subject that will eventually lead to an analysis of this subject, such as how or why things seem to happen in certain ways, and in the ways that have led all parties to be focused in one particular area, and we all know now what that area is.

Incidentally, I don’t know when these two individuals took the time to look away, as I was firmly concentrating on the subject at hand, and that subject, while SEEMING to be inanimate, could quite possibly have made a movement that would leave me to believe that its status as ‘inanimate’ might not be an accurate one, or at least accurate to anyone on the outside of this situation, such as me.

I know I was looking in a certain direction, in the direction where I was SURE that some action would occur, when the object now in front of me, the object of our attention, began to come to life.  It moved as if it were something else besides that which represents the label I’ve applied to it, a completely different object, one that shimmies and otherwise moves across the floor.  And makes music, albeit uncoventional music, as it goes. It may be singing.

It may be screeching, it may be rolling, only but certainly it is acting, and certainly it is holding my attention.  It then goes into trauma, as it moves across the floor in a not-so-linear fashion, seemingly affected by lighting or a sickness or a burst of energy (although where that energy came from, do not ask me these things because they are quite hard to decipher).  The energy continues as it drives the object into the air, and back down again, in such a way that it gradually sheds its skin, and in doing so produces noises that would otherwise be made by fire or a broken record (not sure about the latter).

In terms of an object with the visual and physical characteristics being displayed by the one before my very eyes, this corn was and is popping.  And it is doing quite a job of that.

I can’t take my eyes away from this object as it continues to shed everything on its outside, as it generates heat from this activity that in this case, in the case of this object, is an entirely natural process in its cycle, the cycle of birth, maturation, death (not to say anything about the world thereafter — I mean, I’m not saying if there is one or not, but only will recognize this issue).

And after a certain amount of time, it’s over.  Although I can’t say I’m ready for the pile of remains on the floor.  I lift my hand up from my side and reach forward to touch, only to not get quite all the way, maybe out of apathy.  I can’t really tell.

I do know I look up to the side and see nothing, and the other way, nothing.  I see nothing all around.  It makes me think quickly, as I stagger up, and look down, to the floor, where the action was, and see nothing.

Chapter C, as in Climbing Laterally

I know now — as there are a few things that I do know, even now — that I am at a point of neediness. There are things that I have (not much, see), and they won’t get me by, so I’ll first go looking for a source of water.

I look down at my watch. It says 5:30. I don’t know if it’s AM or PM, because the watch is the old kind, with just those arms. No digital. I haven’t look at it in a while, so I’m not sure if it has changed. I look up and still see a bit of light, but I can’t tell where it’s coming from . So I close my eyes hard, reopen them to focus, and head to the west. At least I think it’s west.

There isn’t much of a path laid for me. I mean, I’m not expecting the red carpet treatment, but cows and deer and other small animals and bugs are in these parts — I mean, I can just tell these things — and they have to go from here to there. From there to there. Here and back. I’m just going there. But I’m not sure how long that will take me. One foot at a time, as they say.

I move straight ahead regardless of the facts: a), I can’t see well, and b), I’m not really dressed for this sort of thing (the shoes, really, or lack thereof, of good ones). I’m moving forward and pushing branches and sometimes leaves and other times bigger branches away from my face, arms. I hop over some things, mostly logs. I slip a few times. I’m concerned about my traction.

After a certain point, when I really start to focus in, all I can really see is bark. You know, the bark on the trees. It’s everywhere. I thought there were a lot of leaves, but not anymore. Bark. In some cases the guts of the tree where the bark was chewed off, scratched off, struck by lightning. Whatever.

But I’m still moving forward. It seems to get lighter, where I’m headed, and darker at the same time. And I thought once I moved away from the wind I’d be able to determine where that sound was coming from. I’ve already walked for a while. A few minutes, a few hours. Could be a combination of the two. Or neither. I’m really not very good at these things these days.

At some point (see, I’m already starting to lose track), I sit down on a mound of mud and sticks on top of an uprooted tree. I sit down because I think the mound is dry. Upon sitting, I realize I am wrong. But I’ve been through this before, when I got myself into this situation by waking up some minutes ago. Soaked through the layers. I sat down because I was tired, and I’m sitting down because I am tired.

Chapter E, as in a Greater Sense of This Path

I awake but my eyes are still closed. I’m afraid they will hurt when I open them, and I don’t know why, but they have to come open eventually, so they do.

I’m sitting in a wooded area, somewhere different than where I was. The sun might just be starting to rise, or maybe it is just setting, I can not tell. My sense of direction is not always sharp, and it certainly is a bit confused right now, as is the rest of me. The ground below me is wet, and it has soaked through my layers to my skin. I feel cold, which is a feeling I don’t get all that often in these parts. Or at least the parts where I used to be.

I blink my eyes to try to get a better sense of space. All I can see are trees, branches, very little on the ground, and very little light coming through from above.

I don’t have much on me; I mean, what I typically carry with me, which is not much, and it’s nothing worth mentioning (here it is: lighter, cigarettes, sometimes a pack of matches but not today, sometimes a wadded up napkin but not today, othertimes a penny and today I have two). Then again, I don’t need much out here, looking around, seeing nothing, especially nothing to spend my two pennies on.

And the quiet. Not quiet quiet, but that woodsy sort of quiet; there are noises, I mean, but not they’re eerie in that the are accompanied by this sense of loneliness.

After my ears adjust, they detect a kind of wailing noise coming from the same direction as where the sun is coming from, whichever direction that is, but it doesn’t sound like road noise. And even if it is, this road or these roads are multiple miles away, and I’m not even sure how to get there. The winds, albeit light ones, are swirling up the sound so that it sounds like it’s coming from everywhere.

I mean, not that I really care that much, but since I don’t know where I am right now, I’m wondering if those people do.

I slowly kneel down next to a small pile of sticks — not much to sit on, but at least something to associate myself with. I then slowly reach into my pocket for my cigarettes, and shuffle one towards my mouth and fire away. The wind gives me a bit of a fit, but on the fourth launch I’m rolling, just blowing and thinking what I’m going to do next. And I do have to say, I really don’t know.

I have a bit of bearing now, and I turn full-circle to really judge how I’m fitting into this space, and how I got here. I look down and see no noticeable path to get to where I am. Then again, the floor of these woods looks the same in every direction, and only if I was bleeding and leaving a trail of my own juices would I be able to see where I came from. Looks like undisturbed nature to me, at least to my untrained eye.

I take the last pull and stomp the remains into the ground. They go down without a fight because it’s a bit damp down there.

I’m pretty sure I’m alone, but see, I’ve been through this before.

Chapter D, as in Dogged Determination to Get My Melon Straight

As evidenced by my path to current successes, I do not take the short path
coated in rose petals and lined by lillies to get from point A to point B; I
take whatever path is necessary. And in my explanations I hope, really, I’ve
made an attempt to insinuate that I am but an amateur in this process of
life living, making it up as I go along, so to speak (and I will, now, and
in due time). I will take a stab and stab and stab until I get things done
the right way, although I don’t know what the right way is, so my way, I
mean.

That’s why anything that happens to me that causes me friction, that causes
me to waffle from prior decisions I’ve made regarding how I do this and
that, I will carefully observe these happenings and try my damndest to keep
these things from happening again (at least as much trying as is possible by
my being — I mean, I do have plenty of issues to attend to that take up
much of my time mentally, and I do need to tend to my body so that it does
not crumble under the weight of my next decision, or, God forbid, next point
of friction). I consult a list of steps I have detailed in dogged fashion in
order to rectify past problems, I mean points of friction, and it results in
an algorithm so complicated that the typical mortal mind might very well
begin to smoke (the smoke, then, exiting the mind through the mortal ear
passages) and bubble and steam and toil and trouble!

So this particular turn of events in recent times, these points of friction
I have encountered, are tossing the old melon back and forth and stirring up
the insides, making it much more difficult for the inner contents of that
melon to make an educated decision about what to do next!

What I’m thinking about here, mainly, really, is that I can turn things
around and around here in this sweaty sprawling city, or I can take what
lessons I have learned (ALL the way down the path, I’ve learned things, see,
and these things come back to teach you something when you’re in a time of
need, and I can tell you that’s happened often) and apply them in a new
environment, really. I’m not stranger to change; in fact, I feed off it. I
mean, making a change can be viewed under two different microscopes, or
telescopes depending how far you are away during your analysis, and if you
are analyzing this from afar I just you take that route, although either
choice will produce the same two profiles:

The first, a person who makes a change is a person who is running away from
a problem, a person who can not handle the “real world” as it may be. This
person exhibits a floppy spine, a shattered ego, and little if any will to
live.

The second, a person who makes a change is a person who recognizes that life
is short, that internal drive and focus is directly in relation to external
stimuli, because that stimuli is utilized during that person’s output of
creativity. This person is a forward thinker, see, and is strong in his/her
sense of self and ability to manage his/her life as a contributing member of
the society.

I really think that, while I know several individuals in the historical
books who would go the route of the former, and in this situation my
roommates indeed would each fall in the camp of the former and view anyone
else who is NOT them as falling in the camp of the former, I know better,
act better, AM better than that, this I know, and that’s why I can fit into
the profile of the latter such as a woman of refined tastes fits snugly into
a fine mink coat even in front of the faces of people who do not agree with
such things (fur! don’t do it! — that’s what the detractors would say).

So this has spawned a new level of thinking in the ‘ol noggin, yes, it has
initiated this first step which is absolutely vital in taking the next and
next and next steps in order to create some sort of visible change in my
life (because, as you know, changes in thinking happen quite often, and
often these are just minor tweaks on the tried and true “working” model,
insofar as the model is working to keep you a functional member of your own
society, not necessarily the “greater” society, and unless the model is
upgraded for the newest model, that being a new version with a new skin,
most outside observers will not notice any change even though, indeed, one
has been implemented, although slight).

So back to where I am: here, holed up behind my closed doors, on the floor
with maps and scissors and glue and glitter and various writing utensils for
sniffing and/or writing (I caught you sleeping there!  I do tend to only
write with my writing utensils — really), plotting my next strategy for
something greater, as it will happen.  I will WILL it to happen, I really
will!

This is all part of the second step, which is mapping a course of action
either literally or figuratively (in this case, a good amount of the former,
a taste of the latter) in order to keep myself locked into a particular
pathway (because, as I have found, if I want to arrive at a destination in a
timely fashion, and at this time I do, I need to allow myself to follow a
particular set of directions in order to arrive there, even though this is
counterintuitive to how I normally go through this process of allowing steps
to morph before my very eyes and ears and brain, and knowing that my
particular pathway, in steps, is typically formulated during ONE particular
moment in my existence on this hot and salty planet, and that my decisions
are most definitely affected by my particular mood and personality and
chemical makeup at the time, and at some point at a later date when I am on
this particular path I may decide that my mood and personality and chemical
makeup at that particular time is suitable to make changes to any steps in
said path, at which point the pathway will alter from it’s permanent state
to a NEW permanent state, because I realize this is the best thing for me to
do at that time and that I am not a waffler, by nature!) AND in order to
ensure that my journey is, indeed, a pleasant one!

And upon the completion of the second step, which is not necessarily
necessary to completion of the following thereof but is helpful, the third
step may be initiated and then embarked upon, and this step is important
because it does indeed lay the groundwork for executing the path as a whole.
This step is, again, a complicated mess of inner communications and
arrangements and thinkings that I could definitely lay out in greater detail
– if it were to prove to be fruitful, see, which I am not particularly sure
of at this point.

Underneath the door I hear the light come on and I hear the voices, the
shuffling of feet.  I look at my clock and it is indeed that time when the
workday has ended, and as I can now tell I do have company, making it
particularly difficult for me to make any headway in these things I need to
make headway on.  But the time will come, really it will, I really think so,
I am glad this moment is here!

Chapter F, as in Figuratively Speaking

[This goes after I get the ashtray, and after the interlude where I can't find it, but before the confrontation at brunch.]

Best case scenario, today ends with a whimper and I spend an hour sweating it out in lieu of sleeping (hot Miami nights). But best case scenarios can’t be called on; they must be earned. And today it seems i’m a couple cents short, if I may coin a phrase (no literal puns intended, only figurative, for what it’s worth).

When I hibernate in my room I spend a lot of time staring, I mean sometimes not so creepily referred to as “gazing intently”. But you know, there’s not a lot to look at, since most of the objects inside my room are inanimate and not all that colorful. Still, when I pucker my lips and put a cigarette in my mouth and pull the trigger, I know I’ve got some time to do some thinking, and I’m a visual person, so I’m going to find something to point my eyes at, see.

And when my roommates are out of the picture (me = free of tension) vs. when they’re around (me = full of tension), might as well take advantage, don’t you think?

I do have a few windows in my room. I mean, I don’t get a lot of light in my room, and that’s never bothered me, see. That Miami sun gets in your eyes and burns like lemon juice. Sometimes I want to wear sunglasses as I stand inside and look outside even when I’m looking at something that theoretically is far away from the sun and is not to be affected by the sun! But today I will not, as I prefer to squint, to concentrate on what’s below, maybe blow a ring or three.

For just a moment I smelled the perfume of a woman, then it passed.

I hold the cigarette between my thumb and my ring finger. I think this is a great way to hold a cigarette, I really do. I haven’t seen anyone else do it, and creativity is a disrespected quality in this world. The smoke swirls as it rises up against the window as if it would like to get out but can’t, and it dissipates as it hits the top of the window frame. I blow a ring (of sorts — mine fall apart about a second into it) that follows the same track, and my eyes follow the same route.

As the ring breaks up near the top of the window, I notice, through the window it seems, that something is flying in the distance, a living thing, really. This thing is yellow like the sun, I’m squinting even more to see, so I can only really recognize its outline as the sun comes down above it. (I mean, I can go into more detail here, but I really wish you could just look for yourself, really!) It’s a figure of something living, at least that seems to be living by its fluid movements through the sky, as it moves from left to right across my screen. I’m catching a bit of reflection off the glass, and I shield my eyes with my cigarette-less hand and look down away from the sun.

I uncover my eyes, still looking down, in time to see a figure, very similar to the one I had just seen and also yellow-ish, ride by in the bed of a pickup truck full of mulch. He was holding a rake, the rake-part of the rake sticking straight up in the air. I could have sworn, really, I saw him wave as he went by. I rub my eyes with my free hand and look again, and he’s gone.

I look back up into the sky and see nothing but a couple clouds and the hot Miami sun blaring away.

So, you know, this might just be another one of those days. I’m thinking this as I look with this screwy look on my face toward my closet door. I jolt myself back to reality to see the cigarette in my hand almost burned to the butt, and I extinguish it on the sill of the window, which I do every once in a while (do not contain the cigarette — it does not belong). I then shake that hand out, waving it around, thinking maybe I’m experiencing a bout of the poor circulation that is messing with my head!

I look back out the window to prove to myself that all is well. I mean, I really did not expect that sort of thing to be happening right outside, it should not be real! And I look up and don’t see much of anything, again except for the blazing sun, and I glance back down quickly.

Just in time to see two yellow figures with wings on a small patch of grass, holding hands and swinging around in a circle. They don’t seem to be noticing anyone around them.

Across the street, from inside a house comes a yellow figure with wings, and he reaches down and grabs the paper from that day. He looks toward me, waves, and goes back inside.

I’m quick to rub my eyes — what is this! Upon rubbing the group of merry-go-rounders has expanded to six, and their wings, which were before pressed down on their backs, are now fully extended out and flapping slowly. Just to their left, but much farther down the sidewalk, a short fat figure in a purple suit comes riding down the sidewalk on a skateboard.

What next? My gaze is surely fixed into a stare now as the group of yellow winged merry-go-rounders stops circling, looking toward the purple skateboarder, as he comes faster down the sidewalk, and faster, toward me. The group of yellow looks to be disturbed a bit, and they flap their wings and look to tense up in the direction of the skateboarder as the purple figure approaches.

And then the yellow figures begin wildly flapping their wings and head straight in the direction of the purple skateboarder!

The skateboarder doesn’t look to be paying attention and keeps riding along.

In this moment I am sitting here what is it these yellow demons are going to do to this short fat defenseless skateboarding thing! They are mere feet away from them when the skateboarder quickly stops.

He picks up his skateboard off the ground.

And swings it with both arms.

And every one of the yellow creatures disappears, their yellow cloaks falling to the ground.

I’m looking at this in dismay as the short purple man throws his skateboard to the ground, looking down toward the cloaks –

– and then up at me!

In this I am not interested at all! But he jumps on his skateboard, and now he is about a block away, and starts riding in my direction! He is riding faster and faster and looks to be huffing!

I turn back toward my room, looking for something to defend myself. A notebook? A plastic pen holder? A pillowcase? I decide that must do, so I rip it from my pillow and turn toward the window and my attacker.

The window is covered by a giant purple, glowing shroud.

And I’m standing there holding a pillowcase! The shroud is moving in and out, as if to breathe. Did I mention it’s glowing? Did I mention I’m holding a pillowcase?

I’m a bit on the frozen side right now, staring (yes, I’m quite certain I’m staring now) toward my window that is dark purple on the outer edge and a glowing, breathing light purple on the inner edge. My arms drop to my side, as there is no sound emitting from anywhere inside or outside of my room, save for my heavy breathing (really, I am quite flipped out here see!).

I stand there holding my pillowcase with one hand, not sure what to do.

A number of minutes go by. Then a number more. And more. I look at my watch.

Almost three hours have gone by since I first looked out this window.

I sit down on my bed without taking my eye off the window. I’m still not sure what to do. I will just sit here and watch. And sit, and sit. After some time, I hear my roommates come home. I still sit, looking toward the window. I hear the TV on outside my door. I hear the TV turn off, and the lights underneath my door go out. I’m still looking toward my window. Still looking. Still looking.

My eyes snap open and my head pops up. I look at the window. It’s black outside. I look at my watch. It’s the middle of the night. I jump up with my pillowcase in both hands and rush toward the window. The closer I get, the more I realize that nothing is in the window any longer. I look up and see the moon, and a fairly clear sky.

What?

I drop my hands, and my eyes, and on the corner of the window sill, I see it there. My ashtray, the one I was given. I pick it up and turn it over and over, seeing what I can see. Nothing out of the ordinary as far as ashtrays go. Really.

I’m looking closely at it, then away. Then I put it back down, and turn around, crossing my arms. I walk toward my light switch for this room with my arms still crossed and flip it off. Then I navigate back toward the bed, getting under the covers and laying my head on the caseless pillow, still looking toward the window, through it, at the moon.

It’s another day I don’t understand, as I stare out the window. I stare for a good while until my eyes begin to close. Then I see something–

A yellowish figure floats in front of the moon.

My eyes are open again. I don’t see anything outside, save for the moon. My eyes begin to close, and close for good.

Tomorrow, what a day that COULD turn out to be. I mean, really.

Chapter S, as in Slightly Less of That, Please

If I had to pick a day in which I was a bit happier than other days, it would be Tuesday. (I mean, once my roommates are gone, EVERY day is a good day.) See I do indeed appreciate taking a step or two into the week, because at that point I am displaying a certain momentum which will push me forward in my activities and things such as these. So there is no greater disservice to me, then, when Tuesday becomes less of a momentum builder and more of, well, an episode.

Allow me to take certain steps to float my thoughts into the open.

There are two kinds of people in this world: those who make forward progress and those who either stand still or somehow move backwards. In the former, the degree of forward progress is not as much of the issue as in the latter, where a lack of movement is poor while a negative movement is somewhat poorer.

In Miami, you are afforded plenty of opportunities to not do much with yourself. You may sit in the sun, take a short or long walk on the beach, have a long brunch, or simply do none of those things. You may have sand in your toes or you can go without it.

I, frankly, possibly surprising to you, have never had sand in my toes. And I’ve never thought about taking a long brunch. I will never acknowledge a brunch. I will eat at some point in the morning or near the noon-hour and it will simply be a meal without repercussions. I really don’t see the need to make it into something more than that.

But, today, I am out, having a morning meal that is borderline noon-ish, sitting not so much in the sun but in the shade in the back corner of an outdoor seating area. I, for one, as I have mentioned to you time and/or time again, am not one for interaction, and I find that sitting in the unhealthy Miami sun draws attention to yourself/myself in a way that is not necessarily flattering if that attention is not in any way what you are looking for. That is why there are seats in the sun and there are seats that are sometimes in the sun and sometimes not and there are seats that will never have a chance to be in the sun although these seats are indeed out of doors! It is possible, due to architectural designs that allow for this sort of thing, to breathe the outside air (although the benefits of this, mind you, are negligible) without having to make a spectacle of yourself.

But on this particular day, a day that works out on my wall calendar to be a Tuesday (and I really do think that my wall calendar is accurate, and if I had a desk calendar, that would be accurate as well, really), I have been approached by a man who is larger than myself, who walks with a particular gait, who is familiar on this way in which I absolutely know, and he looks over at me, perhaps with a sense of curiosity or perhaps with a random case of the wandering eye, as if he knows me although I should say that he certainly doesn’t!

That is, to say, he shouldn’t. I am the unmasked man in the mask, to this man.

He sits down at a table that, frankly, is very much in the sun, and as he sits he looks in my direction with a bit of a squint (although, if the sun is not coming directly into your eye, as it is not into this man’s eye at this particular instance, then a squint is less of a squint and more of a, indeed, a scowl), and he sits in his chair with the sun on half of his face and one of his eyes as he looks in my direction, me the only other person in this outdoor seating area on this a Tuesday, and he puts a cigarette in his mouth as I often do and grabs for the right pocket in his shorts, and out he pulls this thing and sets it on the table.

This thing, being an ashtray, looks very much like the thing I was handed by the man who ended up with only one arm just a day or a few days before, it seems!

Into his other pocket he is reaching for a lighter, which he pulls out and tugs at until fire does the job. And he leans into the shade, which happens to be closer to my seated area, and as his eyes look up from his cigarette he says, “I hope you have enjoyed the ashtray.”

Well, I mean, knowing that I have not been noticed — I mean, it IS not possible in this day and age to notice someone such as me or such as ANYONE who is walking around with a face covered in mask! — well I am not saying anything, as I am going to look at him distantly from a crouched position in my seat and say the following,

“I am not exactly sure what it is you speak of, right now.”

It’s a fine reaction for him then I suppose for one to hear this and to lean back in his chair, now fully in the face of the sun, with the cigarette still in the mouth (although in the corner and not front and center) and the smoke going up while still looking toward me (as I sit in the shade and slumped in my chair, or not so much slumped as leaning back in a not-so-exceptionally slouching sort of way) with still that sort of scowl that is also now a squint, due indeed to the impending sun.

Grunting, and leaning into an ashing motion while looking down, now in the shade and looking up, “You know more than you let on.” And then placing the cigarette with full force down into the ashtray in a motion that certainly extinguishes it, but does not let go of the cigarette, as in one other motion he stands up and forward while kicking the metallic meshed chair back, buries the ashtray back in the pocket of his shorts, and flicks the non-flaming cigarette toward me, as it bounces off the cement and onto my shoe and then off, all while looking me mostly right in the eyes.

And then briskly moves away from the building, around the corner, as I remain seated.

I left cash on the table without receiving my food. And I kicked the cigarette butt to the side and close to the fence as I did, even making a point to go after it and grind it into the ground with my shoe. For things such as these have no business happening on Tuesday, on my day of momentum, in which I possibly have not come any closer to understanding what it is that is happening to me these days, and potentially I have not gained any ground toward this understanding, and in fact am resigned to say I am, indeed, heading backwards. And that’s no place to be. I really don’t think so.

Chapter J, as in Join the Dots Together with a Line (or a Circle)

Usually, in the afternoon, I’m occupied with whatever I’m supposed to be occupied with that day. I mean, sometimes that’s not all that interesting to anyone other than myself, and really, I can’t think of any other way to do it. But this day, I don’t know something doesn’t feel right. My roommates don’t come back for a few hours, and when they’re gone and I can’t see their shapes or hear their ridiculous voices under the door, I get a bit restless, see. I really do and I don’t know why.

So I had this idea that involved me being getting out, which is rather unusual for me in case you didn’t know, to get something. I’m not sure what I want, but for some odd reason – maybe a past scent, stuck deep up in my nose close to where I remember these things – I have a feeling I know where to find it. As is the custom in these parts, I put on something respectable to wear before I head out the door, and I’m sure to dress in layers, as is my norm, although un-masked (I know I will not be going THERE today, really!).

Opening the door and experiencing the first light can be intense if you haven’t prepped yourself for it. This happens to be one of those days where I didn’t prepare, and when I unbolted the deadbolt and let it fly, the brightness halted my forward momentum, which isn’t all a bad thing, because it jolts my head into reassessing where that momentum was taking me, see. I jumped down to the third step and then down to the pavement, as I sometimes enjoy doing, and took a hard right with my head down and then my fists in my pockets.

I smelled burgers, just for a second, and then it was gone.

I proceeded down that street a short ways, past some blocks, still not knowing where I’m headed but quite trusting of my judgment to let me know when I get there. I mean, I’ve been down this road before, not knowing where to go, but I usually end up in the right place. Today, though, something tells me to not trust myself, and for good reason: I’m heading toward a former doctor’s office. I’m smarter than that, at least today, and I force myself off path, and right into 79th Street Liquor.

I don’t go to 7SL (my acronym, not a common abbreviation) often, probably because for quite some time I was under the legal age to purchase alcohol, and yes that constitutes the majority of 7SL’s product line, and after I was of age, sometime around the time after I became of that age, I lost my taste for liquors, beers, and wines of all types. But I still like candy, particularly gummy candies in a variety of shapes. So I go inside for that.

I pull the screen door open with one hand and hold it open with the other after dropping my cigarette on the ground. If I could smoke in here, I would, but I don’t want to cause a tizzy, see. I’m non-confrontational today.

I’ve been in here quite a few times before, so I go to the section that I planned on going to and take a gander. Five different options of the gummy variety. I make my choice, affirm that I have enough change in my pocket, and head to the counter.

But there is no one there.

The man who typically stands behind the counter is standing near the front door, facing me. I’ve seen him before, and he’s seen me, and we recognize each other fairly quickly. But he looks slightly different than I remember him, probably because he’s shrouding part of his face with an oversized floppy brown hat, but not enough for me not to recognize one of his dark, sunken eyes. He’s not moving, and neither am I, and my ears aren’t catching much other than the buzz of a ceiling fan and some clinking bottles outside.

“We know the same people, you and I,” he slithers, soon after breaking into a cackling cough that seems to be breaking down his frail body. I don’t know who he’s referring to. Then he turns around, opens the door, and steps out, leaving the screen door slapping against the building.

So I’m in this store with no one else, just the fan above me, holding my single gummy product. See, if you think this makes sense to me right now, you’re mistaken, because I haven’t a clue what’s going on, although I figure I’m soon to find out. I mean, this guy just left, and although there’s nothing else to focus on, I really can’t take my eye off that door.

I look at the clock on the wall, it’s about 2.

I look at the clock again, it’s about 3:30. I’m still standing next to the counter, waiting for SOMEONE to come back, to step behind the counter, to take my 30 cents so I can do something else with my life. I mean, I’m not a thief, in the literal sense anyway. I’m sure I can point to some instance in my life where I didn’t exactly do the right thing, and maybe I ended up with something that wasn’t mine, but even when I did I always at least planned on giving it back, or enjoyed it with such fervor that the gravity of that emotion easily outweighed the guilt that didn’t really bother me all that much, I mean!

Another 15 minutes pass. My patience is gone (and I’m a fairly patient person, see, I really mean that), so I decide to leave well enough alone, throw 30 cents on the counter, and walk toward the door.

As soon as I take two steps, the door flies (figuratively here, it certainly moved quite fast) open and the man with the floppy head piece reappears, and in his left hand he has an ashtray, and he begins to drawl, slowly:

“If you aren’t going to pay for that item, please accept this gift.” I can see that he is referring to the ashtray as a gift, and I deduce this because he raises his hand higher and in the direction of my face as he says this.

At this point I’m not really interested and continue on my journey, which is past him and out the door. He slides a bit to the side just enough to tap his arm against mine, at which point it falls off. Really, that being his arm, it fell off. I stand next to him with my head turned, eyes to the floor where his arm lay, and back up to his eyes (well, really, his one eye, because his hat covers the other eye, see). He’s still holding the ashtray out with his one arm.

Although I had no expectations today, this is not really what I expected, as far as expectations go.

I grabbed the freaking ashtray and pushed through the screen door. My hand stabbed through the screen and out into the sweaty Miami atmosphere, thought I did a fairly quick job of pulling my hand back in and pushing on the door handle this time and getting out of there lickety split! I wasn’t going to look back because I just had about enough of this journey, which I did mention did not have any expectations attached to it but was quite enough of a journey for me, especially as far as journeys go. (And, for you keeping score, I left 30 cents next to that cash register — I do not lie.)

A few minutes later, I was moving forward quickly with my head down a few blocks from that store, a few blocks from home. With an ashtray in my left hand, I used my right to crumple and a gummy candy wrapper and direct it toward a fire hydrant.

Chapter H, as in Hibernation

A hibernating man is a happy man — when equipped with the right tools to make that hibernation productive.  See, I’ve long been the type of guy who “doesn’t interact well with others” (I think that’s a line of some psychobabble that one or three docs has laid on me), and when I’m confined to my confines, it’s not like it really changes the game for me.  Like I might have said before once or thrice, conversation is just a necessary evil to getting what I want.  I don’t think too much about it.

And why should I?  It’s not like anyone else ever thinks about me.  Everyone who approaches you has an agenda, and everyone who you approaches just wanted to be left the hell alone before (and during) the time you disrupted them.  It’s hard enough to make the fragments flying around in your own head fit together — when you introduce this outside sheet (especially when this instigator doesn’t have his head screwed on right in the first place) you’re really giving your head something to cry about.

But most of the time it doesn’t cry, or it did and you never noticed it, because you’ve pumped so much sheet into your system that you don’t know your right hand from your nose.  Now you are someone who isn’t even fit to interact with society, and yet on so many levels you are expected to.  You are told that it’s abnormal to not greet someone when you are greeted, to not give a farewell when someone gives you a farewell, to turn your back on someone in the middle of a conversation.  This is a flawed system, because on so many levels the interaction we are forced to deal with (I mean, think of all the gatekeepers you need to go through to get what you need on a daily basis) creates an outstanding frustration within each one of us that is never properly channeled.

See, if one is to take the necessary steps (and who, actually, knows what “necessary” is these days) to expunge this frustration, and it must be done regularly in a “healthy manner” (i.e. one that does not directly lead to lashing out at others or yourself in a way that produces most long-term effects and some particularly violent short term effects), this frustration can cause several of the necessary wires within one’s head to fray, and these loose connections can lead to a permanent correction by your brain to allow itself to function if only to complete it’s necessary tasks (i.e. to keep you breathing and your heart beating) — NOT to mention everything else that needs to be accounted for such as remembering to eat and drink water and move your muscles every once in a while to keep them from shriveling up.

I mentioned “healthy manner” as though I understand what that means, but I do not, so I resort to any manner that is going to expel these frustrations from my body and to forget about the impending frustrations that are sure to lodge themselves starting somewhere in the region above or below the pit of my stomach (it often rises from there, and in unfortunate circumstances, and I really mean unfortunate, it lowers).  And I am happy to use a bit of my free hibernation time in my quest for this manner, and I find the result of this quest to be particularly pleasing, particularly when I no longer have any recollection of the beginning of that quest or where that quest is supposed to end up.

But I’m making it sound like the sole purpose for engaging in a hibernation session is to embark on some theoretical journey to nowhere, and that is surely not the case.  I mean, I don’t really have an agenda (but who really EVER has a solid agenda, meaning one that can’t be altered when something better comes along!), and I’ve already mentioned that I don’t appreciate when someone else has an agenda, so why make myself into the very thing I despise!  I really don’t think that seems like a good idea now does it?

I will say that most hibernation sessions are unnanounced, and they are often initiated while I’m already engaged in some other activity and I rather suddenly see the need to free myself up for some ‘me’ time.  To this end, I often keep the things I most need close to my hibernation destination, as in water, some small non-perishable snacks, cigarettes, plenty of music, a scissors, plenty of newspapers and/or magazines.  I tend not to keep alcohol around for its deleterious effects toward any goals I’ve set during that particular hibernation.  Depending how long I’m planning to be ‘in’, I may or may not keep a meal or two with me, and usually nothing that doesn’t mind sitting on the floor with me for some time.

I can’t really go on with this right now.  I mean, the rest of it is semantics, really.  It will make more sense in due time.  Really, in due time.