Thursday, June 24, 2004

 

Heaven is forbidden.
That is what my name means. In my native tongue it was a curse given to me by my father. A previous indiscretion by my mother. When he found out he wished to kill them both. The wiseman of the tribe convinced him otherwise. As it was not the time for violence. My life was spared and on the day of my birth the name given to me by my father was a curse. Heaven is forbidden to those with the mark on their body and to the one who bears it as a name I cannot foresee an afterlife.

 

Blissful sleep as my mind wanders and I dream. Moments of flying through my soul as I sort out the memories from fantasies. Random poetic metaphors appearing and rushing past my field of vision as subconscious tries to tell me something. Ranging from people I know with objects filling out their bodies instead of real bodies. To trees filled with dollar bills and being surrounded by a fence made of paper that says I must pay this much to enter. A do not pass go sign fighting against my get out of jail card. A highway made out of faces of people who I have left behind me as I drive down this road. It has been a month since I started living out of my car. I did it initially because I wanted to get away from a bad situation. Now I find myself saving up money for something I do not know while trying to keep peoples attention off the fact of where I sleep each night. Long drives through the mountains and on the highways after work as I drive tired trying to get to a place where I can rest safely. Not that I could not do that in town I just have to get away. As when I drive away I am keeping the fact I have no real place to call my own hidden from everyone. I am spending more and more time in this seat it seems. Less and less time sleeping though. The days of sitting in my car listening to music and those of driving on the highway blend into one. Now I am dreaming I am driving on a different type of highway. Up in the distance on my dream highway I see what appears to be a vehicle coming towards me. All I see are two headlights getting closer and closer. A sudden thought rushes into my mind. I fell asleep at the wheel! I need to wake up now and quickly pull out of the way of this oncoming truck! I wake up with a gasp for breathe while one foot pushes down on the break pedal and my hands turn the steering wheel to the right. As I am desperately trying to gain control of my car reality sinks in. Suddenly I see I am not on the road. I am parked in a parking lot. A police car has pulled in front of me. My heart slowly goes back to normal while I roll down my window to say hello to the officer.

“You need to move on you cannot stay here.”
Not one to argue I start up my car and drive off to find another place to park. I need to find a place to live as some day I will wake up from that dream and I will be staring into my death instead of an embarrassing moment.

 

A rather large cardboard box laying in the middle of the freeway. I sit and watch it wobble there as if the wind gently blows it around. Cars drive by purposefully missing it. Sitting there watching this box it takes me back a week ago when I observed something else.

I was driving along the freeway heading north when my car ran out of gas. I coasted to the side of the road and sat there waiting for the tow truck to arrive. Across the divided road with small concrete block positioned between the two directions I saw a young man standing on the opposite side looking at me. He was standing there holding a little paper bag. When there was a free moment he would run out into the road and drop the bag then run back to the side of the road. There he safely watched more cars drive by. Curious by this I got out of my car and waited until he ran out again. At that time I quickly ran out to see what he was doing and I discovered torn bits of paper stuck to the road with little red stains holding them in place like glue. As he ran back to safety I saw the paper bag move a little bit. I heard a ‘meow’ over the roar of traffic. Then a car drove by and ran over the bag. Only part of it was hit but it was enough. It ripped open the bag and half a kitten lay there struggle with its last bits of energy. I went back to my car and waited for the tow truck. It finally arrived and I got some gas to get my car going. As I got into my car I looked across the road and saw the young man was gone. I started my car and drove off to a gas station to fill up my tank.

A few days later I was driving north and out of the corner of my eye I saw the young man again standing alongside the road. Not the exact spot but close enough. He was again holding small paper bags. I found an exit and quickly took it. I then went down the freeway in the direction so I would be on his side. I was able to dodge a paper bag and after a hundred feet or so I pulled to the side of the road. Opened my trunk and pulled out my baseball bat. Calmly walked up the road trying to keep out of sight of the young man. IT was easily enough to do as he was concentrating on the little bags of joy he was leaving in the road. Also the oncoming traffic while he tried finding a hole so he could run out again and drop off a bag. I was able to sneak up behind him and delivered a blow with my bat. Dragging his crumpled body to my car as quick as I could I also grabbed the remaining paper bag. When I got to my car I tied him up and threw him in the trunk. Down the road I drove for a few minutes pondering what I should do. While I drove I stopped at a gas station and I noticed a cardboard box in the trash. I quickly grabbed it and broke it down. Sticking it in my backseat I drove home waiting for night to fall.

I got home about half a hour later and gave the kitten some bits of hotdog and milk. I grabbed some packaging tape and went back to my car once it was dark. I opened my truck and noticed my new friend has woken up. Speaking no words I hit him with my bat to the face and told him to be quiet. Closing the trunk I drove back to that place in the freeway. I pulled over to the side and quickly setup my cardboard box. I pulled his sorry ass out of my car and hit him again with the bat to make sure he would not struggle. I placed him in the box and taped it shut then positioned it in the middle of the road under an overpass and right after a turn. I got in my car and looped back so I could stand on the overpass. Standing there feeling that justice is served I was cars drive below me. The little cars dodged the box. I heard the sound of a truck horn as it was trying to get swerve away from the box. It missed it but I knew it was a matter of time before something happened. I walked back to my car and as I get in I hear the squealing of tires and a loud thump as something hit’s the box. My nice surprise. I ponder the joke that would be applied in his case as Karma finally caught up to him.

Thursday, June 17, 2004

 

Earlier today I remember reading the hardy boys mystery books. Funny how a simple little book could still be remembered with good clarity even after almost 8 years of reading it. A simple little mystery book to provoke thought. It seems throughout the years I have been sampling fewer and fewer of those books that provoke thought. A few gems exist in my memory and they shine brightly but there are a few dimmer ones that I remember nothing more than the title. Perhaps I could compare reading a book like a flame. The fire burning bright while I read it and shining my way towards higher thought or even better understanding of things around me through improving upon my intellect. Slowly as the years go by the flame dims due to either shortage of fuel or perhaps the ashes filling the air block it so it doesn’t seem as bright as before. Why are there not more bright books in my memory troubles me? Have I been avoiding these books? Has my selection of books turned more towards nothing about reality? Have I been seeking escape in a fantasy world where my brain goes on vacation? Or have I simply not looked hard enough. Many books I have read many times perhaps its that which is clouding my memory. Perhaps it’s even pointless to wonder. So many questions run through my mind as I hold an old hardy boy’s book feeling the warmth and fond memories of it come up from within the cover. Don’t even have to open the book to remember the mystery with the stuttering bird in it. Will I ever write such a book myself sharing with others my words and imagination or will my flame flicker and die out silently in a gentle breeze.

 

Exercise in fictional abstraction

It’s all a facade. The words haunt me deeply. To imagine that this is all fake. What could possible possess someone to whisper those words to me before they gave their last breath? Then I imagine what do they mean by its all? Do they perhaps mean my entire friendship with them? Perhaps they were discussing the past relationships. Could it even be a word from beyond the grave? Was she trying to tell me that life and reality is all fake? It’s all a facade. The defining words for my existence. So many masks sit in my closet. So many lies hide my true existence. Perhaps those were words of warning for me to change my ways.

 

exercise in fictional perspective

I don’t want to be here. Neither does my car. Turn the key to turn off the car and it responds with exactly how I feel. It struggles and tries to keep going. Neither of us want to be here but we are here. I fondle my keys gently pondering if I should even bother getting out. I could start up the car and just drive and forget what happened. I could so a long of things but I know regret and the fear of it will drag me inside. I might as well get this over with. Pulling myself out of the car takes up more energy than it should. I close the door with a promise to come back and head inside the coffee shop.

Saturday, June 12, 2004

 

A sharp pain in my side keeps my mind awake. It is hard to sleep when a fear of something serious drifts though your mind. I lay there pondering what bad thing could have happened that would cause this pain in my side. Sharp stabs that run through when I take a deep breath. So I figured I would write. I originally pondered a last will and testament just incase I died in my sleep. As I stood there pondering what I wanted my last words to be I had to laugh at myself. I sat there pondering what I wished to write. Did I want to write something that I would be remembered for or did I wish to write truths unspeakable except in the most private moments? So I figured I would watch the movie I had been planning on watching before I realized the pain. So with much humor my last movie would be Single’s. So no will and testament. No last words to the world. If this was lethal and I was to pass then I will leave a great mystery. Will it be one that will puzzle and make people ponder or will it be something people will see then quickly forget? So I scribble down some words and wishes pondering the reasoning behind it. Perhaps someday I will create a decent

This page is powered by Blogger. Isn't yours?