Monologue (?)

Have you ever had one of those moments when you can feel everything? Your entire being is hit with what feels like a shovel to the head and you're left there, mezmorized. Every breeze, every sound feels like the beginning of the world and you're the one person lucky enough to be in the middle of it all.

I'm not sure if I've ever believed in God. Or any of those other higher beings who I've been too lazy to check out. But I know, I really believe that there is something happening here that I can't understand. Or, if I can understand it, I'm sure I'm not ready to handle it.

Once, when I was nine, my mom and dad were arguing and I went downstairs to the kitchen to nuzzle myself into this make-shift hiding place I had created under our sink. But, on the way I noticed that the back door was partly open. That door was never open. We even had bits of bright orange tape on the floor, encircling it. I would sit at the kitchen table some mornings and stare at that tape. It was like a ward. Every glance at that little semi-circle of tape made my heart beat against my ribs like a caged gorilla. And now, there it was. There was light coming through. I could feel the air coming in and brushing up against me. I awkwardly waddled over, reached out my hand, and grabbed the edge of the rotting wood door. It was weightless. I took a breath and stretched the opening further and further until there was nothing between me and the world.

I had never seen the sun before. Not like this. There was nothing beyond that doorway but sky. I could look straight down and see the Harbor splashing up towards me. I got hit with that shovel and couldn't do anything but breathe. No distractions, no wounds, not even any excitement. Just an overwhelming feeling that I was in the center of the world. That......whatever it is that's out there...was watching. It was living in front of me, breathing with me, showing me something achingly beautiful. Telling me that it was, and still is possible. That it, whatever it is, was there. And, even though I haven't felt it since then, I hope that it knows how grateful I am for it.

Favorite Quote of the Evening

"I think the trick is to not read a blog about cakes for more than one hour at a time."

-Dylan Thompson

Yay

Work today = snobsville

Population - Those assholes

Fucking Ghosts.

Slumping

walk walk walk. Take in the sights. Watch the people skip along. Wish you could take a picture to prove you were really there. Listen to that song for the 34th time. Pick yourself up. How many steps do I have to take before I sweat out this bile?


"Somedays aren't yours at all. They come and go as if they were someone else's days. They come and leave you behind someone else's face. And it's harsher than yours. And colder than yours."

It's Time

I'm going back to D&D next week. It has been far too long.

WATCH THIS

Tommy Carpenter

He stared as the life was siphoned out of him. From where he stood he could feel the world turning about him, using him as an axis for it's own purposes. That's how it had always been. Tommy Carpenter wasn't the fighting type.

Until he felt the urge to breathe. Churning up from the very pit of his stomach, the need to suck in sweet oxygen took his body forward towards the air in front of him. His heart rang in his ears as the plastic formed its seal around his mouth; the condensation took shelter around the bridge of his slight nose, behind his round ears, and inside the dark mediterranean circles under his brown eyes. If he had hair, it would have been drenched with sweat, but as it was, his pale head just glistened with moisture and regret.

His mind clashed with his body. There was nothing else outside of these two unimaginably powerful titans fighting for dominance over him. The veins in his arms pulsed, muscles contracted, eyes blurred, lungs burned, toes gripped, and legs gave out. He didn't feel his body hit the floor, he couldn't feel the gray-blue rug rub against his pale skin, all there was was the urge to breathe, the fear of breathing, and the plastic bag wrapped around his shimmering pale head.

His fingertips found the area where his open mouth should have been and began their desperate assault. Digging, tearing, ripping. His hands flew to the back of his head and grasped the edge of the plastic as his vision began going black. His muscles ached. His hands moved on their own around his skull until finally the plastic peeled off, the air filled his lungs and then left in a coughing fit.

He remained on the floor on all fours breathing for a full minute as the tears ran down his red cheeks to join the pool of sweat and saliva collected on the gray-blue rug of his bedroom. For the rest of the night, he wept like a lost child.