Excerpts of the Sleepless Cycle - Massage in a Bottle

 

Frank says that fear is the mind killer.

My mind though is a prison.

And I'm too afraid to break out. Too weak. Paralyzed in place. Inside a graying depressive prison which I built myself and furnished with all the things I hate the most. A fucking toilet. The walls are glass so I can see all I won't let myself have. A bottle that from within I can watch and envy.

I'm surrounded by people. Not inmates. They're all free. I'm the only one incarcerated.

They're my friends. A bright light coming from the highest of attic windows. The only light. It is hope. It breaks the darkness and lets me discern detail. Texture. Grounds me to life again revealing all its fascinating intricacies. They show me reasons why anything of all this crap can matter. For moments I can feel again. Only moments.

The light, it seems to be moving away. Or I'm moving away from it. I really can't tell.

They're here to remind me of freedom and of happiness. Of real enjoyment. I often forget how these feelings feel.

It's been very long since I didn't fake those feelings in front of the others. I did it so they wouldn't pity me. I hate pity. But it's too obvious to everyone since I'm the only one behind the bars. So I look stupid too.

Loneliness is permeating my cell, pouring through my every cell. It's so thick, so constant, so present. So heavy. It's crushing me.

I can't take the weight anymore.

Turned out the others weren't here for me. They were just passing by, happened to notice me and stayed a while for a visit. Now that they found whatever it was they were looking for, they left together for a party I wasn't invited to. It's OK. Soon they'll forget about me and my “situation”, and it'll be better for them. At least someone is having fun.

I'm left alone once more and now it's dark. The weight is getting heavier. I'm getting smaller and unable to reach out anymore. I'm just staring at the bars tightening and the walls turning opaque. Waiting for the end. Alone.

I matter not.

I'm matter not.

I'll return to nothingness.

I'm the cosmic pariah.

It feels lighter already. More relaxed.

Like getting a massage.

In a bottle.

 

* * * 

Excerpts of the Sleepless Cycle - Bass

My bass guitar was broken. I knew that but I couldn't quite define what exactly was wrong with it. The neck was too short. Like it was broken and then roughly been put back together with most of the middle part missing. So the neck was too short. I could see that, but I couldn't realize the problem in it. It seemed natural. It must be something else wrong with it.

My friends tried to persuade me that there's nothing wrong with the bass. It's just in my mind. I didn't lend it to the squat guys so that they can practice and they mistreated it. They didn't disrespect my offer and my willing sacrifice. At the back of my mind there was always the idea that I could not trust these people, but I always pushed that thought away. Because we are supposed to be the good guys. The ones who care. The empathy team.

But now my bass guitar is broken. It looks weird and unnatural and the neck is too short. And yet I still can't pinpoint that that's what's wrong with it. My friends insist it's just my imagination. Why do they do that? They're supposed to be my friends. They're supposed to tell me when I can't see what's in front of me.

The bass guitar is resting on a chair at the far end of the room. It's so hard to pick it up again now. The thick layer of dust would mean I'd have to clean it up first, and I can't go into all that trouble.

So maybe I'll say that it's broken.

* * * 

Daily Goals of Awakening

The more I live in what I consider to be the real world, the more I want to escape it. I sleep on porcelain. Then I dream. The curtain slides aside mildly squeaking, revealing a window. Like a random show on TV, my dream is performed in front of me. The characters, I know them. They're friends, colleagues and lovers. They're also villains and monsters and those who want to keep me here always.

I wake up. My head hurts, so I shave my chin. At least I look a bit better in the mirror. Like a little garden, maybe, it helps when one tends it. I trimm the bushy sideburns too. Looking at a rampant garden can be discomforting. Even intimidating. I can't lose my touch with reality, the mission is what matters. Only the mission. Otherwise I can't justify what is real. It's the only way, so it makes sense. A shaved chin is my anchor here. I see grown hair and I can tell time has passed.

I'm really trapped here. This bathroom is my shuttle, sitting on the toilet seat, traveling through the galactic corridors of the cosmic gallery on the back of a gargantuan carp. Or is it a catfish? I've never seen it. I only know it's there, and has always been, even before I came along. I took it from the previous tenant not knowing that in reality he also was a prisoner.

I hope one day I will complete my mission and be set free.

I will find God.

And when I do, my chin will be shaven and neat.

 

 * * *

Eki? 41

Eki anakineki I was watching the moon. Its warty silver face was grinning, probably mocking me. Hanging from the night sky like a Christmas decoration it should know better. What does it have to shine for itself? I will kick it down and put something else in its place.

Eki anakineki doesn't really mean anything. If l replace the moon with it, then it will be the thing that fucks my nights over and it won't be better, just different. There is some sort of allegory here, but I can't quite philosophize it to realization. I'll just say it has something to do with radishes and spinning tops. Both things I like, so everyone is happy. And that's it for today. I consider my duty to the world and radishes and spitting toads done.

Bye, I said flying toward the moonshine and into where meanings go for a smoke break. The thick cloud of the pink cigarettes engulfed me and got into my flesh vessel through an orifice that was previously my navel. It felt like a genie coming home and now I was a stranger about to get evicted, for genies have zero tolerance for squatters. Even if all my life I had been living here.

My body then became animated and colored in the color a defecating squeezing face would be painted if smeared with beets, but a mild gust of air dispersed my gaseous form, and all I could see was something unpurple getting smaller and smaller until it popped like a pimple. Then, the voice of God said something like: "Ouch" and I got some minor relief. 

 

 * * *

 

Excerpts from the Sleepless Cycle - Bicycle

 When the earth cracked open at the park, the little girl was swallowed inside the chasm. It wasn't my first time positioned in entropy's graceful side, and even though I knew the wrongness of what I was about to do, I didn't even flinch. I moved past her - emptying my heart of guilt and making room for a strangely familiar reprieve. Her accidental fall was but an opportunity for me. Her little bicycle, toppled at the edge of the chasm, was there for me to take.

Excerpts from the Sleepless Cycle - Train

I was telling her something.

But then I turned my head to look at her, and I realized, I wasn't. I just imagined I did.

I then went to open my mouth to tell her what I wanted, but I couldn't remember what it was.

How did I get here? Is this even real? Is she sitting right beside me, or is her bewitching perfume the longing of a distant memory?

I am now alone, in the middle of the rails.

Waiting to catch the last train.

There is no light at the end of the tunnel.

There is just more tunnel.

Excerpts from the Sleepless Cycle - Candle

Some nights the chandlers would come.

They would take me in my sleep and do things on me.

Tied on a wooden altar, I could only stare at their bleak, static faces, as they scrutinized my body.

The one who doesn't speak, always cared for my perfect alignment against the altar. My hands touching my thighs, my knees and ankles touching together.

The one who never talks, carried a heavy, leather bag. The metallic tools contained within were carefully arranged along an invisible surface. Even though, I could not turn my head to look at them, I knew they were pointed at me.

The third one, the one who only smiles, she would just stay unmoving in front of my face. Eyeless and white. Like trying to distract me from everything about to happen.

Excerpts from the Sleepless Cycle - Ants

Ants came while I was asleep.

They took my left eyebrow.

Carried over and planted all the hair above my right one. Now, I have just one big eyebrow. It doesn't feel right.

It's uneven. Asymmetrical. Odd.

I find myself leaning to my right side when I talk to people. They say nothing, don't even seem to notice it. But I know they're are either being polite or ashamed of my unfortunate face. All in all, I'd rather have their outright mockery, than a silent pity.

I don't know why the ants did that. Who told them to? Could it be the King of Ants, whom I've never heard about? The big shadow cast above my right eye blurs the answers.

One thing is for certain though, they're coming for my nostril hair next. They'll put it inside my ears.

That's why I filled them up with silicon. Insulation. That'll stop them. Trading some of my senses is probably worth them leaving me alone.

As for my nostril hair, it won't be easy finding it, while along with my nose, it's in the garbage can.

If only the blood would stop pouring on the paper, I would consider this a clean victory.

Excerpts from the Sleepless Cycle - Hag

The night hag comes while I sleep. With her wooden ladle she eats soup out of my open head. She stirs my dreams and sniffs the vapors through her hairy nostrils.

That's why they're always whirling when I wake up, and only the bits she left I can remember.

I will find you witch. I will take my dreams back. I can shatter them myself, all but the same.