2: When silence means everything
I didn't know where to go, ever ...
Mostly I just sort of walked around singing, chewing gum.
I like love songs most, I like to focus on the voices. I like to sing with them. They are nice to me, it softens the static.
Hearing a voice I like is incredibly provocative to me, I don't like most of the ones I hear.
I like to listen, most people like to talk, I'd rather write.
None of the places were ever familiar to me, but I could make it mechanical.
Everything always looked so different, and I don't understand why.
It's like editing a book, maybe? An extra pause here, a slight change in tone not portrayed on the page correctly ?
The world changes in the same manner, small, insignificant, unknowingly, though, still ...
Walking the side roads in a small town isn't all it's cracked up to be, sometimes it's nice, just because I'm doing something.
I can concentrate on the little things, step by step.
If I step on a crack with my right foot we step on a crack with my left foot in the same place, the next step I can.
I can feel it through my boots, it's not perfectly in line with where my other foot landed, I hate it, try again, get it right this time...
As I stumble altering my pace I see a penny.
The lines on the roads in rural towns ... non existent, we need rules.
The best you can do is sidewalk or if you're lucky a raised curb, those are nice.
I bend down to examine the penny, tails ...
It doesn't matter, I don't believe in luck.
I flip the penny and lay it to heads side somewhere visible.
Someone might.
They don't make these anymore, just another edit...
There's sidewalk here, but it's a busy road, finally ... I should walk there, but I can't.
Don’t draw extra attention to yourself right now.
These days I’m a driver.
Actually that wasn’t untrue in those days either, just with a little more… we’ll call them trustworthy people back then.
That’s not a good thing though.
I just hate liars.
I also love trustworthy people.
Someone you can count on.
You find the pattern, you find the person.
and I love games.
It’s different sometimes though.
I actually trust everyone—
except that’s not true.
I really just trust their patterns.
You can always trust a liar to be a liar.
That's honorable in it's own right.
But that's how I know, I can trust them.
Choosing to say things is usually their real problem.
They choose that.
Relatively consistently.
I trust that.
At least the ones that omit are smart, but I'm both more and less observant than I'd like to be.
As long as their choices don't... conflict with my own belief system,
I’m loyal.
If not,
I’m your servant.
We know this, but there is no stopping it.
I can't see it while it's happening, I have to have rules to keep me alive, but I can't say no, because this is my choice.
I'm almost to the gas station, and see my motorcycle.
Often I would have to leave whatever I was driving at a secondary location, but it didn't matter.
I was relieved to still FIND my vehicle where I left it, untouched, so that's awesome.
I see a line.
I hop onto the concrete curb on the outline of the gas station in the parking lot and I walk on it.
Today has been a good day, a stressful day, but a good day.
I'm tired.
I look up and the sky is menacingly bright for the middle of the night.
I've never understood how we have to ruin every every starry picture with artificial city lights.
They are beautiful and useful in their own right, with moderation, but I like things dark.
I remove my hat and press my hand against my right temple, I can hear the blood flow behind the fuzz playing like an unending orchestra of high pitched ear wrenching tones.
I have nothing to focus on except this feedback.
The motorcycle vibrations help and I can't wait to ride, I want to feel the wind.
Sitting on the bike now, steel, it's okay.
I'm okay, just breathe.
An image of a tree flashes in my mind.
“Don't do that ...” I swallow, straining
I've been working on my truck a lot recently, my only shade is my enemy.
It's overbearing to me, I don't think in pictures I think in words. This tree will kill me yet.
None of the pictures are ever good, not anymore, but that's how they started.
I yearn for a good picture, but it never happens.
The birds sing as if to mock me?
For my hope...
“Don't do that, you're fine, everyone is fine. Know your place.”
My fingerless gloves touch metal, slightly cold, the gas tank, blue, silver stripes, leather straps, chrome buckles. Really a classic retro looking modern cafe racer. I was proud of it. I named it Dash because it was so nimble on short roads, sidewalks ... people's yards ... stairs ... you can run a lot of places with low torque normal size vehicles can't, and stealthier too.
I'm thirsty ...
Well we are at a gas station, we've got time.
It has a self checkout here which I like, I have to interact with people less that way.
I feel like they should all have these.
I'm a caffeine addict at this point, at least the shits legal and I've probably put worse in my body.
I wish I could drink coffee though I think as I pass by the machine.
It always makes me nauseous from the smell.
I usually just tell people I don't know why, but I'm lying.
With every fiber of my being I wish I could though, I had one that was good.
It always tastes better when someone else makes it, and everyone else makes me nauseous ...
I like fruit flavors I guess, they all taste worse than vodka, I think.
I get to the self checkout.
$4.01 highway robbery, yeah, poison me and take my money.
Do I have a penny ?
I thought I had a penny... annoying ...
lets just do this, 20
The machine is card only ...
Fuck me.
I hear a voice.
"Fuck ..." softly trailing ... seductive ...
I can't see anything at first, but her...
Head tilted to the right, hair laid across the bed. A single strand is enough to glisten in the sunlight as if asking permission to touch the color radiance belonging to this being.
This being immeasurable.
Imperfect,
Beautiful,
Sharp,
Daggers...
The only light is her fire that I was privileged enough to be kept warm with, but now, it burns me. I am ashes.
I turn to look around but no one else is in the store except me and the cashier lady.
Who is just staring. Chewing gum loudly.
"Breathe" I exhale a deep audible sigh.
She probably thinks I'm stealing something...
I tik, an audible "click" comes from the left side of my mouth.
“Don't do this right now.”
“But you're tired, this is the best time.”
“Stop talking to me, I don't care about your perception of time, go think you're smart somewhere else.”
“Ask her.”
“You're an idiot, I'm not doing that, it's not why I'm here.”
“Come on, You're in a minefield, but you'll never get out if you don't take a step forward. Maybe you don't explode where you are, but everyone else is as they leave you behind.”
“You don't know shit, go away asshole.”
“Go to her, ask her.”
“I can't, I'm thirsty.”
“She’s going to throw you away like always. There's nothing you can do. You'll break again.”
“What the fuck is wrong with you, that doesn't matter. We know that.”
I'm visibly annoyed now.
"You're more obtuse than normal."
I hate men.
I used to think I just hated certain types of men,
but now it’s almost a universal rule.
I’m a man.
I know how bad I can be.
It’s rare to see better.
It's not grandiose or anything we're mostly just shit.
The only difference is how bad we smell, and how big we are.
I don’t feel sorry for anyone like me.
I just hate them.
Maybe that’s judgmental.
I don’t care.
I'll fight a man, over just about anything at almost any time.
I'm afraid of women ...
“Ask her, just be kind to her. Is there really anything else you need to do ?”
“I just want things to be ... normal ... I had a good day, I didn't have to hide. Can't you just let me have that ?”
“Look closer, you missed something... What kind of day did they have?”
“I'm not here to participate in those games.”
“You're still wrong. Who's the idiot now ?”
“You mean ... ? What type of day did she have?”
“Better, but you don't have that answer now do you? Something's wrong. Ask her ...”
The once empty room phased in quickly, with me still, startled.
I'm standing at the self check out motionless.
The cashier is masticating loudly, chomping gum with an open mouth.
I chew gum constantly, old habits die hard, but at least it's not razors anymore...
I know people hate it, masticate to your fucking self ...
I tik, an audible "click" from the side of my mouth
My head jerks, a little more violently than I would like, as I force myself to move towards the cashier.
“Excuse me, miss?”
Just don't call me a pet name I think to myself.
“What's up sweetie,” the attendant replied in a very wanna be southern belle accent that I hated.
She drew out her words too long for what seemed to be purposeful speech, in her mind.
“I'm hungry. I need some kind of snack, can you recommend a candy bar of some sort for me ?”
Sometimes they play along, those are the good ones, fun.
“Well I don't know babe. What kind of candy you like ?”
Sometimes they say shit like this, no fun.
Don't call me pet names, I don't belong to you.
Just... be nice.
“How about you pick out what you would get. Your favorite ? I'll try that.” I say smiling
...Or at least what I felt was a smile.
It gets confusing if you can't see yourself.
I don't always know what I look like.
“Well I dunno honey, I guess everyone loves Reese?”
She guesses, no good, I need you to know ...
“Is this your favorite ? Reese ?”
“No, I like Caramello.”
... No fun, I don't want to play anymore.
Scanning the counter for Caramello I accidentally spot a mini Heath bar pack.
I have to buy those.
If I like her, we both get Caramello
Only she, gets Caramello
I get something for the blade through my chest.
I pay for my drink and the candy bars sliding the Caramello to the lady at the counter as I walk away.
She smiles and thanks me, I'm no longer interested in her voice.
I raise my hand and wave as a gesture to signal I heard what she said, but the truth was I didn't care.
At least I can sing again I think as I grab my helmet, and maybe she'll dance.
A flash of a smile comes in my mind, her smile. The pictures torment me. I see her dance, just a little every now and then. Sort of sliding with her feet, it gives me hope. The pictures started so good, now everything just leads to bad candy, and we never get any. The worst memories are the best moments taken away I think, putting the candy in my bag. I throw my leg over Dash and turn the music on in my helmet, frantically trying to escape the electricity between my ears.
The universe mocks us? For our hope.
We miss her, and the wind.
