A Funny Story Is At Four He Taught Himself How To Ride A Bike

There’s a reason they call them crushes.
There’s a reason they call it falling in love.
There’s a reason they call it being hooked.
It’s painful.

Inherent romance.
Inherent agony.
Inherent pain.

Nothing’s there.
As much as I or anyone wants to believe that something’s there, nothing’s there.
There’s nothing there.

In the space between us there’s no tension.
No longing.
No pieces of incomplete puzzles.
No desperate feelings.

Nothing comes in.
Nothing comes out.
Our gazes don’t meet.
Nor do our mouths.

 

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The Farewell Blues

This is one of the times when you don’t want your cigarette to burn out. Yesterday the sky was clear, and I could see more stars than I’m supposed to see in this place. I saw Orion, the only constellation I can tell apart from the others, and I thought about how he always seems to accompany me. There’s a whole bunch of stars that we’re not supposed to see on the other side of the world. That’s a given. Wherever we are, we get to look up and see the exact same thing at night. In the reflection of the dark blue sky we can see each other smiling from below watching the stars. This is how we know we exist in each other. Our presence, it binds us. Our lines, they bind us to one another.

This is one of those nights when you don’t want to finish your beer. Lying in the grass, we get to see so much in each other, even looking at the ground. We share dreams and aspirations and past experiences. All we ever see of each other is a tiny dot moving across a line that we call time. All we ever see of each other is our old memories. We remember. I close my eyes and I see you, sitting next to me, looking at the floor looking at me. Looking at the clouds and the stars and the planes that land not far from where we are. We take pride in how we can see all these things and still get up in the morning.

Twenty-first century men we are. Getting on planes, making phone calls, sleeping on long trips. Hoping we get home one day. Home is all we really cherish. A bed. A familiar face. A familiar body. Our old photos together. A ticket in our hand. A suitcase trailing our steps, writing our story. A seal in our passport. We long for home wherever we are. We long for phone calls and letters. We long for a smile and a warm drink. The stains in our suits tell the stories of our accidents. Our wedding rings show our commitment, but not as much as our shiny shoes. Our ironed shirts and pants. New socks. New jacket. Our sober patterned ties. The smell of cologne. How others perceive us. Our goals and achievements. A picture of our wives in our wallet.

We talk about basing our lives on ourselves and not on others, but we are doomed for admiration. You and me, we are destined for great things. We will be on the cover of magazines and newspapers. We’ll call each other and congratulate ourselves on the great work we’ve done. Despite the distance between us, we will always be great friends. We’ll go to weddings and funerals together. We’ll laugh about old jokes and habits and remember. So many memories to share, you and me. Someday, I will stand here, and look at that sky beneath which we drank and joked and laughed and cried, and get lost in those memories. I will remember how your face looks right now. I will see your face, and smile.

That's Probably It, Man.

Mostly I think it’s the fact I’m not eating well. That’s got to be it right? It’s the fact that I’m not eating well and not sleeping well and overall just getting along. That’s got to be it right? I should eat better. That’s got to be it.

I overslept half an hour today. When my alarm clock rang I just turned it off and thought “That was not a good idea”, but slept anyway. I was not tired. I think the word I would use is “indisposed”. I barely had time to have breakfast, even though I usually don’t have breakfast. That’s got to be it right? The not having breakfast. That’s got to be it right?

When I’m really tired and start dozing off I get these flash dreams which I’m sure are real and then I wake up and I’m somewhere else. It’s very strange because it doesn’t take me more than five seconds to really believe I’m at school or at the laboratory or pretty much anywhere else and then I wake up and my computer is on and I’m sitting on my bed and it takes me longer than five seconds to convince myself this is reality. Plus the flash dreams are really weird and mostly not longer than ten seconds. That’s got to be it right? The flash dreams. That’s got to be it right?

An Open Letter To King Tiran From David Marlon

My hamster exploded.

He was small and fragile and he was my only friend. My parents gave him to me as a gift for my fourth birthday. When I was lying in my bed at night, I would let him out of his cage and he would walk around my bed and play with me. I took pictures of him exploring around my sheets. I hugged him. He was not afraid of me. Then he exploded.

My hamster exploded.

Into a thousand million pieces.

Poof.

Blood in my hands and in my hair. Brains in my open mouth. Tiny pieces of stomach and undigested sunflower seeds on my shirt and pants. His eyes on my lap looking at me. Small and fragile. Small and fragile in a thousand million pieces. Small, fragile, his eyes on my lap and his brains in my mouth. Neuronal signals still pulsing through his brain. What just happened. Why am I in pieces. Why did I just explode. David, why did I just explode. Hug me David. I love you David. Why did I explode, David. Tiny pieces of brain in my mouth. Tastes of tiny thoughts and tiny pieces of sunflower seeds he did not get to eat because he exploded.

My hamster exploded.

The first time I met William he said it was sad but awesome. Sad that my hamster exploded. Awesome because I could taste his thoughts. His tiny thoughts. In my dreams. My dreams of him walking on me. My dreams of him exploring. My dreams of him being this tiny creature that loved me because I loved him back. Dreaming of him dreaming of me dreaming of him not exploding. Walking on me. Exploring. Exploding.

Poof.

Because my hamster exploded I wear gloves. Because my hamster exploded I don’t touch people. I’m not antisocial, I just don’t touch people. With my hands. I don’t touch people with my hands because my hamster exploded. I don’t want people to explode so I don’t touch them. I don’t want people to explode like my hamster exploded. I don’t want to taste people’s thoughts like I tasted my hamster’s thoughts. When it exploded. When they explode. What they are thinking when they exploded into a million pieces. Like my hamster.

My hamster exploded.

Rocks explode, but they don’t feel anything. Rocks don’t feel pain. Rocks don’t think about me loving them or being their friend or exploring around and under my sheets. Rocks were not given to me as a gift for my fourth birthday. Rocks don’t walk on me. Rocks are not my friends nor do they have tiny feet. Rocks don’t think about dying or being blasted into a million tiny pieces or what happens after that. Rocks are not my hamster. Rocks are not people. Rocks explode but I don’t care. I can’t taste the rocks. I can’t possibly know what rocks are thinking because rocks don’t think. They don’t think, like my hamster did. My hamster, who I exploded. By accident.

By accident.

It was an accident.

My hamster exploded.

By accident.

I couldn’t control it. I didn’t know I could do it. Explode things. I didn’t know I could do it. I don’t think anyone knew I could do it. Now they know. That’s why I don’t touch them. So they don’t explode. Into a million tiny pieces. A million bigger sized pieces. William says it’s awesome. Says he could use that. In his movement. His revolutionary movement. Tells me to call him “King of the Rays”. He says he can sprout lighting like I can make things explode. With my hands. I say, wouldn’t that make you “King of Lightning”. He says, I prefer it my way. He killed his dog of electroshock when he was six. Like I exploded my hamster. He killed his dog. By accident. He didn’t explode. He just died. His dog, he died. He died by electroshock. Like the electric chair, he says, without the chair. He laughs. It’s a memory. He doesn’t electrocute stuff anymore. Or people. He doesn’t electrocute stuff or animals or people. King of the Rays.

The point is I exploded my hamster.

What I want you to understand is that my hamster exploded.

Poof.

By accident.

Into a thousand million pieces.

But what’s going to happen to you and your kingdom is not going to be an accident.

The looming feeling that I’m not good enough looms over me like a jealous fly over a week old potato. I’m having that feeling when I feel I should just arrange my body into a fetal position, then roll over and die. I really want to roll over and die.

I don’t even know why.

I’m sure there must be a fairly specific reason but I can’t seem to put my finger on it.

It’s just…

Nothing feels mine you know?

It’s all someone else’s and I’m just dirtying it with my hands and sooner or later I will have to give it back and I know I’m gonna be sorry for the state it’s gonna be in.

It’s just…

Looks and pictures and small gestures and stuff like that. It’s fucking driving me insane. Like mental institution insane.