(no subject)
less than twenty-four hours before i hop into a car aimed westward. time of return uncalculated. twenty-four hours left of being sure of where i am. i put on my happy glasses, assume that favored state of mind, and step out into the drizzle, the cold, to head up town and indulge in one last tango with the civilized. twenty-four steps before i realize i've forgotten my lighter. thirty before a man walking west down lake street asks to trade his small pocket knife for a cigarette. "okay", i say, "so long as you've got a lighter to support me." he doesn't, but he has expired matches. i strike through the remainder of the book before i get mine lit. he hands me the silver knife and i accept it. not because i want it, not because it's a fair deal, but simply to respect the true virtue of trade. he turns. i turn. no goodbye. two more blocks and a woman walking west down lake street asks me where she can buy cigarettes. her daughter looks familiar. out of character i see them to the tobacco store. we each buy a pack. they wish me luck. i must've mentioned that i'd just graduated. i regret telling them and continue on my way. a few stores down i find i am desperately unsure of why i'd come. so i leave.
[i've revolved around this celestial orb nearly twenty-four times now. and it seems it's enough. i've witnessed the burnout of plenty of stars. i've acted as spectator to multiple doomsday extravaganzas. i've lent myself emotionally to absurd histrionics. i've cackled to oblivion upon re-usurping the human condition. but listen: i don't relativize time to outer space. rather, i track it by fallen cigarette butts and disposed plastic bags. seasons coalesce into one endless inferno, today, and i limit my attire accordingly. there is but one day and i am but one witness of it and any beliefs beyond are appropriated only for eternal ease of living. and someday i will finally fall. fall asleep. concede the battle. and i imagine it's like anything else. it's like stubbing your toe, shotgunning cheap beer, unromantic skinny-dipping in the romantic light of city night... i imagine it's like anything else.]
now just a block from my house, heading west, i cross behind a car stopped at the sign. my eyes connect with those of the young girl seated passenger. i look away, keep walking, but i can feel her gaze pulling me back. i don't see the truck turning south off of lake street. i don't feel its attention tugging me any-which-way. in fact i don't feel anything at all.
but i imagine someone ambitious coming along and lifting the fresh pack of cigarettes from the pocket of my jacket before the police arrive, along with the ipod, the razr, and the five twenties stuffed in my shoe. i picture my body being used for unorthodox medical experiments. i see an enemy purporting to be my friend and claiming the bulk of my possessions. i witness the scouring of my hard drive and the subsequent shock of my parents and friends. i watch my name driven into the dirt and that dirt urgently shot into space. i imagine virtues besmirched and vices glorified in the fadeout of my memory.
and i am okay with all of this. or none of it. at this point i can only be okay with anything. disturbed by nothing.