My abode/camp/disaster area has steadily eroded into a place of wolves, night badgers and roaming packs of vicious dogs. It is not a hell where one lives or even can survive but merely a place where one waits to die. One does not "Invite people over" or most likely tell anyone about your plight at all. You simply endure in silent terror because you know no one can help (and those who claim they can are vampires in disguise hoping to find you in a weak moment. Monsters all!)
In temporary escape I visit the warm domain of bbd who has stuff strewn everywhere as he's in the process of moving to a faraway place. To be presentable I had to stop off at a public restroom to clean up as there's no time for such niceties in my day-to-day existence. "Normal" is a word I must appear to be but never actually reach.
Books/albums/movies are what my eyes always zero in on first in any house. Where's the art? Barry has a monster amount of these and it's in the midst of this hustle and bustle I find a temporary home rummaging through huge boxes of goodies, hoping to find items not worth the effort of moving.
As I do this, Barry's wife notices some of these long stored items and it triggers long ago memories from when she and Barry were first starting out. They had started with nothing and from what she was telling me they have been on a continuous journey of building up their life until they had this present day mansion of a marriage. It was tough for me to hear since my life has only gone in the opposite direction.
Sure enough, I find a Japanese novel in Barry's collection and in my excitement he lets me have it without my even asking. I start thinking my tastes might overlap enough that there might be some more treasures in store! I feel as if I'm digging for gold as Barry and his wife continue the laborious operation of packing and organizing. Once again, I must get by on the kindness of others.
I compartmentalize in moments like this, pretending my life is normal when in fact it's a raging fire. I have no home to go back to, my health is failing and I so dread heading back to the wolves and vampires who know I must return. At this very moment I'm living in Barry's moving box all the while hearing the ticking clock. I must steal these few moments even if they remind me of what I do not have.
Then I come across the mother load: "FUSHIMA". A giant Japanese novel perhaps a foot wide and 18 inches in length. The thickness must be a good 7 inches. It's covered in an extremely overpadded yellow bound leather. What an ancient relic to find! I told Barry I had seen the movie of course but never even knew it was based on a book. I wanted to hold it and hug this transfusion of life.
Fearing her husband to be too gracious in the face of my vast but narrow enthusiasm, she quickly pops up, "Oh no, you can't let him have your FUSHIMA book!" Looking at it further I could see all sorts of writing on it tying it to the time the movie was released in 1983. I'm thinking, "Oh shit. This is not just a book but an heirloom, a momento of their past, of a time and place." I felt duly ashamed for my insensitivity.
"Haha, I'll give you a nickel for it!" I said. That gave Barry an obvious offer to reject so all our faces could be saved. I wondered what the story was behind the purchase of the book, a purchase of obvious passion to have spent so much money at a time when they probably had very little. Embarrassed, I wandered onto the rolling acreage easily the size of a park surrounding the house. I can trespass here now because I know the owners but soon this land will be forbidden to me like all others.
The day is clear and bright as I wander through the landscaping implemented over the years, bubbling creeks and concrete divides. My mind is compressed into tears but I tell it I've got to enjoy this moment however fleeting regardless of my having no future. God, I wish I could rest! The day begs for it as I'm haunted by decisions of my past. I can't go on like this. I can't go on. The sun hides behind a sudden cloud.
Back in the house, Barry's wife strikes up a friendly conversation with me perhaps worried I might have been offended by her protection of the family memento. She spoke of some piano wire she had bought but my mind was still lost outside hoping to find refuge from my inside. I made an absentminded comment and realized I couldn't hide here anymore. Damn, I want a home of my own.
Hoping to elongate the period of distraction I immediately start my search for the FUSHIMA novel. But back on my own, the pressures of the day cloud me into confusion. Seems the book was part of a larger collection. Or was the whole collection called FUSHIMA? I couldn't tell as I looked at this roundabout of Japanese books in futility at a street corner bookstore. For some reason simply looking it up at Amazon was impossible too. I was never going to find that book again.
And thus ended the time of my distraction, returning me slip-siding back into hell. I begged for more time but I knew the search for the book was hopeless no matter how much I wanted to believe the lie. The wolves, the pack dogs, the vampires descended from the darkness, mocking me, asking, "What are you going to do? How can you possibly survive with no purpose, no love, no retreat?" They hold no conscience or scruple - nor even see a reason to. Just a clear, focused devouring of my life their sole commitment.
Alone and abandonded I scream out for help but all the humans have packed up and left. Like a drowning man lunging for the surface I wake up, hair wet and heart pounding. That's all my life is, I realize. Distractions and dancing to the music of others. For a time, through an effort more enormous than the Normandy invasion, more steel willed than a one-legged marathoner I can achieve a facsimilie of normality. But I ask you: How does one find restful slumber under the blade of a guillotine day after day?
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