Over and over, day after day, this was all that was heard from the three prisoners tied to the crosses at the St. Augustine prison for the criminally insane.
Judas cursed. Not a soul on the planet - including himself - had an ounce of trust left in him. His life could not be salvaged. To breathe was to die alive. The only silver lining of his existence was to serve as a warning to others. Without trust, what could he have? No love, no friends, no family. Just a vast aching emptiness from which he could never escape having been stripped of all his deceit. He was an alien to his own species, outcast to even himself, reliving the moment of betrayal over and over, his time in the sun done in the name of acceptance.
Margo the murderess also could not believe what she'd done. When her mother was run over by a drunk driver she swore vengeance - against life. She killed first the one then the other of the driver's two children. The driver had refused to show up in court so she served as her own angel of justice. The world and the universe had let her down and she just couldn't let that slide. She was owed. But after collecting her debt she found out the alleged driver was covering for someone else. She'd twice over committed the crime which she sought to revenge. Her injustices had been done in the name of justice.
Linnon was nothing without having tried. He did nothing, he said nothing, he loved nothing. He had nothing to offer, so why try? He was not sentenced to the prison, he came of his own accord, but came to belong by virtue of his nurtured insanity. As he stayed on the cross it gradually dawned on him he did have something to offer, that he'd come for no reason, that his tragedies were needless and self-induced. He sharply contradicted anyone who said he had something to offer, though, as that made his choice of the cross unbearable. He foolishness done in the name of not being a fool.
So the three wailed in perpetual torment, hoping against hope for redemption. Judas had himself nailed just as Jesus had been thinking that would help atone for his deed. But it made no difference whatsoever and could never make a difference.
Margo was tightly bound to keep her from committing more murders but surrounded with pictures of her victims whom she'd hope to deny ever existed in her vain pursuit of finding a sliver of rationale for their murders. The blood stains on her hands were for life.
Linnon dare not untie himself even though he could have anytime. What would he happen if he got off now and proved himself worthy to the world? He'd be mocked for his many, many years he'd spent uselessly and foolishly on the cross. If he stayed, he could complete his deterioration and none would be the wiser.
Like biting snakes, lies of each of the three kept them in constant agony, having given up on the truth as savior. By trying to keep their lives they had lost them.
"It's everything you'd want out of a soul-crushing nightmare of lifelessness trapped in an isolation chamber driving you to the edge of the universe sitting on a cliff-side of madness."
"Jesus! Is it really all that? You sound desperate."
"Don't worry. If I wanted to live I'd put a bullet in my head."
Another Lonely Day:
Forcing and Faking. That's how I get through every day. Only I'm not making it through. Just takes another piece out of me. Then there's nothing left and you die. Who thought up this shithole?
Another Lonely Day:
I'm bored. Bored beyond all description, bordering on madness. What is life on a meaningless moon? Our fate is already known, the news belongs to yesterday. A boy jumps into a pool, refusing to come to the surface. Either he does or drowns. "Debate" rages.
"I believe in the boy! He can make it!" "That's insane. You're no friend of his signing his death warrant." "You're just projecting your own inability to breathe underwater onto him. Loser!"
Why say anything? The outcome is known. The weight of waiting for the movie to begin has me slumping ever deeper into my seat.
Another Lonely Day (12th Version):
Ran across this girl in a nightmare - turns out I'd already let her down before I met her. Lost a bar fight that didn't happen. When out through the Out door even though the In door was cocked open. Goosebumped a miracle I dare not admit. Wished upon a Starpower. Punched a pillow fifty times. Did dishes as I left my art in San Francisco.
Another Lonely Day:
Nothing is fun. Nothing means anything. All these people "saving" the world don't have a clue. I wish I didn't have a clue so I could delude myself like that. Everything is used up, burned out; drained. Saw some idiot Democrap on TV barking how at some point they're going to have a hearing on some thing with some person. And that's when they'll get the bad guy! Jesus, everyone is playacting just like I am. At the end of they it gets you nowhere. That's when the nightmares begin.
Another Lonely Day:
Acting on the business phone:
"Yeah, yeah, I was thinking about that too. What did so-and-so say?...No comment on that. Foresight isn't a crime, ya know...OK, guess the piano has to fall on us before they'll do anything...We really need new leadership! There's a way to make things work, they just aren't doing it anymore. We should really discuss this...OK, great! Sounds like a plan!"
After hanging up: "Who gives a flying fuck."
Another Lonely Day:
So I found the perfect home for me. It has some acreage just aching to become a Japanese garden. I even looked at ones costing much more but this is the one. Price is 670k, about 660k more than I have. ("Hey, there, Mr. Homeless, I know a secret how you can get that house! And luckily my fee is exactly 10k!" Yup, predators know when and where to lay their traps.) Big, but not too big where I'd lose the cats I'd no doubt acquire. Yes, I'd have plans aplenty for it.
But they can never be. Were I handed all the money in the world, it could never be. I just wouldn't be free. Only on the streets am I free. At times like now, I do daydream about the impossible, holding it out as the solution to all my problems knowing it can never be proven false. Brilliant! I'm forever trapped in purgatory. Inside that house I'd feel it a prison, longing for the streets. In the street, I'd long to be in a house like that. I need to be wherever I'm not.
I'd take it if I could, of course. I'd be secretly terrified while acting deliriously happy, as expected. Then when alone I'd pull a blanket over my head and wish to die, a citizen marooned on foreign soil. All I have is the wheel in the sky.
“Just like this, the great city Babylon will be thrown down with violence and will never be found again. The sound of harps, singers, flutes, and trumpets will never be heard in you again. No craftsmen and no trades will ever be found in you again. The sound of the mill will never be heard in you again. The light of a lamp will never shine in you again. The happy voices of brides and grooms will never be heard in you again. For your merchants were the greatest in the world, and you deceived the nations with your sorceries. In your streets flowed the blood of the prophets and of God’s holy people and the blood of people slaughtered all over the world.”
You went too far, folks. You idiots really are laughing, thinking you're safe, anointing blessings on yourself - as if that which comes from you has meaning. You're going to die and die ugly. That's when I'll be laughing, watching you drown in the lies you used to ruin so many lives: families destroyed with their voices denied, children born into hopelessness, all the while falsifying of your ways. Well, moron, now it's true. There really is no other way for you. No more excuses are to be had. No one can claim ignorance anymore, that seal has broken. Your time has finally come. Like a light that burns brightest just before it dies, so shall the laughter of evil grow before it's never heard again. At last the land will be free and recognized the green grasses belong to all. Never again can someone come in the night to plant weeds among the flowers. The unity of love won't allow it. It's sad that it's come to this. Every chance has been given. None were taken. This ending is not what was desired. You were supposed to see the horror and turn away from that path. But nothing shakes you. So I shall break this seal. You allow me to do it because you do not believe I can - and cannot admit you believe wrongly. You can only kill me now when it's too late. But I will die with a smile on my face and a song in my heart, knowing the hell that is to come to you who bring hell. Nature must take Her course.
Psychologist: You have to understand: Yes, I was his therapist for a time but he was very good at compartmentalizing. At no point was I advised of any illegal activity.
FBI Special Agent: We're not here to arrest or make any accusations, ma'am. This is a routine examination to complete our files.
Psychologist: But I don't know anything.
FBI Special Agent: That's for us to decide.
Psychologist: And he's dead...
FBI Special Agent: First, can you describe his overall psychological condition?
Psychologist: He was depressed with suicidal impulses, prone to rage. My impression at the time was that he was unstable and that instability was getting worse. There's more there in the notes.
FBI Special Agent: Thank you, but we'd rather hear it from you first and compare the notes later. Please continue.
Psychologist: Well, he was an interesting character in a way. It was almost as if...actually, I remember it being directly related to his personal life.
FBI Special Agent: "It" being what?
Psychologist: His career, the assassinations. Feeling he had nothing to offer from within he objectified himself into the most impersonal profession he could find. He was emotionally starved and that drove him to do what he did.
FBI Special Agent: Can you explain further? He shot people because he was lonely?
Psychologist: No, not like that. He kept trying and failing at personal relationships. His personal failures left him flailing for self-worth. From what I understood he was valued in his profession. The "hits" were his home. But that obviously gave him a hellish place to live. Thus, the increasing instability I observed. When I read of his suicide in the paper that seemed a logical end to me.
FBI Special Agent: Were any of his assassinations then personal?
Psychologist: Hard to say. My sense was he he did kill once for personal reasons. He could not stop punishing himself for it. I remember something like "after that I sabotaged every relationship. I deserve nothing." I do know on occasion he confessed his career, so it must be this illicit killing he felt was a permanent barrier.
FBI Special Agent: Interesting. Do you remember any other specifics he may have told you, even if he did not directly relate them to a crime?
Psychologist: What I remember most was the despair, a sense of doom, that regardless of any decision he made to "go straight" it was overridden by the mistakes of his past - and that he kept adding to those mistakes. I do know things changed after his trip to Russia. He wanted out but he had nowhere to go.
FBI Special Agent: What exactly drove him to see you? Was there a specific incident?
Psychologist: Oh, yes. It was the nude drive thru incident. He never fully recovered from the media exposure. He grasped onto many answers afterwards, I was but one, just like with the Mormonism.
FBI Special Agent:Mormonism? As in he joined the church?
Psychologist: More like he joined the outreach program going door to door. It didn't last long. He told me he could speak God's own truth but no one would believe him even if it cost them their life. I know it sounds crazy but it's all in the notes.
FBI Special Agent: Yes, ma'am. Thanks you for your time. We may have more questions after we more closely examine the notes.
Psychologist: Just one more thing, Agent Johnson. I've been ordered by courts to assess many types of criminals but Goupil was unique. Whatever he had wanted out of life he clearly did not get. It was as if he was on a mission to prove he couldn't have what he wanted, most likely in a need for self-justification for the path he'd taken. Whenever he got close to what he wanted, he either ran away or sabotaged it rather than face it and the totality of the errors of his ways. If you're trying to piece together his life, that was the logic of it as far as he was concerned. "Tragedy" was the word that kept coming to my mind.
NOTE: In the screenplay version of this the Agent is attracted to the Therapist (who happens to be smokin' hot). This makes the conversation about "getting what you want" have an undertone of placing the Agent (and thus the audience) in Goupil's shoes and whether or not he can believe he can have what he wants. She remains ambiguous throughout.
At this point I could be on any planet in the universe.
Losing the city lights, diving into the sightless nighttime countryside, deeper and deeper, living at the mercy of rural strangers who claim the surrounding land as their own, people hiding behind religion and fear, isolated by the fantasies in their mind. What if I told them that being Christian doesn't make you good but that being good makes you Christian? They would have to agree - then silently start making plans for my demise.
I drive within the framework of my courier job, hundreds of miles overnight to my drop off locations, an expected person taking prescriptions to nursing homes and hospitals wards. This shapes what is in my head. What if I were carrying illicit cargo, a drug mule for an outfit? How would I feel then while driving the exact same road at the exact same time? What if my car were transported and suddenly I was driving across the Russian heartland? This same simple act of driving, my head makes the experience, though.
My life is in ruins. Back at the dispatch office I carry on my act. I can't wait to make my escape to the open road. But what does it solve? What can it solve? My book echoes in my ears. The movie even louder. Women I let down call out. I gaze at the ditch just off the side of the narrow highway, inviting me to finish my doom. I wonder why I carry on. Surely there can be no possible point by now. If someone could see my face, it must look grim in the reflection of the dashboard light.
I process the Paul Stanley interview I watched. He said he had no boundaries set for him as a kid and that made life rough, out there flailing on his own. He said he wouldn't make that mistake with his own young children. KISS didn't have concerts, they had events. It was like stepping into another world. They instinctively terrified the squares. That faded over time. But you know what drove all that initial hysteria? They made their own boundaries.
There's almost nothing left of me. Only Emily even has the capacity to know my sins. "Irreplaceable she is," I hear in my Yoda voice. God help me when that story makes the papers. But it won't in this time. I'll simply crash at some point in a drowsy accident and I'll become just another anonymous statistic. She'll be rightly disgusted when she reads of it. I create in a place where people can't read me without also facing themselves. That is my protection. It has proven wildly effective.
Oh, crap. Couldn't hit the knob in time to turn off the top-of-the-hour news before I got a whiff of it. Goddam that Trumptard. Some supporter squawked how it's "politically stupid" to impeach the monster. Reality is just the opposite. It would weaken him and suppress the vote. Yeah, a certain percentage of the followers are zealots but raising the hurdle for the shame to be overcome in voting for and endorsing his murderous and treasonous behavior will cause deterioration at the edges which is all it takes to sink him. And those are the same people who are lured in by a perception of strength regardless of who it is. Public rejection is the key.
The bottomless hole of uselessness awaits me when I get back to my hole. Every time I enter I have to quickly shut the front door as I hear the thud of arrows striking it that were meant for me. No place is safe. Stay holed up for a few hours, retrieve provisions as needed, then I'm back in this same spot all over again driving all over creation. I see other people struggling with this too. When you hear the "Be grateful for what you have" crowd you know they've simply given up.
I secretly miss Emily. She'd have my head on a post if she knew. I rarely miss an opportunity to lie about her however innocuous. No one can know how I feel. It was my final chance to face if I had something to offer or not. These people in these farmhouses I pass by don't feel they have anything to offer city dwellers - and vice-versa. If everyone came clean they'd be shocked how different the truth really is. I can't apply that to me for some reason.
Jesus, this country smell is incredibly uplifting. Taking in the air of dew covered grasses is a rush. Makes me wonder how much life I - we - are missing when a simple smell can bring such joy. This planet we shit on is an amazing gift. This feeling makes me want to live forever. I would like to fall asleep in the grass and watch the pure sun rise up over a glorious horizon. It would be as when the world was young, unpolluted by fictional beliefs that chain us. We'd exist to dream. Yes, it would be better than winning any lottery if I could stay in this moment of freedom. I would fall into God and fly forever.
Good evening Mister and Missus America and all the ships at sea. Let's go to press. Flash!
Los Angeles! Our Great and Glorious government was forced by an unruly and rebellious population into using further drone strikes in order to maintain order. Barricades of many upper class neighborhoods had been breached despite the best efforts of their private forces who shot down many of the mob but were nonetheless overwhelmed. A disgusted Republicant woman protested. "Just who does these people think they are with their outrageous sense of entitlement? If they deserved food, they'd have food. The free market may not be perfect but it's the best and only way."
Spoken like a true American!
Wall Street! In other news of undue resentment, accusations continue to fly that numbers are being manipulated and arbitrarily changed at will by those willing to be bribed. These, folks, are the numbers we live and die by. There is no higher god than our numbers. So it's completely irresponsible to undermine our Godly faith in them. The poor must continue to fund the rich. Keep the American dream alive!
Middle East! Threats of peace were quickly squelched by our mighty military men. Civilian massacres by our troops were able to re-stoke the flames of war causing fighting to resume in order to fulfill prophecy. In related news, suicides by our soldiers have skyrocketed but this is not a cause for concern. Though often gravely stoic, our compassionate generals have declared all suicides will now be buried with honor and also no longer count as causalities. This gives us a great statistical win for war! Let's give the brass a hand, folks.
San Francisco! The kidnapping of the Zuckerberg baby remains unsolved. A cryptocurrency ransom demanded through a Facebook profile was paid but has yet to produce any tangible results. CEO Zuckerberg aimed the blame squarely on Congressional legislation passed over the years. "This is a direct result of onerous privacy laws that disallow us to electronically eavesdrop and data mine our users. Yes, we've determined the kidnappers buy their underwear at Target but we always need more and better information!" Conspiracy theorists continue to claim the kidnapping is a hoax perpetrated by Zuckerberg in order to get privacy laws repealed. Washington D.C.! Lawful kidnappings continue to rise with the support of new legislation. Children of poor parents, non-white parents, or parents of the party currently out of power are being taken in record numbers to good safe conservative homes across the country with absolutely no record of their final destination. Too many people say the news focuses solely on the negative so I wanted to end tonight's broadcast on a high note, a heartwarming story to unite us and bring us all together.
Yeah, I did it. Don't try to hide it at all. People is sheeple and I's da man of the hour, all eyes on me - just how I like it. If you do something for attention, sheeple understands that and won't get mad. And if any radicals do get mad, just call them 'mean' and then you're the victim. Sweet!
Trick is not to be publicly ashamed of anything you do. Da sheeples will figure you must of done nothing wrong if you're not acting ashamed! Don't you love sheeple logic?? Facts are no fun and truth makes us look bad. It's only in politics where all our fantasies can come true - so politics is where I wanna live!
So after I done that rapin' of her daughter, mean ol' Nancy said all sorts of bad things about me. She goes on TV and everything just to make me look bad! The nerve of her. She said I did a crime and it was really bad and I should have to pay and a whole bunch of other dastardly things. She was so boiling mad she was "right on the verge" of actually filing charges. Yikes!
But, hey, I know something she don't: there ain't no rules in politics! Dummies like her think there is. I hears them say shit like "Da sheeple ain't stupid" so they's always afraid sheeples won't like them. But sheeples like it when you treat them like shit! They think that means they got a future, I kids you not.
So all I had to say is my dick is a Republican and she's being all divisive and shit just like she always complaining everyone else is. All the peeps on my side loved it! "He's hurting the people we hate! Woohoo!" And I go on TV and say how I got nothing agin Nancy or even her daughter I raped and I was willing to eat dinner with them sometime. But they both come back on TV all snotty and shit after my generous offer - and then she goes straight down in da polls!
Next I hires me a lawyer who'll say anything anytime. Her name is Julie Onney. We have meetings where we laugh our asses off making up shit. Then my lawyer go on TV saying it right out loud! "Nancy Pelosi is a sexist, picking on my client only because he's a male. And she's also the worst kind of hypocrite. We all know had my client been a Democrat she wouldn't be saying a word right now - not a word! This is clearly a partisan attack and the American people won't stand for it." All the base people loved it!
Me and my peeps are watching them news channels afterwards seeing our shit be repeated over and over and over. We's laughing so hard they actually repeat our crap our sides is hurting! Then they sit around and debate and wonder if we actually mean what we say and get all indignant-like and say all the shit we say is going to blow up in our face and blah, blah, blah. Knock our made up shit all you want - just keep talking about it is all we ask! That's how I keep winning.
We was throwing popcorn at the screen every time ol' Nancy come on. She looks like she's ready to explode. I know I done wrong and she know it too but nothing she can do in her own stupid head! She sits around with her peeps making strategy calls ("If only a Democrat had raped your daughter we'd be tearing him to pieces right now!") and saying only Democrats is good people so they got to do whatever they can to hold onto power and that if they go after me for breaking some laws "he just isn't worth it" cause they think no one will like them no more. Smart thinking there, Fancy Nancy!
Damn, I love me some political! As long as you get enough sheeple to liken the shit you do, you can get away with anything. I hear them TV talking heads on her side saying how "shrewd" Nancy is and that anyone wanting to enforcing laws on me is "radical" and "short-sighted." Amen to that, brother! Shit, man, she going to be this dang dumb I oughtta go hump her daughter again! Political people just ain't normal.
[Epilogue: Just in case you thought she was gonna get any smarter, I ran right into her smart ass in person. So I looks at her and says, "Did you bring your handcuffs?" and started laughing my ass off right in her frozen face!! Guess that stuck in her craw cause later I heard her say she wanted to "see me in prison." She just ain't gonna charge me, HAHA! Thanks for the free pass, Fancy Nancy!]
I read about your plight in the Fort Worth Weekly. It really opened my eyes. We long to believe we live in a world that honors truth. And no matter how sometimes our words and deeds may not reflect that, every soul knows we cannot survive without truth. And that love is the only truth.
One day each of us will have to answer: did I protect the truth or did I protect a lie? The world, I have found, is based on a lie. Many people have built their lives on that lie and will do anything to protect it. They will betray anything and anyone to keep the lie alive. This included themselves.
Their lives are tortured by this so when they see someone who reveals the truth they feel they must do something. It's bewildering to see such venomous responses to innocent acts. These fools lie to themselves, deceiving themselves their actions will somehow "save" them. So pity your captors and persecutors. They are angry you have something they do not: a future.
Hey, honey, I know exactly how you feel! Dang, I done lost count of the years I been single so I got your back, girl. And I've got just the pair for you - just say when and I'll show you them! We may have taken different socioeconomic paths but we sure did end up in the same place: star-crossed lovers doubtless meant to be.
How about a little dining al fresco? It will be scent-illating!
I'll take you to all the best restaurants, ones that throw out only the highest quality eats! And don't worry, I won't let any of the neighborhood cats get to the good stuff before we do. Trust me, you're in for some aromas you never smelled before. Variety is the spice of life, they say!
Yes, yes, who has time for a social life when one has such a busy career??
While doubtful we travel in the same circles, I do think there's much we can talk about. I am a local political activist fighting tooth (literally, I only have one) and nail against these outrageous "No sleeping in the park" ordinances. To be frank, I bet there are many nuances to this you do not understand but, me, I'm more than happy to fill you in! (And, uh, you'll have to join the fight if you want to sleep with me - like I know you will, wink wink.)
I got a thong just like yours!
After I done swept you off your feet, we can sure get to be frolicking in the finest truck stop shower off I-45. We can rub our hineys agin one another - hawt, hawt, hawt! Hey, I been wanting to ask you: you ever had sex in your ear? I got a feeling you're in for something new! Believe me, lady, when you go homeless you never go back (I tried). You would not believe how ready I am to explode! I understand how you be looking for a different class of guy, and baby, I'm the guy for you!
Nobody knows this but me. And even after I tell you, there will still be some who do not know.
I hesitated.
In the fatal moment when my wife slipped in the road before that oncoming truck ran her over, I hesitated. Had I not, she'd be alive. But I hesitated.
It was an instant of revelation. A chance to be free. In the heat of the moment, my true passions gave way. I was hating the relationship and wanted out without saying so. I'd been forcing it down my throat. A voice yelled, "Stop!"
It's on a perpetual loop in my mind. It was a deliberate act on my part. The consolations that surrounded me afterward left me acting a part. That is hell. I will be in that hell rest of my days.
Worst thing that can happen to a liar is success. I'm doomed and trapped in a forgotten hole, no amount of attention is enough. I cry for help in my everyday conversation but no one notices. Please, get me out. Guilt and fear are melting my mind.
So I write this to no one in sheer desperation. Too afraid to say it in real life. That I was so lonely I'd take a bad relationship over no relationship. A loser who needed to appear a winner. Why did that damn moment have to come along! Did I wish it into happening? Jesus, I can't get that thought out of my head.
At night, broken fragments of my acted day come back to haunt me. Don't forget to lie! Don't slip up and let loose you're not sorry she's gone! One perceptive soul "joked" about me being glad I couldn't have done more because then I'd still be stuck with my wife. I could swear there was a menacing twinkle in her eye that put the fear of God into me. It was the last exciting flicker of hope I have known.
It is true, after all. Everything comes out in the wash and we're each destined to come clean. But coming clean exposes me as dirty. I'm isolated, drowning at the bottom of the ocean with the cement weight of this secret hanging around my neck. Maybe that's why the mafia kills people that way, their secrets are killing them and they express that when they kill. Losers all, we liars.
I'm sure there's more I haven't faced. Bottom line is it was a dishonest relationship. I let that fester until it finally boiled over in The Moment. Dear God, what I've done cannot be undone. Looking back, I see anger had taken over my heart. Angry at the dishonesty, angry at the thought my only out was to go back to my life of anguished and tortured loneliness. I was just going to ride out the BS until I died, I figured. I figured wrong.
Like the President, I now love those who hate me. I seek out those who cheer my demise. No, they don't know specifically about The Moment, but they do applaud my insecurity and increasing pettiness. Some are kindred killers, seething in their cages. Others are like I was before The Moment: living a lie they vainly hope will have no consequence. We all share a common hell of Quixotic fights against imagined enemies whom we've deemed superior by virtue of not being us.
"No one else could have been as stupid and pathetic as I've been."
I guess they have their specific reasons too for staying in the dark, refusing the gift of light, forsaking any future. It's unbearable when I see winners live intelligent and free in the light. The murderous impulse lives in me still, having happened once I cannot escape it here in the dark. We are the world. We are the trolls. We don't see how our love can ever be good enough.
I'm sitting in my recliner of eased leather, eyes half shut, I think the TV is sputtering in the darkness, inside the perfect cage of my upper class home in my upper class neighborhood far from the madding crowd, the world safely filtered to the narrowest of my tunnel vision; untouchable; flames surround me but I feel no peasant's heat...
If they could see my face now: frowning in bitterest rage, disavowing the universe; volcanic rumblings simmer within, unstoppable when the time comes; what sort of beast is so unbecoming; I feel large chunks of me solidifying into hard blocks unable to move, dangerous; I rot by the seconds, a downhill slow motion slide into the cesspool where no one lives clean...
I know why the TV shooting people kill: they can't fund their rot; I'd explode too if they stuck me stranded in the middle of that shit despised as the real world, who can suffer that bleeding long, not sure how far I'd go to protect my holy perch of insulated isolation; if someone made me justify my position...
Worship the dead dollar and call it God, that's the way of the world with its currency of righteous death, suited pigs strutting among toiling masses who beg for enslavement so they'll always have someone to blame, from top to bottom bound by chains of anger at This Thing Of Ours, insisting without believing there's no other way...
Of nothing that I see can I speak, this mist must remain solely in my mind, the lies cutting me in screaming pleas of frustrated fury as history writes our doomed desires onto burning singed paper; giggling idiots dream they've gone unpunished free yet the nightmare unseals before their eyes as the voiceless fate they handed to others inescapably succumbs their own...
What happens when the money runs out as it must mired in dire certitude? Do I join the army of angry arsonists scorching the planet in hellbent conviction that stamps out the middling outrage of the momentarily spared? Sometimes I cat cry but tears turn to acid scarring my face making me more hideous by the day, driving me deeper into my hole...
frozen vegetating on my recliner, waiting... wondering... wailing....
She'd won the day. She made it out alive, lies intact. Now she can take her millions and do anything she wants. Sunshine and roses until the day she dies - that was the plan anyway.
What she really had was darkness. Before, in the cage of lies of her marriage she at least had a direction: get money and get out. The dreams she sold herself of the paradise to come nursed her along for years, waiting for the right moment. And now it is here. And she's more afraid than ever.
"I'm useless."
She feared the crowd would turn on her for wasting life. Excuses are gone, what's wrong with you. She lived in an inescapable blackness. Money was supposed to set her free. Free to be...nothing.
Manufactured meaning failed to release her. Soup kitchens, volunteering - whatever. Nothing filled the hole inside. The idea of another marriage was completely out of the question. That door must remain forever shut.
But with that she shut out the whole of the world. Polite responses and posed smiles during the day made for harrowing loneliness in the middle of the deep night. Yes, she'd gotten away - but didn't get to anywhere. In the movies, this is where she's supposed to be celebrating and taking revenge for a life missed. Instead, it's where she found out she'd been at fault all along.
Of all the state secrets she'd held in her life, this was the worst. Stripped of her victimhood, her supporters would turn on her in vicious betrayal. Her felonious deeds would be made public, to forever live with a cold shoulder from the world. She'd wander the earth in permanent solitary confinement, a liar never to be trusted. "Just who are you, lady?" But unlike Peter of old, her denials would be without end.
Then she decided to her horror: "I must support Trump."
Like so many relationships nowadays, it started on the interwebs. Our conversational chats were muy simpatico, in tune, on the same wavelength. It's so nice when you don't have to explain. From cradle to grave we seek this out, no matter how much love or grief may be in our lives. We are like beggars in the street seeking every last morsel of understanding. Once found, the excitement is like a lifeline from Heaven. So we took it to the next step, talking on the phone. Her voice matched her chat, thankfully. I wasn't just imagining it! Suddenly, you hear the beginnings of a song, hoping to swim in immortal love's stream; to plant a flower in paradise. These dreams start running through your mind, breathing life to even the deadest of corpses. For some reason, your childhood comes alive. And you think, "Maybe..." And then we met. I almost stumbled in shock. Yes, the voice and inflections and even the humor were the same, but her face was stuck in frozen emotion. She knew the right words and how to say them and when to say them, but it was a stale rehearsed act from years ago. This is who she once was. She'd become alien to herself and needed a facade. In her living death she constantly sought out life to lure into her web. The internet had surely been a godsend for her vocation! But in the end she had to hope you wouldn't believe your eyes, only her lies. Stumbling back out door into the cold winter air I had to ask myself, "How did this happen? Am I like her, my song only an echo?"
I'm drowning in Berlin; a long flight over but my fears chased me across the pond. Drowning in history, in the obliviousness I thought would save me, in the unexpected ghosts that still roam here. Got fooled again. But where can I find free air? Seeking my distant Teutonic past provides no answers. I left the old world centuries ago. These here are the ones left behind, who never sought more. I thought maybe...well, don't know what I was thinking. I'm just sinking into my bed again, direction unknown.
*************
I got out of bed this morning and stepped into a cloud. I was flailing, trying to find something to hold on to. But my grasping hands found only unreality, that the world had stopped and the order flipped to its rightful position. Why another minute of madness? I was certainly outted, another wasted life; exposed and defrocked - on the wanted list. In frozen fear I stared up at the small oblong window of my room so common in Europe. Dare I look at the angry mob awaiting me below? It was a long time before I moved, but I have no idea how long.
*************
So far from home I've lost my usual distractions. That's what I was thinking: without my customary crutches I'd be forced to learn to walk. Who's to see if I fail here? But all that's happened is the demons of uselessness are having a field day, wreaking frustration at every turn. I guess in that sense my plan has worked, I can't even pretend to serve a purpose while in a foreign land. I wrote God a letter in my mind explaining it doesn't have to be this hard.
*************
I got scared of the toxic streams running through my mind. Drove to Munich today and the drive did me good - or blocked shit out, anyway. Munich is the same but different. Same bluish-grey but not the international feel of Berlin. I also thought of facing the Black Forests; small villages reminding me of "The White Ribbon" and the hidden horrors that resided (reside?) in the German heart. How many generations does it take for atrocities to die out? As I well know, there's nothing more terrifying than someone who thinks their guilt serves a purpose. They always think they have God on their side.
*************
Here in Munich I think of spies. I think of the spy I once was and still am. I could never be a traditional spy. I mean, what kind of spy can you be if someone else is pulling the strings? It has to be done on your own terms. John Lennon said artists are spies and I think that's the only true kind. As Gandhi said, there is no god higher than truth - and there is no "higher purpose" that does not serve it. That's the lie agencies tell you, that your evil somehow serves a greater good. Buy that garbage and you're in a trap. That's why so many traitors think they're patriots, that by exposing other's hypocrisy (to a hypocritical world) things will change. Everybody wants to change things without changing their heart, silly twats.
*************
Robert Hanssen was an American spy traitor. He now spends 23 hours a day in solitary confinement. What he did was monstrous. But I wonder if driving him insane betters the world? The fight for rationality requires everyone. For the record, my confinement is 24 hours a day.
P.S. I'm going insane.
*************
Emily weighs heavy on me. (Funny how I don't do grammar when it's a diary.) Maybe she's what drove me here. More running away. I could stand just outside her door and be as far away from her as I am now. I'm unfindable yet still not safe. Is it my lack of courage or a sense of decency that separates me from her? Intelligence must be watered with kindness to stay alive and her kindness is overwhelming. Running from kindness says a lot about a person, doesn't it? Surrender is the only option - thank God.
I was lying back on the bed in the slightly vegetative state of the aftermath, enjoying my time as any guy does when he's been let out of the sexual prison in which men are condemned to spend their lives. The doom of work was awaiting me the next day and those dark clouds were on the horizon despite my present good fortune.
Anna, however, had crawled over to the corner of the bedroom, still naked, doubled over as in a shell. She wasn't saying anything but I clearly got the message she wanted to be in her own thoughts and needed the space. I have to admit, though, this being me, nothing good can happen without some sort of backlash. It's an aspect of my life I rarely share in person.
"I can't believe I did that," finally speaks Anna to herself.
Yes, she had told me it was her first time. And she's very clearly a grown woman. Why was I the lucky recipient? I was about to find out - because I'm anything but lucky.
"It's inside me now and will never come out."
Everything she did was her idea. I just obliged her. I don't know what triggered it. But something drove her to do it and now she had buyer's remorse.
I knew I'd be inserting foot in mouth but had to say it anyway. "It's really not a big deal. There's high school girls who make a whole career out of it."
"That isn't me!"
Shit. I'm no therapist and I got my own issues in life. I didn't know Anna that well. She's a neighbor from the next apartment building over. Maybe because she's American Indian she has a different background than I'm used to. Maybe this is taboo in their culture. All I knew was I was sitting on one big giant eggshell.
"What would my father say if he could see me now?" she softly reflected.
Oh, goody, father issues. She thinks she just sucked daddy's dick. And I'd played the role of substitute daddy. That's not going to end well, either. I'm nobody's idea of a father figure. I can see now she picked me because we weren't close, that I was someone disposable with whom she could experiment. Never a free ride, is there?
"And it had to be with you."
She was still balled up in the corner, not looking at me. She stayed naked but was trying to hide it at the same, a person in complete conflict. Of course, evil Harry wanted to say, 'Hey, the only way to get over a bad blow job is to do another one!' I mean, I just couldn't deal with this shit. Now she's offloading her self-loathing onto me: 'This wouldn't be happening if I'd sucked a better dick.' I started getting dressed. I needed to escape.
Cleaning up in the bathroom, I noticed Anna stayed in her state of self-induced shock. I had visions of her oscillating between being the blowjob queen of the county to being a nun. Evil Harry kept talking in my head. 'Hey, can't wait to brag to all my friends and neighbors about this!' She was so overreacting I just wanted to stick it to her, sort of liking slapping the hysterical passenger in "Airplane".
But obviously it was a big deal to her. She'd reached a threshold. She'd defecated in the living room of her life, ruining its purity forever. Had she lost something for real? Or was she just not liking the picture she was getting of herself she'd finally been forced to face, that she'd been basing her self-worth on an illusion. How could I tell her at a time like this that facing yourself is always a good thing, even if you don't like what you see. I knew George Clooney could come up with something comforting to say. I just decided to feel sorry for myself.
That will never be me, sorry...
I went into the kitchen to fix a bite. I couldn't say anything because evil Harry was still dominating the conversation. 'Hey, want something to eat or are you never going to eat with that mouth again??' The longer she stayed in there, the more awkward it got. I also didn't want to leave the house fearing that her private internal war may erupt into external destruction of my property. I felt she was going through the stages of shame and I'd be persona-non-grata anytime she saw me around the complex and how miserable her life would be. Mine too, lady.
I knew it was insensitive to turn on the TV but I had to break the silence in the absence of words of wisdom from me. I could feel her blaming me all the way from the bedroom and with my naturally guilty conscience, that played on me too. Should I have said no? Should I have told her only to do it inside the confines of a loving relationship? Never occurred to me she'd consider herself a slut of Biblical proportions. I imagine if a nun ever gave a blowjob it would mess with her mind too. But that's all sheer fucking illusion.
I stayed on the couch watching the TV but my mind was in the bedroom. Christ, how long is she going to stay like that?? What was I supposed to say to her? Only smart ass replies came to mind. 'Sorry I ruined your life.' 'Your daddy will never love you now!' 'You know when you go to your conservative bank job tomorrow everyone will be able to tell what you did.' Then I remembered the scene in "About A Boy" about guys feeling they always need to provide an answer. Maybe I didn't need to.
I walked to the bedroom door, studying the smoothness of her light brown skin, wishing I could caress her. She hadn't moved and didn't look at me. "You going to be OK?" I surprised myself with my actual sincerity.
"I'll be OK. I just need...time."
She didn't know what she needed. But I'd forced her to a decision which is what I needed. I went back to the TV, this time she knew I wouldn't be coming back. After a while I heard movement and she came out fully dressed. With sparse eye contact we made an awkward goodbye and I was alone again, naturally.
Later, in the evening, I still couldn't push it out of my mind, sticking with me like a bad smell. While I was driving around, every song I heard related back to her in some way. Only thing I knew for sure was I wouldn't have the courage to confront her about it.
CODA: After studiously avoiding each other, Anna moved out at the end of the next month. I'll never know how her foray into sexual exploration with me affected her in the end. We'll both have to live with it best we can. I can only shake my head and think: This could only happen to me.
I'm done. Finished. At my wit's end. Tired of banging my head day after day. Time to move on. But to where? I don't want to be anything anymore. I just want to wait it out unseen and unknown until the pale rider comes. I miss her too much to do much anything else. Berlin is not really a destination. It's more like a giant airport lounge where you get wasted while your flight is delayed. You know sooner or later you have to get out but in the meantime...you simply devolve, trapped in a nihilistic time warp. It's the perfect place to be nothing. People like to drop their masks here. Even those with a facade seem to do so with a knowing wink. So I'm not troubled by a need to be pleasant and liked as in America. Yes, it's wrong to fade away - but here I've got numbers on my side. The food sucks. It is, in a word, heavy. I'm constantly seeking out the lighter fare. I don't like any old world food, truth be told. And they take all the fun out of sex. If nothing is forbidden, where's the fun? It's like how do you know you feel good when pain does not exist. It's all yin with no yang.
Speaking of the old world, I still feel disturbed terror deep in the Rhineland surrounded by dark Germanic forests. Takes me back to the times of wallowing hopelessness, living in Dark Ages squalor. We wondered why we even went on. What was there to live for? I admit, hidden deep inside was a wild streak of optimism of undiscovered magic in the world that even wretches like us could find. It turned out to be true and the Renaissance times I still hold dear. But Europe finally became a smell I could no longer endure. It still stinks to my nose whenever I return. I don't go to the infamous clubs, but I drive by and wander around them to absorb the vibes. Sometimes I think I'm hearing a heart whose beats are getting farther and farther apart. Even under the golden rays of summer Berlin has a blue-gray tinge to it that suits my present mood. In winter times like now, it simply drowns in it. Nighttime makes it terrifying. I'm trying not to think too much. Some things need to unfold and here I can do it in complete privacy even in public. I want to cry, mourning my life. From afar, America seems like a red hot boil spitting up acid reflux, too self-involved to ponder her fate. It is certainly a relief to be out of that though highly frustrating I can't make every American feel this perspective. So I sit and wait...for nothing. It's amazing the depth of blackness here. Late night on my bed I think of the bars and clubs I passed by before, imagining myself inside, losing control, reaching the limits of the universe. I don't have to beg permission or stand in line to get in like the others. Just knowing I can do it is enough. If they ended the clubs it would kill me even having never stepped a foot inside. In the quiet moments my heart is pounding. Bourdain said there are ghosts in Berlin and I feel every one of them. I wonder how the locals live with them. Maybe they just become part of the fabric of existence, in the background of everyday life. I know very little German so I'm not distracted by voices. In fact, the one mental exercise I sometimes do is to guess people's meaning just by their tone and inflection. Rest of the time the voices are like a distant soundtrack I can turn off and on as I please. I feel very fragile. I bought a monk's robe to keep my frowns hidden. Everything is set up for me to relax but if I give in that...I can't help but feel a thousand intrusions will come crashing in. It's like having the weight of the world on you and if you relax for even a moment it crushes you. I'm a wight in this world. Where will this lead? Who can move forward in life waiting in an airline lounge? One thing has dawned on me is of the pointlessness of so many of my "goals". They are goals that don't actually achieve anything. Yes, getting a good drunk on every once in a while can be a good thing but to make that your goal... "Stay distracted" has become my mantra over time. I see how ridiculous that is as a goal, but I don't want to face anything either. I just want to stay on this anonymous German bed for now. It's when no one can see me I need you to look at me the most.
I knew who she was. I mean, I didn't know her name, but I knew her. Pretty blonde talking nonstop on her pink encased iPhone about her latest social media conquest and how the universe is her oyster and blah, blah, blah. Hard to believe I'd be the only who'd want to kill her.
It was just us two at the rail station. She completely ignored me which is what I wanted but then again I didn't. Shoving her out onto the tracks in front of that oncoming train was just a reaction inside me, a murderous impulse whose single purpose and desire was total annihilation and destruction - just like a Trump voter. It's like, how long can you ignore an itch that needs to be scratched? That was my first reply anyway.
"This is a serious thing," inquisitioned Lt. Bertrand in an incredibly boring interrogation room. "You think this is a joke, you got another think coming. You know how many years you're looking at?"
For some reason, the more serious a situation, the more flip I become. I wanted to say, "More years than it will take for you to get hair back on that bald head of yours." Instead, I toned it down. "I'm serious. It was like an itch I had to scratch."
"And you're telling me you had no previous relationship with Ms. Miller."
"Never laid eyes on her before. She was just yapping on the phone about that blog of hers."
"What about her blog, then?"
"I don't know. Just sounded real annoying. Dallas hot spots and shit like that. Do I look like I got money for all that?"
"So basically, you heard her talking about her blog, got angrier and angrier, then finally pushed her off the platform. Is that it?"
MAN PUSHES WOMAN TO HER DEATH DUE TO HATING HER BLOG!
"Some men just can't stand to see a successful woman. Sexism, pure and simple. Bet he'd have killed himself if Hillary had become President!"
"I just found his blog and it's nothing but complaining about how nobody reads his crap. Loser!"
"He never would have done this had it been a man on the phone! Men are supposed to be successful. Nobody gets mad when they brag."
Day Two:
"OK, OK, it was more than just her blog talk. She was really cute and had that jogging outfit on just like this girl I knew, Terry, who used to wear that exact same thing. It was the last thing I ever saw her in. I screwed up real bad. I'm ashamed of it to this day and it kills me. I guess because I had Terry on my mind it triggered something. I didn't want anyone to know how monumentally stupid I had been."
MAN PUSHES WOMAN TO HER DEATH DUE TO REMINDING HIM OF HIS EX!
"What's wrong with men? They just can't let go! There's, like, tons of guys who never got over me."
"It's the obsessive compulsive nature of the male ego that brings on these moments of peak psychological torment aggravated by a starved libido in a competitive society."
"I'd call this the ultimate #metoo moment. Killed just for being a woman! Know your worth, ladies!"
Day Three:
"You guys keep searching for a connection. You're wasting your time. I can't tell you the real reason because you'd never believe me so may as well make something up."
"Tell us anyway. You won't get any peace until you do."
"It was her yellow clothes. Wasn't just any yellow, you see, it was that right exact shade I can't stand. I just snapped. What can I say?"
"You're right. I don't believe you."
MAN PUSHES WOMAN TO HER DEATH DUE TO HER WEARING YELLOW!
"This is what it means to be a woman in today's society! You're not allowed to be yourself! You have to wear men's clothes and men's colors or you literally get killed!"
"I think we need to start a yellow clothes wearing protest movement showing we are not afraid to stand up to these kinds of bullies. Yellow power forever!"
"Whole world is going to hell. We need armed guards 24 hours a day on every public platform to keep us safe. There's no other way or we'll all be dead for no reason!"
Day Four:
"Look, dildo breath, I did it because I'm dying inside and I need help. No one will listen to me! It had to be someone everybody liked. Nobody would have cared if it'd been some homeless dude or something. It was a cry for help. I'm sorry."
"We saw you on the videotape leaning over the edge after you pushed her off as if you were saying something. What exactly did you say?
I'm standing on the balcony of my second floor apartment, leaning over the railing, holding a loaded gun I've never fired, with two arms outstretched aimed at two men, one tall and burly, the other short and slender, talking with their backs to me below. And at this point, whether I do or do not shoot them both, my life is truly fucked.
-------------------
It all started earlier that day in the morning, mired in my usual weekend pain, when I was out walking around in the aimless wandering I sometimes do when I'm hurting. There are some empty grassy fields still undeveloped I drive to where no one traverses. It's there I feel safe with my splitting head and were I to die in this moment it would not be the worst thing that could happen. When I say No they say Yes. When I say Yes they say No. I just cannot connect.
I admit I was pretty wrapped up in myself and it was an unpleasant shock to force myself back into the world when I noticed a commotion in the distance. Two men had grabbed a blonde girl in a yellow dress, dragging her away in an apparent kidnapping. Behind them is a row of trees that defines the edge of the field and provides cover from prying eyes from the country road beyond. Only a lost fool like me would be found in such a useless location.
Instinctively I begin to shout and wave my arms causing the two men to pause and look over at me. As I start to walk towards them they abandon whatever plan they had and disperse to the other side of tree line. I run to the yellow dress girl but she is fine. Yet when I ask what is going on she shook her pretty head and refused to answer. I was confounded. Situations like this only happen in movies and I was surprised at my expectation that momentarily something would come along to illuminate and give me context.
Without a pre-written script, I had no idea what to say. I'm certainly not anyone's idea of a movie hero. Looking back, maybe I was in a bit of shock with this intrusion into my isolated life. I was like Chance the Gardener trying to change life's channel with a TV remote. God, did I feel inadequate. Was I supposed to challenge her and force the truth out? She was visibly upset and when she started to stumble away I could only look on in a hapless sort of way, tortured by the idea of what a responsible adult would do.
"Am I a hero?" I kept thinking how the local news trucks would show up with their camera crews wanting to interview me and I'd finally get my 15 minutes of fame. Yippee! But they'd ask too many questions and why I didn't do more and they'd get that look on their face people always do when someone gets to know me: that look of losing all interest. Then they'd pack up and drive away and I be captured on film forever as a fraud. Alone again, naturally.
Of course, I was thinking about how I'd blog about this and with all my bullshit stories this would sound like just another one and no one would be the wiser. Maybe in the retelling I'd add in a little Rashomon factor and play myself up more and leave out a few inconvenient facts. Wouldn't be the first time I've parsed the truth. Then I noticed an object on the ground, square, about an inch and half in size, with metal prongs sticking out of one end. Definitely an electrical device.
"Those men must have dropped this. The fuckers!" They were up to no good and this is turning into a Simon Templar adventure. Except that he would have stuck with the girl giving aid and comfort instead of staring longingly at her legs as she walked off. Anyway, those two guys were assholes and I deserve this little perk whatever it is. A hero's reward! Maybe I can pull this con off after all. I was starting to feel righteous. Idiot.
It was quite a hike back to my car parked to the side of the country road. I was clutching hard the electronic device in my hand, musing on what it could possibly be. Probably nothing, but the greater its value the greater my story - and my worth. So I wasn't giving it up for nothin'! But I felt a presence behind me and when I turned around the big burly guy from before was walking behind me, his eyes dead straight on me.
"Give it back!" he demanded in a thick European voice. "Give it back or I kill you!"
Now, if my head had been in the real world instead of thinking I was in a movie I'd have dropped the damn thing and got on with my worthless life. But I was a hero and the star and if I drop it I can't advance the plot. It bugged me at the time I was thinking that way and putting it down now in black and white makes it look absolutely fucking insane - but I clenched my fist and started running to my car.
"It's mine! Give it back!"
He started running too but if there's one thing I have experience in, it's running. I tore away in my car, smiling at his exasperated face in my rear-view mirror.
"Shit. Maybe this is something after all."
I started to feel excited, my mind racing with the possibilities of this being some sort of high tech device but, good Lord, how cheesy and obvious of a plot line is that?? Still, those guys were trying to drag her away for a reason and maybe it wasn't just because she was hot. My head was spinning! Just the idea my life could be remotely interesting for once, that I could do something worthwhile - and I did save that girl even if I was unable to follow up on it. That just had to be the right thing to do - and I done did it!
I pushed aside the nagging voice that wondered where that little guy had been. Maybe he was...nah, I got away clean, too clever by half. Things always work out for the good guy! I'm too integral to the plot for anything to happen to me. I decided to celebrate and stopped at a Sonic to splurge on a Coney dog. I was so freaking excited to share my news I was the star of my own show and a hero and had an international electronic device worth millions and probably sought after by governments the world over like in "Sneakers". But I couldn't explain all that to the car hop so I just had be satisfied on my own.
I got back to my dingy apartment full of feelings I never had before. Jesus, what a feeling to be somebody instead of a nobody. It was like I'd written a hit song, on top of the world. I never realized how badly I'd been craving that and what hell life was in the vacuum in which I had been entombed. Hardest part would be to keep from giggling! Who's the asshole now??
I was turning over the device in my hands, looking for any clues I could find, when I heard a whiff of the heart-sinking sound of the oversized European's voice outside. I ran to the window, peering through the blinds. They were searching the side of the building, then turned to look at my car in the parking lot.
"Shit! Shit ! Shit! Shit! You fucking idiot, look what you got yourself into! Goddam you thinking you were something more than what you are!"
I ran to my bedroom closet and pulled out my suicide gun. Forgot where I put the bullets but found them right away, though it felt like an hour. I crouched back to the patio door, opening it slightly ajar.
"Do we have to do this?" asked the little fellow.
Mumbling, then: "He saw us with the girl too," definitively replied the tall guy.
I could barely hear them but I understood loud and clear. My head suddenly cleared as I thought through the immediate logical scenarios. Even if I ran them off - even by using the police - they could wait outside forever to ambush me. Just a matter of time. What can I do? What can I do?
The only way to handle this was to handle it myself. No one can help or protect me. I just had to be stubborn and hold onto that device, didn't I? "Fuck, nothing is worth this!"
My heart was racing but I knew to wait until later to be scared. Right or wrong, I stepped out onto the patio. The minute they turned around and I saw their eyes - removing all doubt - I'd shoot them down like dogs. It was them or me. No Way Out.
There's got to be another way! I can't do killing. This goes against every fiber of my being. Do this and you're defeated for life. It's the no-win situation you swore you'd never find yourself in.
Then it hit me. I rushed back inside and got my old 35mm camera. The daggers in my heart fell out and at last I felt truly confident in what I was doing. "Hey!" I barked out, causing both men to swing around. I took several quick shots in a row then held up my gun.
"These pictures are going to the police, the internet, and anywhere else I can think of. Anything happens to me, they'll know exactly who did it and hunt you down like dogs. You can have your stupid device, just get the hell out of my life."
My tabletop isn't far from the patio so I was able to quickly grab it and fling it down to them. The short one picked it up, the tall one kept his eyes on me, unwavering in his inspection with his questioning gaze. Then I saw the inevitable look of disinterest I always get as they turned to walk away, my world reverting to what it's always been.
EPILOGUE: I'm haunted and hounded by the idea that device really was my worth and I literally threw it away. Part of me argues I was sensible and mature in what I did. At least I didn't shoot the fuckers. But I couldn't shake the idea I'd failed in the Big Moment every life receives. I really, really, really wanted to get to the truth of that device. My instincts yelled out "Yes!" to keeping it. Perhaps something bigger was driving me, though. Maybe I was simply driven by the need to cry out, "This is what my life is. I can't change it - can I?"
