the blue feeling
…A deadly sunrise. The canopy all in pastels, not a
breath of wind. Dew on the grass. A morning glow.
It melted into the shadows, breath hot on the leaves.
The mask it wore revealed no expression, its body upright and taut as garrote
wire. Waiting.
Inside it was cold, unaffected by the first rays.
It wore its skin like a sheath, and when the rays fell
in beams across its back, the skin over its spine did not tingle. Not one bit…
She cries out for his touch, and she cries
when she’s by herself. The swings of her moods are too much at times. At times
she eats chocolate. Or toast. With her friends it's ice-cream. What can be done
to ward off this feeling? Alone on a Sunday night when the girls have gone
home…
On Sundays it’s heavy, it’s real bad, after the comfort of two nights falling asleep on his shoulder, waking up to his touch. Now she must fall asleep alone.
On Sundays it’s heavy, it’s real bad, after the comfort of two nights falling asleep on his shoulder, waking up to his touch. Now she must fall asleep alone.
And then it's the week again, another work
week at a shitty job. Her boss keeps the staff late, schedules last minute
events they're obliged to attend. All that keeps her going is a bottle of wine
or three with the girls on Wednesdays, they gather and drink and paint, after
hump day. And then the thought of Friday, and freedom, and seeing him again.
But every Friday night after work her boss keeps them behind for a meeting that
seems to drag on forever. The meetings never affect her job and are conducted
in a language she doesn’t understand. She struggles with the blue frustration
of these days. Her life is lived in the short windows between.
Podcasts on the bus, on Friday afternoon when he goes to meet her.
Joe Rogan. Bus station. Taxi. The Bulletproof Diet. Her door. Press pause.
Friday night. Sex. Saturday night. Sex. Sunday morning, bus station. Podcast.
Resume. Ferriss's MED approach. David D’s “Deep Inner Game.” Taxi. Home.
Skyrim, he knows he shouldn’t, can’t
stop himself, his one vice.
School.
So that day when she cracks and sobs when
he wants to leave early is justified. He knows this. But she still feels bad
for acting like a baby, for holding him back, for letting him be affected by
this feeling, this blue feeling that has been creeping further and further into
her marrow…
Click. Click. Click. Click, click. Click. Click, click, click.
Read read read read read read read.
MCTs. Pine pollen. Butter coffee. Krill oil. Ketones. Spirulina.
All of them imports. Thank you Amazon. Butter and beef packed in ice.
…In the desert there are people. Solitary figures who
walk in lines over the sand. And when they are gone their footprints stay in
the dunes until the winds shift the sand. The winds move everything...
Episodes of Friends on repeat again. It helps. She can quote every single line,
and she can hear a fragment of dialogue then place it by season and by episode.
She tells him it’s like she knows them, like they are her friends.
A string of goodbyes.
They’re starting to abandon this country. A farewell party for a guy from
whom I’ve grown distant. I am dating his ex. She cheated on him with another
guy. Apparently. Whatever. Now I'm with her. It’s been six months already.
Shit, that went fast.
She’s been
good for me. But those puppy eyes…she relies on me.
How the rising and falling of breath, the sucking in
and release of it, through the nose, is so much like the tides of the ocean. If
you closed your eyes and just listened to the sounds the waves make it's
remarkably similar to the sounds of breathing –
“My beautiful man!” The way he makes her feel. The way he makes
her cum. Afterwards he holds her and it’s nice. She doesn’t care about the
neighbours, not when he’s around.
–
every breath is new and unique.
The transaction of breathing is a confirmation that
you are alive, that you make a difference and affect the world around you, by
breath alone you remove oxygen from the environment and then automatically
convert it into carbon dioxide which you exhale. Carbon based being. You stay
alive unconsciously, though, and mostly live on autopilot.
Well now what.
This isn’t what she planned. This is what he wanted, and it has been all along. What the fuck is she going to
do now? She’s made no plans. She was hoping, maybe, because he
said he loved her.
Because he said he loved her.
Why does the other mind scream inside?
It yearns for another. It is crying for a friend.
The scream is one of loneliness.
Can such a mind ever contain contentment?
He’s peeling carrots, absent-minded, lost in thought. It
slips and slices into his finger. A deep cut, blood in the basin, and smeared
across the carrots too, which he washes and eats anyway. The bleeding doesn’t
stop for a day. He had no idea vegetable peelers were so sharp.
…The creature strained towards the sun. Cords of
muscle taut along its shoulders, neck arched back. Jagged grey rock stuck from
the peak, and there on the highest outcropping the creature reared up, hooves kicking at that distant white disk…
This, this thing, it cuts me to the bone. Because it’s
true, every thing he’s said.
.:.
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