COMING UP FOR AIR or THE PRICE OF FAME


My spectacles are filthy but I see everything clear as fuck if fuck were dirty spectacles and if hearts had eyes.




I am on a boat.  The boat is on a water.  The water is a tepid grey.  The water is from the wringing of every mean grandmother’s dish towels. Unwanted, foul water pressed out of something useful.  A sea of it for my shitty boat.  The boat is on no course.  It floats and bobs and weaves.  I lie on my back in the boat, seagulls pecking out my eyes because they are my friends.



I am on a train.  The train is called Snowpiercer except there is no bug jello on my train and there is no social hierarchy because I am on this train by myself.  The math won’t allow a hierarchy.  The train is called Snowpiercer because it pierces the snow.  The snow is white and cold and freezing, much how snow usually is.  Pretty much it is the definition of snow.  I’m assuming the train is going fast because that is how trains normally go, but as the only landscape is white snow, I surely cannot tell.  There is nothing to judge the speed by; no trees, no mountains, no buildings, no rocks, no animals, no billboards, no telephone poles, no cars, etc.  Mostly it feels like floating in nothingness.  Heck, maybe it’s not a train at all.  Maybe it’s a long, long, long, skinny room where I am alone and walking down the center of it all, stopping a lot in the bar car.




I am in a car.  The car is the size of a football stadium.  I am the only passenger. Well, I’m actually the driver AND the passenger.  The color of the car is ‘nude-beige’.  It has 700 tires.  It has no radio and instead of seats it has government issued electric chairs.  I got into the car a week and a half ago with no idea of where it was going to go.  I purchased a ticket and in the destination part it reads, “YOU’RE AN IDIOT”.  The ticket cost me $11,33.00 (not a typo) and six 10mm gouges out of my heart muscle that were taken out WITHOUT ANY PAINKILLER and put into a tiny silver jar marked, “HOPEFULLY YOU’LL GET THIS BACK”.  I thought there would be at least a few hundred people in this car but it’s just me.  Lonely as fuck, but I still got into the car.  I still took a seat.



I sit in the driver’s chair and the passenger chairs because I am too tired to stand.  Every day I stare out of the windows and look at the scenery, wondering where I am going.  Every day I digest the blur; rows of corn but the corn is Word Doc white, rolling hills in Word Doc white, desert fields of Word Doc white, beachside towns of Word Doc white, cityscapes of Word Doc white, etc.  I think it’s the windows.  I think they filter out color.  I’ve walked the edge of this entire car and nothing outside has any color at all.  Sometimes I see birds and sometimes I see dogs and sometimes I see people but they all look like a cartoon before it gets the coloring.  The worst part of this car is the rear view mirror.  It has all the color I’ve ever seen and more and it’s the smallest thing about this damn car.  I tried pushing my head through a bunch of times but it’s too small and my head’s too big.  The colors are bright enough to hurt.  Also, it pushes back. It won’t let me in.



I am in a prison cell.  I have the key to the cell.  It’s not even on a chain hanging outside of the bars, just outside of reach.  The key is in my hand.  My right hand where I have a weird skin problem where it’s super itchy and I keep scratching it and peeling the skin and making it bleed so the key is bloody. I take the key out of my itchy palm hand and I put the key in my mouth so I feel uncomfortable so I am motivated to maybe use it to open up the lock.  I hate the taste of the key and the key is super bulky and it’s hard to eat or speak.  Every day I fight to take the key out of my mouth but I lose the fight.  I want to win the fight.  One day I will hate the taste of the key enough or I will hate the space the key takes up in my mouth and I will spit that fucking key out and put it into that fucking lock and I will run and run and run until I fall into a bed of soft feathers that feel like home while whispering a name that’s become a mantra.  The name is Thanksgiving dinner and I am so empty right now.






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