(Over, Inside, Under) world pieces
Waking up almost randomly, at or around ten hours after midnight. Shortly, I realize I cannot stay here, I cannot lie here, I cannot let the large glow flounder. The Moon comes and goes on a longer timescale, and I hurry around like a microscopic cell, thirty times its speed.
I spend the next few hours digesting a lung full of steam. I move the ethereal lights, and make them flicker to the correct frequency. I direct them to the correct spot, to the right pattern, to the right reaction. Some days the ethereal flickering lights move to the exact right place, a place so divine and novel.
When the cells have been depleted, I hurry around to the beats of a dry mind. Perhaps it’s collecting free samples, or exchanging lights.
The flickering lights told me where to look.
After you ate the Moon, you fell asleep very quickly. The Moon is made of pure sleep. I’m supposed to tell you something. I know you are going to hate it: when you are asleep, everything would seem right. I hate it too.
I’m not sure that you were merely sent here to suffer. I don’t think it’s quite as simple as that. If you were sent here to just suffer and be tortured, why they would give you a skateboard? Why give you access to something like that? And why would they create all these obstacles for you?
Maybe it’s supposed to all be some sort of metaphor. Disgusting.
There is something poetic about it. Disgusting.
It’s easier to vomit it out. Anything good, anything bad, anything honest, too honest, too real, and too close to what you actually are.
“I want to give you this,” the Moon shone in front of you, and you see a sparkling gem, specular beyond belief. Its soft lunar glint relaxes your eyes with its deep warm red.
You try to pick it up, touching its ornate trim. It fills the air with an expanding sense of glow.
“I wanted to tell you that you are special. I wanted to tell you that there is something intrinsically valuable about you. I wanted to tell you that your existence is worthwile, your struggle is validated, every inch of every second of your life was leading up to something beautiful.”
I saw that written on a bathroom wall, in the port authority, to no one in particular.
