A man sat in a room eating chips somewhere. Every time a chip crunched, the man was reminded of a past memory. He crunched one chip, the memory played to him:
Driving on a late night. Smoking a cigarette while staring momentarily out of the window. Coming to a halt at the stop light and looking up at the moon gleaming. Someone stopped next to him. It was a woman wearing sunglasses. He never saw anyone wearing sunglasses at night. He looked at her and wondered what her eyes must look like. The woman saw him staring and motioned for him to put his window down. The man put his window down. Without taking off her sunglasses the woman said; “I’m driving like this because I want to know what it feels like to drive blind. I simply want to know the feeling without being able to see.” The man didn’t say anything but the stop light changed red. They separated from each other after the light changed. The woman turned left and the man continued going straight. That was one memory.
The chip crunched again and another memory came;
Walking down an alleyway on a less crowded street. The man passed a dumpster and several garbage cans that were outside of a disheveled apartment building. The man could smell the trash wafting into the air and seeping into his nose. It smelled like expired food that had been sitting in the trash for several days. The man thought about vomiting but decided against it. The man saw a cat sitting on top of the dumpster with its mouth eating trash. The man thought the cat must be a stray. He felt stray himself walking next to a dumpster and smelling the residue of trash. That was the second memory.
The chip crunched again and the memory came again;
The man walked down a flight of stairs located inside a tall building and looked up at the ceiling. The walls were all stained brown. The building was old. The man walked down the stairs and his footsteps echoed. They sounded even louder in a vacant building across the street from a residential area.
My arm twitches like…
it’s like the throbbing mass of skin breathing,
i look at it like it’s the center of a lifeless universe,
like it’s the pulsating burp of an orb,
like it’s the explosion of a crater in the middle of a busy street at the most populated area of the city,
like it’s the neglected feelings that i’ve kept pent up inside me for a time rebelling against the fact that they are seemingly ignored for a great while,
like it’s the smog belched from a factory making out with the surreal painting of the sky, creates clouds like,
nameless recognition of facts, several types that i have forgotten, while, while, while,
it’s like a constant vibration of spasms that started at my arm but perhaps in the future ends with my mind,
like the decision for the finality is here but it’s also the beginning and the finality takes years to build up to,
like the sound of some gunshot that i heard down the street once while still being a great distance away, yet possible to interpret the significance of the sound.
it’s like the conclusion of the void, beating, beating, beating, beating, and then nothing.
it’s like how some flies buzz around the trash when the sun is too hot in the summer and you can smell the flies around you, but somehow the buzzing seems to get ahold of you more,
it’s like moths that only are attracted to artificial lights and you see them there as a grouping of hundreds all swirling around the light like some busy whirlwind of cars congesting the street and you can hear the whirlwind, the whirlwind has sound and the sound seeps inside of your ear,
like the throbbing mass that ensues you and you realize maybe you are a part of the mass but at the same instance you are seperate from the mass, but the throbbing will only continue at random intervals throughout the day, probably stress related or some other cause,
but i look at the throbbing and this is what i think about when my arm throbs,
tomorrow it could be my legs or that spot right below my eyelashes and above my eyeballs,
because sometimes that twitches too,
and then i have to think about it all over again and what it’s like….
everyone is depressed. people hide depressing things. so i will just write stories about depressed people instead.