Late at night when you wander the residential avenues of Newport, among the bright lights and clear gray sky, you simultaneously feel alone and one with everything else. This is my experience walking around outside my neighborhood at around like 3am on a summer night. I was a teensy bit stoned from the festivities of the evening, but it was dark, there was some hazy smell of wood and smoke in the air, it was in the peak of summer, the warmth of the day still somewhat present in the thick humid air. It’s a warmth that only sticks to your skin, the warmth that seeps up when you begin to panic, the drop of the stomach as you realize something is wrong. This happens now and then when you wander stoned out of your mind.
I tried to ignore it like I have done before, but I couldn’t shake this paranoid feeling. Every rustling leaf, car’s distant headlight, and fleeing cat, was a threat or sign of danger. But that pales to the terror of when it all went quiet, not even a chirp of a cricket could be heard. Out of instinct I started walking faster, no matter how fast I walked I couldn’t shake this unease. I could feel someone… something… someone, behind me. The streetscape was bathed in harsh blue light. All I could do was keep walking, I knew that If I looked behind me I could snap myself out of this paranoia, but what if there was something behind me, I’d rather live in ignorant terror than have a nightmare confirmed, so I kept walking, and I kept panicking. I finally had come to my senses to turn around and rid myself of this baseless terror…
There it was, a black Buick driving down the middle of the street. Walking down the middle of the street. Where its four power wheels would be, sable hairy spider legs sprouted forth and carried the car forward over the pavement. What I couldn’t get out of my head was how organic the legs looked in contrast to the sleek metal and plastic bodywork of a late model SUV. The windows of the Buick weren’t tinted, but instead reflected the streetscape back like mirrors. Its headlights stared at me like two great eyes, shooting beams of light that illuminated the entire roadway creating stark twisted shadows behind every object.
After I saw it I booked it home. I didn’t look back, I felt sharpness in my chest as my breath became shallow, like pins against my chest. The night was thankfully silent so if I was followed I would’ve heard it, but I just had to rush out of there. I remember stumbling and hitting falling face first into the concrete, I braced for impact and felt the pain rush to my forearms, the heat from the scrapes pulsating. After muttering a plethora of swears I pushed myself up I trekked on, at a slightly slower pace, seeing the light at my apartment. Trudging up the driveway to my studio apartment I hear a high-pitched sound and blacked out. The last thing I remember is the way the light reflected off the apartment windows.
Flash forward to the next day, I wake up in my jeans and hoodie from the night before. There is a dry sticky feeling in my mouth like I’ve eaten bean goo straight out of the can. I have no idea when the fuck I went to bed or even what day of the week it is. Looking at the clock it’s 8:44 AM, which is quite early for me since I’m really not a morning person. As I swing my legs over the side of the bed and go into the bathroom to splash some water on my face, I feel queasy in the pit of my stomach. It’s as if I’m hungover, even though I don’t recall drinking at all.
Eventually I made my way out the door and downstairs. A look at my phone tells me it’s Wednesday, and I have a shift at 12. I’ll need to catch the 9:30 bus into town if I want to have some time for lunch before work. The bus stop is right outside my apartment complex so I really don’t have to walk far, just go over there and sit watching the traffic go by until my ride shows up.
While chilling at the bus stop this bum sauntered up to me and said “Did you know that your shoes have souls? That’s because they are baptized under our lord Jesus Kristoff”. The old man had an odd look about him like he wasn’t fully there, the suit he wore was in tatters. He pulled some pamphlet out of his pocket which I assumed was some Baptist tract. Having nothing better to do until my bus showed up I read it, and it was titled The Guide to a bedder life™ by Dr. Prescott Sr. Esq. The damn thing gave me a paper cut when I opened it, drawing a little bit of blood. I’ll transcribe the inside of it here:
“It was the best of times, it was the blursed of times. What is “blursed” you may ask? Well I am glad you asked! Well you see “blursed” is the unusually phenomena of when something appears to be both “blessed” and “cursed” at the same time. As an example let me propose to you an idea. Imagine you are walking in the woods; you are all alone and your phone is dead. Are you imagining it? Good. Now I want you to forget everything I just wrote.
The Industrial Revolution has had zero consequences on our society, which is why we need to reboot it with a far more interesting take on the source material. You see we do not live in a society that can handle such raw animal magnetism in such a short period. For this is why we must construct a metaphysical tampon in order to civilize the savage impulses of transcendentalism in the modern age.
What is transcendentalism in the modern age? How the hell should I know? I am just a poor boy from a poor family, who wishes someone would just spare him from this life of pure mediocrity. It is because of all of this and more that I have come before the sharks in order to pitch my product. I want you to imagine a world without war, hate, religion, rice krispies, and hairless cats. Now with this world formed inside your mind, I want you to figure out how to defend yourself from the monstrous terrorists that have stolen your brains. The answer should be obvious. Free Real Estate.
Free Real Estate is the name of my brothel sharks, because only $5 blussy can save humanity from the frog invaders from reptilia. Trust me, I’m a doctor. My Ph.D is in cheese making. I acquired this from my time writing for “Days of our lives.”
Where is the blussy? Well, it was the friends we made during the one man orgy.
Go away, you bore me now.
Love, Ronald Wilson “McDonald” Reagan
P.S. I am the true Knee-Queen of Hollywood.”
I had no idea what the hell to make of this, I still don’t. On the back it said “United Church of Kristoff Publishing”. All I know is that it definitely isn’t endorsed by the Southern Baptist Convention.
Perhaps everything I was going through, every twisted and unsteady step of my journey was just some form of reaction. A reaction to the unknown, a reaction to fear, to loneliness, to sorrow, to all the things that keep me up at night. I looked up at my ceiling the next night and so many thoughts ran through my head. I can’t stop thinking like this. I am a mess everytime I look in the mirror.
Am I a good person? Why do I not have the right Body? Do I deserve this? Why do I deserve this?
Who am I?Who am I really?Why won’t anyone help me?I AM A FRAUD! No one likes me. The people who like me, only like a facade.I must be a really great liar to fool everyone. I shouldn’t be here.I don’t deserve happiness!
PLEASE HELP ME!
I saw a bird today.
I saw a bird today…
Kill me. Please.
There is always time, but it’s funny how we can have too much, and never enough. Every day has felt heavier than the last. I still go out at night, in spite of the thing that stalks behind me. It’s impossible to feel fear anymore knowing how reality itself has come apart at the seams. Everyday I feel older and older. My bones have begun to creak like a PR team dealing with the pressure of their boss being Harvey Weinstein. My head pounds like the footsteps of a thousand neo-nazis down the streets of Atlanta. My heart is heavy with the regrets only a comedian who has said the N-word one too many times knows. The click-clack of my shoes on the pavement mark the line between reality and irrelatity. My apartment is the US embassy in Tehran, built with the pomp of high politics but now preserved only as a museum of evil and subterfuge. In my endless pursuit for purpose, for freedom, for someone to notice me for once, I have destroyed all that made me me. I am a husk, a shell of the man who walks the cursed earth of late civilization.