The Eclectic Pen - JUNCTURE [three minutes]


By: ericjasongastelum   + 52 more  
Date Submitted: 6/4/2008
Genre: Literature & Fiction » Short Stories & Anthologies
Words: 1,819
Rating:


  it was the dark of the night that brought me to look out the window. i have seen the night before. i have seen the transformation of evening to dusk mutate to twilight. i have sat and looked at the sky with my friends racing to be the first one to locate a star. to be the one in that moment to see the first star stab through from the other side of the soft sky. you breathe, and everyone smiles.
i know night as the sister that will never leave me. no matter what my feud, she is there to listen to my position. she is there to hear how i feel. if it is a harsh word i must speak toward her, night accepts it, and we walk into the future together. she surrounds me with her cool breeze as cricket songs fill the air in the dark. the night is my day, and it will stay this way for as long as i have a choice.
i feel a leg brush against my foot as someone walks by. i don't think about turning around to see who it was. i am on my knees facing backwards into the street. my stomach is leaning against the cushions of the couch. the position is much like your dog waiting for you to come inside after a hard days work. wag tailed giddy to show you the messes he has made. i am brought out of my stare as someone plops down next to me. i pay them nothing, not a blink of my eye.
as she sits i break from my view to cock my head just over my shoulder. i notice a wave behind me. it is asking my acceptance. it is a wave of noise. it sounds like life, it sounds like billions of thoughts put to action. i accept the wave and hear it as a whole. not listening singularly to any certain part.
sounds in the back ground, making the scene to where i was.
the party happening behind me is full of fire. the minds that fill this home are packed with convictions, creed, imagination, and lust. it is like this everywhere i go. i dream in my mind that they know the things that i know. in the attic of my head there is a book that tells me that all the thinking i do will pay off. that somewhere in this life somethings i spend all my time pondering will make volumes of stories and random wisdoms i could blurt out at any passer-by.
the lights keep glowing less and less. it is midnight, and no one is showing signs
of stopping or giving up. various pairs of people cram in and out of the house.
this is where the hollow-cheeked cheers' with the aesthetically pleasing.
this is where we ignore the looks and pay mind to the meaning of social acceptance. if you gathered your self from a couch to be here you are more then welcome to stay, so long you behave.

they say if you drink enough alcohol you could die. i always end up passing out. there is a moment before you pass out that is an eerie state to be in. most events are a blur. the only worries in the world are what you can see in front of you at that point in time. that is only a brief expression as to what is really going on in an intoxicated human brain.
after that state you are worthless, not even your reproductive parts are of any use. the giant that is attached to those life and pleasure giving organs is more belligerent then you or i could ever fathom.
lights are like angels.
voices, every word someone speaks is the greatest resemblance to a blaring siren we could ever imagine. wit crumbles down the forehead with every sweat tear.
most of what i am saying is happening behind me. behind me, where time is standing almost perfectly still. as if you were to see with tenth dimension eyes, you could see quickly that time is not stopping or starting anywhere here. we are in a glass jar suffocating, and the only
patrons here tonight that know the way out are the ones that know how to accept how to die. the only participants that will know of any freedom are the humans that attempt to die here tonight. that try to shave a piece of their dignity to the floor.
the ones that staple their silhouettes to the ground and walk away.
these are a pathetic breed, all to their own. they feed each other more ideas that go no where. more and more until they feel enlightened.
the state of mind they have brought light to is subliminal to the point of nauseating any well to-do sober know-it-all.
some of us translate life in this living. some of these beings behind me making the sounds that are life are living. making sounds that are brilliant to the
touch of my ears. they are harsh elements to this earth. born and making more waste.
none-the-less we have life.
we have communication. we've made
beautiful collections of homes and vehicles out of everything we have found. structures in our minds turn to rough drats, turn into board meetings,
turn into fundings, turns into cubicles.
we employee, and feed.
we starve inside.
being here makes me itch to be everywhere else that this place reminds me of.
the dim of the room haunts me with the wanting to be back in my childhood. waiting for my uncle to come in and tell me it is time for bed. listen to his breath through his nose as the strong light in my bed room went out. dim rooms do all of the thinking for me, it seems. when i close my eyes and put my brain into hyper speed. lay my body to rest. as a child i never worried about what was in the dark. as a man, here and now, i can't imagine what's not there. past the canvas of air that fits the elements of my being like a glove. if you can imaging being immersed in water, just the opposite; just the same.
and so it goes, in the black of night i am still staring out, looking for something, i am sure of it.
everyone here is just, and worthy of all the things they have to say. i listen to a couple talk about their problems. this would be a casual argument. this would be anything that it's not, but his ears are closed and she keeps crying. he can't hear what she is really saying. he is paying his mind and ears to the laughs in the back ground. his eyes are wool-burned and closed as a tear rolls down her face, he is supposed to catch it, but the door opens and he is in it's way. he turns to see who enters the house, and misses the tear that would have had the impact of ten thousand of her words. in his head he knows this. somewhere behind the walls of thick bone it is written that he missed something just now.
she inhales the smooth air and watches her boyfriend grin at the person walking past the threshold. she watches him pat an old friend's shoulder coming through the door. at that moment i watch him swing around to give her his never nudged half-hearted attention.
he'll never know i saw their whole relationship in ten seconds. he'll never know i'm just like him.
the dark through the window is still a blur in the corner of my right eye.
the hand gestures and smiles drag me deep. this room is the tinsel and i am the kitten who cannot help herself. this room filled with followers and leaders attracts my eyes like a murder watching something die.
i'm in peace if i remain here. still, and poisoned by the movement of flesh wrapped in cloth. i accept my dose. that is the easy action. trying to move on from what i observe, from what i am teaching myself tonight is that hard part everyone would deny.
i think of what i just saw and the big blotch that represents the world through the pane.
another weary synapse giving off tiny thoughts of it's own. my imagination is the cactus that always has a thorn, that has reserved water, enough to live on.
i wonder about the human mind. we can't touch what we think or feel what we hear. everything here is real enough for me to kill. the girls in their circles. weaving truth with lies with spite and lovely things.

i leave my position to use the bathroom. weaving through people. trying my best to not cut through conversations. i keep my mind strait as i push like fog through the small avenues this herd has built. the floor squeaks like hands on a properly cleaned bowl. i try to ignore everyone and figure i should not be here at all if i cannot talk. if i cannot even make eye contact to a simple person, why leave home is what i am thinking.
the bathroom is usual as any. i get in and the water is still filling the bowl. i look at my face in the mirror. as i stare and look at my nose i notice the shower curtain rubbing against my arm. the ghost stapled to a rod and forced to endure moisture, and stench, day in and day out. the ghost that says nothing to me, it hangs at my side and watches life happen in the one room it is allowed in this house. my mind feels weak suddenly then fades back into a normal state. i take my stance in-front of the toilet. i unzip my pants and fish around for a warm limp limb. as this goes on and usually takes a few extra seconds i look to the ground. pubic hair sprinkled to the left and right of the toilet. dust infused with urine. dead skin cells brushed to the side without thought. and a steady stream of warm pours from me. i never think about it 'till i am in a bathroom, but i wonder when i grow old what it will be to have difficulty doing simple things. they are simple now, but later, these little tasks i preform will actually be a monotonous ordeal. i will fear not being able to do things with such a granted ease.
i finish up my process and wash my hands. boiling hot water, or cold. this bathroom has two faucets.
who makes these places?
my mind has a sharp feeling again, this time it is like a phosphor bomb set off in the great hall of my head. everyone is screaming, people evacuating. humans rolling out of the room. my thoughts, like lemmings off the side of a cliff.
it feels like sorrow and it feel like comfort.
it feels exact and flawless, much to the effect of giving birth.


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Comments 1 to 2 of 2
Marta J. (booksnob) - 6/8/2008 6:44 PM ET
There are some very sharp (and poignant) observations in this piece; somber and truthful.
Kim K. (Kim3) - 6/8/2008 11:15 PM ET
feels like you're the one dreaming instead of the author. flow nicely. one of the best i've heard.
Comments 1 to 2 of 2