were
the words that followed me around, whether my eyes were open or closed,
threatening to unhinge me fully, and even though that was what I really needed
in a different area, it would not help me to unhinge mentally.
It was a funny situation really, sitting on the bus,
wondering how many people are desperate to get home before they void themselves
in their immaculate work suits, knowing that no matter how long I spend on the
bus, I will not have that problem.
The street names and traffic lights blur into one, one long
tunnel passing the bus through, final station in mind, a short recycling later,
the bus returns and travels through the route again.
How easy to forget, and how shocked our worldview, when the
bus stops, and refuses to move, no matter how much fuel it has, and how
insistent the driver is.
The fewer words we spend on the passengers the better. A
collection of rejects of society, too worn to care, to downtrodden to resist,
slowly making their way to their final destinations, with nothing left in mind
but simple step by step existence. But what would happen, if the next step was
cancelled? Then surely, even the meek would awaken.
I lean my head on the glass to steady myself, trying to
visualize the journey, to help my little bus along, but all I feel is a void, a
painful absence of pain congregating in my belly, with a certain knowledge that
something has to give.
The doctor was cheerfully confident that it was the bus that
will have to give, but I feel that I will give in first, slowly expanding until
the skin gives in, followed by the muscles, and then the bus takes a detour to
the final destination thanks to road works and unhealthy eating habits.
The cool glass soothes me a bit, and I start noticing, for
the first time, the drains. I never really saw them before; only knowing they
were there intellectually, but never really Knowing them, and I start to wonder
what a world there exists, under the drains, imagining the beings and unbeings
existing in the stripes of light filtered from the world above.
What would like be, eternally submerged in darkness,
rejected by and rejectful of the world above, aware only of the smells and
sounds but rarely the sights few are aware of, pushing through the dark
membranes further and further into blackness, slowly dissolving your own
boundaries with those of the outside world, becoming one with the bleak
blackness of endless time…
Existing only in frenzied imagination of children and dreams
of adults, and avoided by dogs and voided on by dogs and taking everything the
world has to give and transforming it into more of yourself until you are
everything that is left when nothing is left.
“Mommy, mommy, what is wrong with that man?”
“Shh honey, he’s fallen asleep don’t disturb him.”
“But he smells bad mommy!”
