since birth we have been collecting. we collect friends.
we collect possessions, family, lovers, property (poverty?). this one and that one, this and that. we cling to each one, and there is fear. and when we die not one of these things helps. instead of helping, our collection destroys us because we did not remember death.
i was sweeping the second floor five in the morning most people tucked up in mini heavens or hells so all is quiet till her door bursts open. she scares me and im scared and she’s scared we look at eachother like bunnies frozen. she says that they are buggin her won’t go wont let her sleep i’ll come in and scare them away i say she says no they’ll get mad or worse. she slides back into her room looking back over her shoulder. i take my time sweeping getting every corner of that floor, every doorway. i dont want her to be alone because i know that feeling i know her feeling. i cant do anything but sweep so i sweep.
She looked tired. Too tied to put on make-up, change clothing or bathe
“It has been keeping me up,” she says furtively
“It screams at me as soon as I fall asleep.” She locks eyes, puts her crunched hands by my her mouth and sucks the air through her teeth while smacking her tongue.
“I haven’t slept for days.”
The sheets are off her bed. The bed is in the middle of the room
“I’m afraid its gonna be in the covers” she says as the duvet sits like a cloud in the corner.
We joke about crucifying it. A sick Christmas demise. We don’t. We leave and go to the bar.
Tonight she tells me she caught her first tormenter. I tell her she can rest in peace. It can rest in peace. The corpse lies in her kitchen. Throw it out, I advise, give that fucker one last flight. She feels mean.
I know what you mean.
RIP MOUSE this was you.
and the weather is supposed to be nice, bonus.
ohai great gramps
up and let’s go (alternative radioactive man catch phrase)