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a thief had entered the house
and all
he stole
was the TV remote
Perhaps some prankster kid
because at times
the TV would act strange. So he's probably
close and messing with them.
there was only the two of them
home. The old man with
dementia and his
daughter, not a very young woman herself
unable to speak,
the old man
began to cry because he couldn't
watch his favorite
cartoons on TV
and he cried and cried and kept crying
about it
It was too much
and, the daughter thought, it was
about time. About time she
left the past behind and
started her
own life. She was 39, childless,
no husband, no boyfriend, nothing.
Over the next few days
she arranged for the old man
to be placed into foster care. He was still
crying.
Sacrifices had to be made. She was wiping her
own tears when the
phone rang.
She picked up
and a nurse told her they'd taken her
father to the ER
as he wouldn't stop crying
"Goodness, what happened to him? Is
he all right now?"
"Um, mam, this might be
difficult to hear but..."
"Yes?"
"In the ER, they found a TV remote
lodged inside his
rectum."
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The building had 60 stories
and he was 60 years old
Still cleaning it from bottom to top
for the past 35 years
one thing remained unchanged
as time passed
the coldness
Every surface he’d ever touch would
be as cold as the glass
of a window in the winter
And the people who
worked in the building were
pale and cold as vampires
He forgot how it was to be saluted
or how it was to salute
and get a reply
No one talked to the janitor
No one knew his name
No one cared
There were no souls in this isolated
monolith
that stood in the center
overlooking other monoliths
Hell is cold
and monotonous
and plays constant factory noises
or keyboard noises
and exudes smoke
Even the plants were made of
plastic and their flowers
and leaves had to be sprayed with alcohol
and wiped with a rag
Real plants wouldn’t
accept such treatment
They would punish you with their death
and that should be enough
But not for those pale vampires
The only thing alive
was him, the janitor
who imagined jazz music playing in
his mind as he scrubbed the tiles
and one mushroom that grew behind one of the
toilets in the women’s bathroom from
a used pad
He left it there for days
It was his little secret, his little friend
in this world of soulless beings
It was life sprouting against
impossible odds
Life in hell
It was something to look up to
every day
Something to kneel before and say
hello to and sing jazz to
and even pat gently with the finger
He promised himself that the day that
mushroom died
he would retire
So far it was still alive
Still sprouting spores that he
inhaled
and tasted with his tongue after
rubbing it gently with his finger
Living beings
stick together
regardless of species
Just like the dead do
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She was sucking
on a red lollipop
quite loudly
and would constantly
take it out of her mouth
to stir her whiskey with it
She wore round sunglasses
a crimson bandanna
her hair in thin dreads
and all her shirts
were sleeveless
She took the lollipop out
one more time and
pointed it at him
across the table
“You want some?”
she asked
“Um, no thanks. I, uh,
stay away from sweets.”
She dipped the lollipop
back into the glass
and stirred a bit
then put it back
in her mouth
“Good for you.
I’m not too fond
of these either.
Just use ’em to help me
break the smoking habit.
It’s been working lately.”
She picked up the glass and took a sip
of the lollipop-flavored whiskey
“Anyway, like I said,
I brought you to my place
to read your tarot cards.”
She pulled the deck out
from under the table
and began shuffling
it intently
“If all’s good,
there’ll be a second date
and perhaps even more.
It all depends on you.”
Just then,
her dog barged into the room,
a fat pit bull wagging its stubby tail
and sniffing around the guest
It then ambled to her side
and she took the lollipop
and placed it between
the dog’s jaws
She shuffled some more
very focused on what
she was doing
and when all was ready
she took the lollipop
from the dog’s mouth
and resumed sucking on it
with loud slurping sounds
“So, you ready?”
she asked
He watched her,
gulped, and
scratched his head
“Um… yeah, totally.
This is, uh… like
poker, right?”
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“You made me take drugs,” she reproached
him
But he didn’t hear her
over the pain in his lower belly
“You made me take drugs,” she repeated.
“Huh?”
“And for this I’ve decided to
replace you. With someone better, someone who
would never make me do something
I don’t feel right with.”
He shook his head and noticed
that he was in the kitchen
tied to a chair
And there was a horrible pain in his lower belly
and his chest and
most of his body
and he felt like vomiting
His woman was at the gas cooker
pouring oil over a frying sausage
in a pan
The dog was at her feet
salivating
“This is what you get,” she said, “for making
me do drugs, darling.”
“What?” He was still with a foot
in the world of painful dreams
but he watched her take
the sausage from the pan and toss it
to the dog
The dog grabbed it before
it could land on the floor and began to chew
She pointed at the dog. “He. He’s gonna
take your place now. He’ll never
make me do drugs.”
“What?” he said. Still not understanding
what was going on.
He looked down and saw the blood
and the tissue dangling from
his crotch.
Then he screamed
And the dog barked
the old boy
wakes up three hours ahead of
the world that lives in concrete buildings
and one hour ahead of the
competition
and emerges from his damp tent
looks around the park
looks at the sky
Overcast
He stretches a bit and scratches his
head
and walks over to the fountain
and has a drink
collects some mint leaves
chews on them
spits
and rinses his mouth
The work clothes are already on him
Boots
two pairs of socks
cotton and wool
faded jeans
a shirt
a sweater
and coat over them
mittens
and a cap that covers his ears as well
It's now time to set about
collecting tin cans around the neighborhood
to make just enough for
a meal and a half
and maybe a few cigarettes sold
individually
It's been
enough years for all this to become
routine
When you don't know of any better you
don't expect any better
And now he only did this to have just enough
energy and life force to
visit the public library and
read heart warming poems
there was
simply
no other way
some things just have
to be done
else you risk dying
from the urge alone
Urge can kill
and his urge was
like the need
to inhale after exhaling
deeply
Unstoppable
There was no reason tied
to it other than
the desire to see what
happens, how
it'll turn out
so he did it
that's why they don't see
him around
anymore
He is now the stuff
of legends
He'll forever be the silent kid
who brought a knife
to the playground
because he wanted
desperately to stab it
through the underside of
the plastic slide
while someone came down towards it
it didn't matter who
They will never finish the building
It would stay in its skeletal form
forever
because the government is
corrupt
but then
they all are
so it wasn’t the grandest
tragedy of the world
It was a fun place for
the kids
A place where they pretended to be
monkeys and did parkour
and whatnot
A place where tight friendships
and love were to
be discovered
and kept hidden in the various
incomplete rooms
and under unfinished stairs
The unfinished building was the
wonderland of a truly magical childhood
And it was still unfinished by
the time childhood ended
It’s been twenty years
and her girlfriends kept asking
her why she wasn’t
dating or starting a family
She just shrugged. Said she didn’t
want to hurt any men
It was enough those twenty years
ago when she
told a boy that he had to
walk across the high ledge if he wanted her kiss
Poor kid was too dumb and love-struck
for his own good,
but his fall and death took her out of the
tomboy phase.
She no longer sought adventure
and thrill
twenty years…
And the building was
still unfinished
Wasn’t the best house for
a five-year-old
It was just a small room above the
bar his mother worked in
and it was open until late at night
and he couldn’t sleep because
of the noise
He imagined savages going
at each other
and then laughing in celebration
of victory
and he wasn’t too far from the truth
His mother would come
into the room from time to time
to get something or
to leave something in her locker.
She had no time for him
And lately she kept coming with
blood on her clothes
He imagined she must clean up after
all those savages, pick
their dead bodies up
and bury them.
It was unfair. Her only reward was
a spit’s worth of flour
his mother was too tired to cook
with. So
she just snorted it through her nose
and went to sleep
while leaving him with some fast-food meal,
sometimes only fries,
sometimes nothing at all
But one day mom stopped coming
Some savages in blue uniforms took her away
and they came for him
as well and
he cried, not understanding what
he did wrong
“Have you ever kissed
so hard
you chipped a tooth?”
she asked
with a grin that
revealed more than one
chipped tooth.
He shook his head. “No, and I
really don’t intend
to.”
Well, that’s what you get
for hitting
on a girl you meet
in the yard of the asylum. But
she said she was a
nurse.
“Anyway,” he said. “What happened
to him? I mean,
after the kiss.”
“Oh, there were many,
many kisses actually,” she said. “He’s
dead now.”
“What? He died?”
“Well, yeah, dogs don’t
live that much. Compared to humans
I mean.”
it wasn’t morning yet
but he woke up
to the sounds of cheering
and applause
He looked around
and saw
shadowy figures with
elongated faces
and bright, white eyes
staring at him
“Congratulations, they said. You
have awakened.”
“What in the hell?” he
said, looking around
startled. “Who are you?”
“The messengers,” replied
the shadows. “We are very pleased
to announce that you
may collect your prize
whenever you are ready. You’ve
earned it.”
“What? What did
I do?”
“You awakened. In a world of
sleepers
you woke up
and are therefore eligible for
ascension. You might follow
us through the hole
in the ceiling whenever you
are ready. All that’s left
to do here is
to melt the shackle.”
“What?” he said
Then one of the shadows
gave him a small
bottle that smelled strongly
of gasoline
and a box of matches
The other shadows
pointed to
his desk, to all the papers
stacked on it
and under it
and all around it
“Those are my poems,” he said
“Indeed. They represent
everything that keeps you
tied to this world. Your shackle.
Burn your shackle and melt it
away so you can ascend
and take flight. The time
has come.”
“I worked all my life
to write those
poems,” he said
“Yes, you did. But now that you
are awake you see that
they’re all in vain. For
nothing is real
on this plane. It’s all
a dream, of course. You have
designed it pretty nice. A simple
dream spent entirely in
the confines of a narrow room
with low ceiling. Drinking
and smoking and
writing all day long
and late into the night. It’s
a beautiful dream. No family,
no friends, no communication with the
outside world, and no desire
for any. You’ve thus taken
a shortcut to awakening, but it’s by
no means illegal. You’re still
eligible for ascension. So,
whenever you’re ready, we are.”
He watched the shadows
The shadows watched him
He reached out for the
gasoline and matches, looked over
to the desk and the stacks
of paper
Looked for a long
time
Closed his eyes
and went back to sleep
The shadows were gone
by the morning
but they left the gasoline and
matches
behind
He got out of bed
went to the desk
by the window
opened the blinds
and started writing
another poem
Daydreaming as a profession 