STS: unintelligible

Suddenly all the vowels were missing. Not just for me but for everyone it seemed. The thing was this though, no one else seemed to take notice. They talked like never before, nodding and someone in the back screamed. Even the scream felt surreal. Since I couldn’t understand the noise was excruciating. I felt sick, a headache I couldn’t do anything about. Five steps, ten steps away, I sat down right by the alleyway. Half outside and half inside with my back turned against the people.

No one talked and yet no one was able to shut up even for a minute. People walked past trying their damnedest not to notice the freak on ground. The feet hurried down, leaving tiny echoes in the sideway that bounced on the dumpsters and muffed on the cardboard.

Suddenly I see a pair of feet pointed towards me. I look up and see one of the cutest faces ever. She sits down too, smiles and says “hi”. She voweled. There and at that time it was all that mattered.

Glass

Some days I really wonder. What am I doing here? And why do I even try? It’s hard to try and find a place to fit in when there’s these things working against you and most of them are internal. To feel liked and loved but at the same time have huge problems with intimacy and body contact. (Can hug people I like even in public. Handshakes with strangers are uncomfortable. I can’t make firends without the Internet, don’t remember how. Trust me when I say that my biopic will have the title There Will be Issues.) To don’t have a clue about the social protocols and being forced to guess or at worst more fail than not on trail and error. To let people in without really knowing how to do that as the walls — cracked and ruined as they might be — still proves to be in the way and with marked no safe route around.

I don’t want life to be a form of looking in through a window but mostly that’s what it seems like. And most people don’t look up when I knock on the glass. The worst part is that I don’t know if I’m happy about the window or not. 

STS: when I should have fought

Yikes was all I could think. Yikes, again and all. Two steps back and prepared to run as fast as I could. And everything stayed the same. I curse this still, even a change to the worse would have been better. Knowing would have been better than running. Metaphorically I mean. Never been a fast runner, always the slow and chubby one. But run I did, from every confrontation and every punch. Age does not matter, not really. The fear’s there hammered into the fabric of the bones and muscles. Pulling away is a matter of muscle memory now. The next time I will fight, I will open up and let people in. Allow them to be close and not shy away or flinch at the mere thought of intimacy. It’s what I keep telling myself but I’ve done this before. Internal battles are the hardest to win, especially against a coward.

STS: impossibly

I’d like to be happy and loved and all that emotional claptrap.

STS: heaven

Cheese; brie, mozzarella, feta, parmesan, cheddar, Vacherin du Haut-Doubs, camembert, and I’m really bad at names. Cookies; chocolate chip, chocoshock, pecan, with creame cheese or even as muffins, but always with cacao. Couch; movies, closeness, hugs, laughter. Smells; wet hair, old books, even other people, coffee, tea, more tea. Contentment.

STS: salvage

What happened? I don’t know. Something, but I can’t remember. Perhaps I’m not allowed to remember. You know, as one of the rules. There are rules here. People have told me that. One, don’t be greedy with life. Two, food is for everyone. Three, do not remember the salvage. Oh, salvage. No. Nononono. I mustn’t. I can’t. It’s…

Too late. I’m not saved am I? I’m still there, fevered dreams of the last breaths before I die? Hope not, hope not. The salvage will come. I will not remember it this time! I promise. Just… Please. The light, I see it. It moves. I will not remember it! And the sound. It wasn’t there before, I’m sure of it. Perhaps I can be allowed to remember this one. Salvage the parts of me that still can function for someone else. It’s for the best, I’m sure. Rule one says so.

STS: How far does it go?

Words they don’t always come easy
sometimes they come out all wrong
other times they’re all to true
in the crisp air of winterlong
where they can’t survive the distance
no matter how short this distant is

Smiles all hidden behind laughter
the earnest impulse dies all alone
all alone in this cold worn soul
Scattered and recklessly thrown
where they can’t survive the distance
no matter how short this distant is

I thought this was the end, no
it can go further than this, obviously
that should have been apparent.
I get to stand here for all to see
shame from feelings all to errant
How far does it go before it goes?
How far does it go before it goes?
How far does it go before it goes?
Can’t wait for it to go that far so it goes. 

STS: “Okay. Now you go.”

“Okay. Now you go.” The words echoed through the hall. Neither of us sitting there waiting knew what to expect on the other side of the door. I thought it would be just as big and white as the hall. That would somehow be the ultimate fuck you, sitting here waiting for something that’s exactly the same. The door opened and a man came in.

“Fifty-two.” That was not my number, the door closed. From the other side you could hear mumblings, inside it was probably regular talk because sound-proofing was obviously not something they’d spent money on.

“Okay. Now you go,” and the lights blinked once again as the words were heard. It didn’t happen often but it wasn’t uncommon either. I looked at my hands as the door opened.

“Twelve.” I looked up. Finally. My legs had grown a bit numb from all the waiting so I wasn’t the fastest through but I wasn’t the slowest either. Always something right? As I went through the door I marvelled at what I saw inside. A small room, much smaller than the hall, filled with cables and monitors and everything. Because I’m sure you could find everything in there if you only searched properly. I almost went into shock from the environmental difference.

A woman with brainy specs pointed towards a chair all covered in wires and tubes and things I’ve never seen nor heard of.

“Please sit down. It will only take a moment as we calibrate the system to you.” I sat down in the chair, somewhat at unease. “Don’t you worry. The poor person before you had the power surge, this gives you a success rate of almost a hundred percent.” She smiled at me and pushed a button.

“Okay. Now you go,” and with that the machine and I left the larval state of humanity.

STS: Crashing

There was this party and I was in it. It was good party, but I could feel it happen. The crash. The way every ounce of sanity and self-esteem fell down short at my feet and left my as a hollow shell. Crying. Everything became worse as I felt more sad for exposing friends to this so the reinforcing cycle began grinding down and down and down. One of the worst crashes ever, and brings a new meaning to gate crashing a party.

So if you can avoid it, don’t be the one who destroys the mood of a party.

STS: Dive

We, and with we I mean some friends and I, were in this dive. Not a cosy one, it was cheap beer and loud music and… No, sorry, the room where they had a really bad cover band in was nice until the band started. When that happened we dislocated into a bigger and more anonymous room closer to the dance floor.

Yeah I know.

There was this Black Jack table too, a friend — let’s call him Butch — sat down there and started playing. It went sort of okay I think, memory is a bit fuzzy on that. Next to Butch, his sister — here Sundance — talked to a stranger as one occasionally do in bars. Suddenly Butch leaned over.

— Does he want to sleep with you? Cool!

He said this really loud as he’s prone to do. Sundance blushed harder than anyone I’ve ever seen and went quiet. She couldn’t really talk to the stranger anymore, severely cockblocked in awkwardness by her kid brother. The rest of us found it hilarious. (Sorry Sundance! These siblings are really among my favourite people.)

STS: Concrete

It can make you feel the most alive when the feet touches the concrete. An impulse impossible to quench to see where it leads. The feet run until it reaches the end and then continues out into the wild. Away from everything as the smell of the warm asphalt slowly shifts to wood and dust and animals that hides just out of sight. The sun play olly olly oxen free between the trees and the slightest of breezes caries parts of you back to where you left the city behind. Shadows of atoms made of shampoo, sweat and skin. The feet though, they don’t care and caries on. To see where this new place goes.