Who would you be?

I used to think I would be Jesus. But, to my credit, this wasn’t entirely my fault. My mother used to usher my brother and me to church when we were young. I’m not entirely sure why because I’m pretty sure she doesn’t buy much of it. She used to wake us up early and sneak us out of the house before my father woke up. He’s an atheist.

The reverend at my church was Mr. Phelps. He used to tell us, “Mr. Phelps helps.” Then he told us about Jesus. He said that he was the Son of God, or at least that’s what Christians believe. The Jews, on the other hand, were still waiting for the second coming. And at that moment, my eyes glittered. There was a vacancy.

He obviously meant that I could well possibly be the real Jesus. I figured I had until I was thirty to be sure, but it felt right at the time. I knew I was chosen to be something bigger than a lawyer. I had been telling my father that since I was in the first grade, and he first proposed the idea to me. My opportunity had arrived.

Miracles proved to be harder to perform than I had originally thought. I tried to fly, but I my legs weren’t long enough to send me to the heavens from the tops of sand dunes on the beach. I never mastered telepathy. I was pretty sure I could talk to the dead, although Blackbeard never did tell me where his treasure was buried. Bastard.

I could, however, talk to my dog. Sam was a faithful friend and an honest listener. He told me all sorts of things. Mainly how full of shit I was. He didn’t seem to grasp the perils of being the mortal incarnation of Yahweh. I told him this, too. To which he replied with rolled eyes and a groan, rolling over onto his back. Then he said, “Scratch my belly, girl.” I did. My celestial senses told me never to argue with animals.

For a while, I kept my divinity a secret from my parents. My mother was technically Baptist. She’d think I was blasphemous. Though I don’t know why it would have made a difference to her since Baptists think children go to Hell if they die before they are baptized as consenting adults.

My father was trickier. How could I tell him I was a Jew? I decided I should bring up the topic casually. I asked him what he thought of Jews, and to my surprise, he liked them. He said if he could pick one religion to actually believe in, Judaism would be it. Well, an atheist Jew at least. I never did tell him that I was Him, but I felt that I had his validation.

I decided that being the Son of God came with certain responsibilities. I began to pray to Myself. I prayed when my parents cursed or fought or told me I would work in McDonald’s for the rest of my life because I got a C in the third grade.

I asked Mr. Phelps about Heaven. What was it like? What was God like? Would I like it there? Would I feel comfortable reigning it? He said Heaven was built in the clouds. There were many angels there and they played hide and seek in mist. He pointed to a picture that had conveniently been painted of God. He didn’t look so bad. He had a big beard and reminded me of Santa Claus. Maybe he’d bring me presents. After all, I was his only Son.

What Mr. Phelps hadn’t counted on is that my father is a pilot. He told me that if only I could see the tops of the clouds, I would be able to see Heaven and all those who inhabit it. For the first time in my life, I actually looked forward to getting into that dreadful plane. Apparently being God didn’t save you from motion sickness.

The next time we flew to the Outer Banks, I pressed my nose to the glass window. My headphones buzzed loudly with the vibrations of the plane. I scanned the billows with a trained eye. Those suckers couldn’t hide from the eyes of God. Only they did. I didn’t see a single angel.

Every flight I became less hopeful. My father would tell me, we need to wash the plane. Let’s fly through some rain clouds, shall we? Yes! I answered. Maybe the angels were in the clouds. I’ll bet you wouldn’t believe this, but they weren’t.

I presented these facts to Mr. Phelps. He sighed quietly and cleared his throat. He didn’t respond right away, which made me suspicious. Then he went into this speech about faith and how you don’t need to see things to believe in them. Bull. Shit.

I was 8 years old. Of course I needed to see them to believe them. As impulsive as I tend to be, I immediately discarded his words. All of them. God. Heaven. The angels. Even Jesus. I lost my faith. In religion. In myself.

So who would Jesus be? Certainly not me.

Sleepless

Words know not their place in mine
Ill attempt. English
Is spoken by the masses.

The Waiting

Face the ocean, he said.
Words lost in the wind.
The Pacific bubbled and roared
Like champagne.
The horizon sauntered off,
Seduced by the golden glow slipping
Out of reach.

Broken Record

Rinse and repeat.
I stare blankly at my feet
And watch my sinful suds gurgle into the drain.
Today's filth will be tomorrow's dirt.
Did you hear about?
Fill-in-the-blank.
The skeletons in my closet are the corpses
Of lost causes.

Such Stuff as Dreams are Made On

I sat squatting in the far corner of my apartment and bit my nails. It’s a bad habit I’ve never had the desire to quit.

There is some masochistic pleasure in being able to rip up a piece of your body painlessly. To investigate the ridges of the tears. To see how much farther you can go until you feel it. And sometimes even more.

Clipping my nails has only ever given me mild pleasure at best. The sound of the sharp snap is a satisfaction which dissipates quickly. My throbbing fingertips, however, last for days.

The simple grey light of the early morning hung in heavy silence. It had not yet reached my toes, and I watched it indifferently.

And then something peculiar happened. A silver sliver caught my eye, reflecting what little light protruded the room. My eyes followed it to the wooden floor, upon which a small green spider stalked.

Its legs emerged like antennae. They rose to a peak twice its height. The lanky legs moved quickly, precisely. It reminded me, for some odd reason, of a ballerina. Pointy toes moving just gracefully so.

It scuttled about my room, investigating various discarded items. A half-finished puzzle depicting the oil on canvas “Napoleon Crossing the Alps” by Jacques-Louis David. An empty bag of Calbee wasabi mayo flavored potato chips. My La Vie en Rose DVD case. A pocket-sized packet of tissues.

Then it turned toward me and froze. It seemed to regard me in a curious fashion from its 8 protruding eyeballs. I felt judged and momentarily looked away. When our eyes met again, it immediately started toward me in a menacing way.

It tilted its head toward the floor as if charging. I noticed a horn protruding from its forehead complete with about a dozen sharp hooks growing from it like little hairs. Its glossy shell seemed impenetrable.

As is possible in dreams, my room possessed an oddly warped angle. My presence seemed to weigh down the corner I had claimed so that everything else appeared insignificant. As a result, the approaching spider grew in size as it charged.

Although the spider had proved to be nearly the size of a golfball in all actuality. I wasted little breath in a quick uptake of the knee followed by a most satisfactory thud to the ground. I promptly squashed it with the heel of my foot.

The outer membrane resisted my weight at first, only to give in to an irresistible POP! Mmm, I sighed. Finger biting ain’t got nothing on this. I relished in my newfound guilty pleasure, then investigated the results. Its legs, somewhat crumpled, twitched amid a small puddle of what resembled green applesauce.

However, my moment of zen quickly vanished. As if awakened by my actions, two more spiders slightly larger than the first appeared. They didn’t give me any dirty looks, but I squashed them for good measure, too.

In retrospect, I have to admit, it was a mistake. The room suddenly darkened, and I glanced at my balcony window. I was shocked to find that the entire window was enveloped in web.

What must have been thousands of spiders moved about, spinning, clipping, sucking the blood from helpless victims of fate. Simultaneously, they paused. The web jostled in the breeze, and they clung tightly to it.

At first, I could only see the sharp tips of the large hairs. Then as it lowered itself, the beastly legs came into clear vision. This spider must have been the size of a small car.

I hunched motionless in the corner. Nervously, I began to bite my nails.

As if on cue, the choir of spiders spun single strands of silk and dropped from the web like parachutes. The army of legs tap tap tapping my wooden floor filled the room with a horrid sound much like scratches on an old record playing.

My hands became clammy, and I swallowed a lump welling in my throat. I began grabbing the spiders, now the size of fists, and popping them. At first, I was almost welcoming the opportunity of poppage.

But as they kept coming, I couldn’t keep up. An endless sea of green abdomens and spindly legs. They tickled my skin as they crawled up my arms like grape-sized goosebumps.

And as the stories always go, I woke up.

Late Night Chats

heykeriann02: what are you up to?

superphryxis: folding laundry
not sure what im gonna do for the rest of the evening tho!
might look thru my old pics and find some shit to edit

lol
you would
i really want to do some writing
but i think i'll last another 30min before i crash

lol
dude
blogs need updates more than once a month

hush
i'm drained of creative energy

yeah
i feel ya

tell me a story

hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm

wow
that was compelling!

lol
thx
im bad at stories
esp with remembering them on the fly
i have to be reminded of something

well
hey remember that time you told a really good story to one of your boring friends?
you should tell me that one

lol

you keep my boring friends out of this!!!

okokok
so i have an idea
and it's corny but i'm just like that

nice

i'ma start a story

ok

and you help me finish it

ok

it was one of those nights that just wouldn't end.

we should do every other sentence

the incessant ticking of the clock echoed in my empty bedroom, and as i slipped out of unconsciousness, time seemed to slow.

yeah yeah well wait
ok sry

i got to set it up

oh ok

the ticks faded into the darkness and the tocks swallowed me whole.


i said it would be the last time. but this would be the last time. the syringe falls from my shaking hand.
edit: i said it would be the last time so many times, but this would be the last time. the syringe falls from my shaking hand.

i held my breath for a moment, as if i could hold this moment indefinitely. the rush. blood bubbling. racing. i rested my head against the cool wall and stared at the ceiling, which began to waver.

the walls began to close in, reality faded from my body. this time was stronger than the others. i felt myself tumbling down the rabbit hole. the hallucinations began to creep into my mind.

my pupils dilated into black pools. i hovered over them, inspecting my drooping face. but the opaque waters showed only the emptiness lurking inside me. i leaned closer and squinted for good measure, but it was too late. i tumbled forward, swallowed whole. then, nothing. utter silence. don't panic. it's a black out. enjoy the moment while it lasts, because you won't remember it. the darkness was so thick i could run my fingers through it.

i waded in the void for hours, which were probably just seconds. a pungent odor filled the air. roses. i feel around, i touch the ground. silky petals titillate my fingertips. slowly, the shadow begins to lift.

a milky crimson wave surges, and i brace myself. it washes over my body, and i am in ecstasy. at once every hair on my body stands on end. my toes begin to tingle, and a slowly my skin prickles as if it is about to fall asleep. i'm as numb as novacain. i sink into myself and try to relax, but my mind is racing.

my heart hammers at my chest. palms sweaty, i close my eyes and take a deep breath. vivid rainbows and shapes dance across my eyelids. i open my lids, and am suddenly in a psychedelic world of color and light. i see something in the distance.

the mass seemed to boil over on itself as it slinked forward. it would bubble up and then spew forward, exploding from its own weight. as my eyes went in and out of focus, i began to realize that it wasn't something creeping toward me. it was many things. many tiny things creeping and crawling over one another in a mad race toward me.

sheer terror consumes me. i turn to run, but it is too late. i feel them scurrying up my legs, my body, my neck, my face. my scream is muffled by the millions of particles filling all of my orifices. i gasp for air, but each breath inhales them into my lungs. i'm drowning.
lol i like how you're writing in past and im writing in present

their miniscule pinchers tear and tug at my innards until i feel as if i am ripping at my seams. my gurgled scream emits only flesh, as the tiny creatures pull me inside out.
(there now i'm in the present)

the excruciating pain is replaced by the most intense euphoria ever felt. each bite sends sparks of pleasure through my body. my flesh withers away as the ravenous monsters have at my being

i am suddenly aware of each individual cell in my body. i marvel at the thought of thinking, feeling, moving, acting as a collection of these infinite beings. suddenly my sense of euphoria multiplied exponentially. i giggled helplessly.

the giggles turned into laughs, the laughs turned into hysteria. my brain was on the verge of implosion.

my thoughts ran wild. tangled roots pierced my brain. the once massive trees with outstretched branches of imagination come tearing through the vines and lay rotting in my damp and molding head.

let's continue this later, it's really fun, but my brain is too tired to think
save it
and we can pick it up

yeah i was gonna say the same
i was supposed to be in bed an hr ago

Impressions of a Man

A quick glance
Stolen breath
A chill fingers down the nape of my neck
I bite my lower lip
A new fixation
His lips taunt mine
As each word projects from his tongue
My heart grows weaker
A throbbing pain consumes my chest
My knuckles whiten
I am ravished
I am shaken
I am wanted
I’m not mistaken
But he does not move
He does not take me
He rests alone in the shadows
Untouchable
A mind retreated into uncharted waters
And those eyes reveal the mind within
Muddy water
Unclear thoughts
Unknown depths
A haunting fog of possibilities
Intrigue grips me
I tilt my head for a better view
One
Singular
Overwhelming
Peek
A knowing grin
A quiet nod
Unspoken words whisper in the air like smoke
They curl between my fingers and through my hair
Faint murmurs I don’t quite hear
Stoically he sits
Stiff yet slouched
He paws his beard and ponders
Nostrils flaring
Those knowing eyes wide
His world escapes me, and yet I rest
My head in my hand
Warmly watching
As distant worlds unravel like wire
Splaying out in every direction
Rocking back and forth
He collects them all
Polishes and intertwines his fantasies
Into a reality that he evades
While I sit there still
And wait
And wait
And watch