Thursday, 31 March 2011

Paperbag Writer. Day One

It happens so quick that I don’t remember, like when your hair is cut and then you realize that it always seemed to be like that, only there is a sense of déjà vu, as you eat vanilla ice cream on the ceiling and you realize that you dreamt of it.

It falls.


Is there suppose to be one whenever we smile at a person we remember or when we stare down at those black hair steaks near the feet as more gets trimmed? What if we had danced with the person before? What about the hiss you hear when you die and then a body takes you out of the water, your blood the pool you were drowned in with boats of corpuses floating above, as you know that you had done it.

I curled more, keeping my eyes shut, trying to blind out wherever I was going. I knew it, anyway. I didn’t really care, I just went, feeling the car turn left, right or straight/forward. It felt so soothing that I felt no pain at all. But then death had been upon my face, stroking it. But then what should I have felt? Soul cancer. Let it be something unreal instead of the banality which had hit me, let it sparkle, let it fade in the night, as I observe. Let me pretend that I have soul cancer receiving something green into my mouth, which sparkles

(I had a dream, that a 'gas factory' exploded, green tongues taking overt the city, everything burning in seconds, nowhere to run and then mum had said that the catastrophe starts if it shall snow,

it did

the snow falling,

beautiful, as I had stared with my sister, both watching our lives gets absorbed by something humanity had created, isn't it wonderful to die to something you had never touched?)

that cannot be cured but to be lured into the hospital anyway.

They all were in pairs.

I had a bracelet, rather my sister gave it to me, as I’d trace the animals, wondering how come I managed to build something as big for all of them to squeeze inside, by pairs.

Is that the meaning to find a pair, when you search for more?
Why can't you get a threesome, when I had managed to lie all the years later?

I was told that I did it, so that I’d dry my eyes with the back of my palm, tasting salt in the corner of my lips. Noah, you did it.

Now, at this age, when you stop believing in Santa Claus I realized that there was some other Noah even if I didn’t know him or any other Noahs. He felt like the fucking Santa Claus and he wasn't the bloke staring at me from behind the mirror. I've licked him, he doesn't taste that nice. I could feel a shoelace crumble in a rather uncomfortable way, as if trying to suffocate my foot, all untied, all drenched in water and my blood, too much to handle, but I just lay still not feeling myself breathe, but just feel the car turn slowly, my parent’s voices in the background with the music in order for dad not to fall asleep.

I smiled.

How could he fall asleep when his son was on the backseat, keeping his eyes shut not daring to raise an eye to see his drenched in blood body. Was I drenched in blood? Weren't my own thoughts or the army I had betrayed? Was this sweat or rather blood? I shut my eyes heavier, feeling a light ping of paint rush to brain along with others.

What did it feel like, Noah to have that last female near you? What if she was a bitch, like many?

What if she never cared?

What if she was a nice girl, which did nothing and asked who the fuck Muse were?

I never liked them much, females, girls, due to their endless gossip declaring every possible crush to everybody with a signature ‘don’t tell anybody, not a soul’ which would pass on until it reached onto some guy and spread faster like fire until the whole school would know. And they guy wouldn't give a shit in their eyes. Why would you fall for that thing anyway?

I nuzzled my nose into the seat trying to suffocate but as soon as I reached the edge I coughed not opening my eyes, as I was asked if I could stand up. Get them away from me, I'm nine again.

I opened one eye watching everything in a heavy blur. I tried to put one foot down, but I felt nothing, as I was dragged onto the pavement or rather my feet before I was pulled into my father’s tight grip. I watched the blobs of bright lights and dull moving spots gather until a big white flashlight was turned in straightly at my face.

I scream.

They don't hear it.

Neither do I.

I tried to grunt but an exhausted exhale came from my lips.

“Noah? Noah, can you hear me?”

I get my head yanked forward, a flashlight glowing in front of my eyes clouding everything, luring black spots in front of my eyes. It aches, get away from me, let me die,

let me die,

let me die,let me die, letmedie


I get something injected into my body, it bleeds.

Of course I can but as soon as I try to speak it turns into a croak and I begin to cough rather badly. I bend in two the cough getting worse, the lungs turn into ribs and yank the veins out, so they hang as a chain which the doctors pull as my eyes fall out, the pain, the pain, it aches and fades, as I feel something pressed against my mouth, something soothing, something sweet. I lick it, my eyes closed, tongue numb.

I'm dead.

Heaven is like a hospital, they beat you up to hell.

I can’t make it out if I am going into an unconscious state by my own situation or by the doctor’s decision.


Noah is God.

Day Two