Category: writing

i would just like to formally reprimand my cat for waking me up in the middle of a dream where i was dating beyonce. she–my cat–likes to dash away from the litter box after she has taken a shit, which is her way of distancing herself from her filth as far as possible. this morning there happened to be a paper bag on the floor along the way–occasionally i leave paper bags on the floor so she can play in them–anyway she ran into the paper bag and it made a loud noise and woke me up, while i was in the middle of a dream wherein beyonce was my girlfriend. now, i wouldn’t describe a lot of things in my life as “soul-sucking,” but this was definitely one of them. i watched “lemonade,” i felt that shit. i’m a dumb white guy but i felt it. great art is something you feel no matter what age, gender, et cetera you are. i know a lot of it’s not for me but that doesn’t mean there isn’t something there that is for everyone. it’s like mixed nuts. i don’t like filberts but somebody does, and i still buy ’em. anyway i was like “jay z how? how could you do that to this woman?” and then i had a dream where she and me were dating and we were driving in a nice convertible with the top down and she looked over at me as her hair was whipping around in the wind, and she looked at me  with this warmth in her eyes that made me feel like i was home, like no matter where i was in the world, when i was with her, i was home. then my goddamn cat ran into a paper bag and woke me up, very abruptly. it was ten minutes before my alarm was supposed to go off, too. so consider this my formal reprimand, directed at miss whiskers, for ruining a perfectly good dream.

see, when you’re a donut like me, you have to keep moving. donut. it’s a term i made up for people like me, guys who … have a hole inside of them. i could probably explain that better. i’m like a donut because i’m sweet but also flaky but also i have a hole inside of me. not a, um, not like a physical, like a literal hole. it’s a metaphor, dude. i have this hole inside of me and nothing can fill it up, not even a dick. that–i mean, i guess you’ve never done this before because you’re a female, but one time i bought a dozen krispy kreme donuts and put them on my dick. on my, like, erect penis. just to see how many i could fit. and i’ll tell you right now: a half-dozen. you get what i’m saying here? half dozen is a lot. but that’s not why i call myself a donut. i mean it could be. but it’s not. no i’m glazed and have a hole inside of me that can’t be filled by anything. that’s it. and see women like you see me being all mysterious in the corner and you think “oh that guy’s mysterious in the corner” but what’s really going on is i’m trying to fill this donut hole sized hole in my soul, not a literal one but a metaphorical one. it’s hard to talk to people about that, because they just don’t understand. so i sit back in a dark corner and brood. that’s probably what made you want to go out with me tonight, isn’t it? i mean, i wrote it on my okcupid profile so you had to have read it.

hyperspace is, to put it simply, a realm without space. the only space we theorize is the necessary space between subatomic particles in atoms, because while in hyperspace we can see objects as they exist in realspace, which means they must have some kind of atomic structure. but since physics in hyperspace is so different from physics in realspace, we can’t be sure, nor can we contain hyperspace particles long enough to observe them. this is because hyperspace physics “breaks down” in realspace, and that breakdown is real, physical radioactive effects, which are roughly 10 times stronger than the effects of gamma radiation, and routinely destroyed early ships attempting to pass through. fortunately, most jumps are only a few seconds in length so the damage is mitigated, moreso by the anti-physic shields we’ve developed over the years. so it’s important to understand that the physics breakdown works both ways–hyperspace breaks down in realspace, and vice versa. so far there is no known way of preventing this. it’s just a matter of physics incompatibility. we can only mitigate the damage, like i said.

the top theory, by the way, of the atomic structure of hyperspace is the “inside out” theory, which posits that atoms in hyperspace are literally inside out–that the electrons exist as a nucleus and the protons and neutrons orbit it. another theory is that the bosons and subatomic particles we see briefly in our collider tests are the particles which make up hyperspace atomic structure. it seems to make sense, for example, that the higgs boson, which is responsible for gravity in realspace, would feature prominently in atomic structure in hyperspace, as it seems that gravity is literally binding all objects in hyperspace together. of course, this presumes a semblance of realspace physics in hyperspace. the strangest aspect of hyperspace is that it exists, that we can use it to traverse tremendous distances in space with no difference in time, and yet we can in no way directly interact with it, or even really study it in a meaningful way. but we can use realspace and mathematics to make it work, which says a lot about human ingenuity.

no, sara, it’s not like that. i’m not in all realities at once. if that were true i would be god. no, i’m in one reality, but the reality shifts constantly unless i am actively focusing on it. i mean … to be more accurate, i am in all realities where i’m alive, as are you, but my consciousness … my primary consciousness is here, right now. and i can, can, shift, through alternate realities. believe me, there are an infinite number of them. so in one moment you may have blue eyes, and another you’ll have hazel eyes. or one moment you’ll be here, the next you won’t, or you’ll be a giant red-skinned dinosaur, or, or the earth might not even be here. that’s the worst. that’s why i have this backpack all the time, because, see, i have an oxygen tank, in case i shift into a reality where there’s no oxygen.

the good news is that there seems to be a “bell curve” of reality potentials, which keeps me relatively safe. the middle of the bell curve is the kind of reality like right now, where changes are minimal. i know, how can infinite realities fall into a bell curve, right? beats me. maybe i’m wrong and just lucky to not get moved into crazy weird realities. look, the point is, at any point in this conversation you may totally forget who i am. you might disappear, or be dead, or be a giant talking bird, and i don’t want that, because i love you and, in some lives, you love me too. i’m sick of trying to find you, sara. so just take my hand and we’ll stay connected. that’s all i want. i want to hold your hand, so you don’t change.

the problem with drunks is that they’re drunks. they have no nuance. you ask them how their day is and they tell you about the last time they were drunk. which was last night. they don’t mention how they’re drunk now, of course. but they are. that’s all they are. people are simple, i mean, yeah, i said there’s no nuance, but there’s no nuance with anybody. we’re all simple. this idea that we’re complex creatures, that’s just an act. we just want food and sex, and everything we do all dials back to that. so ted, he drinks, and he started drinking because he was trying to get laid. the two of us, i’m the actor, right, so i’ve got all the bravado. we’d go to high school parties together–i’m the senior, he’s the sophomore–and i’d be talking to two, three girls, and i’m just sizing them up, you know, trying to figure out which one i want to sleep with. and teddy … well he’s in the corner, fuming, because he doesn’t have that gift. so instead he drinks, and he drinks, and soon he’s as blotto as dad and now’s his big chance to talk to women. except instead of flirting, he’s just expelling garbage from his mouth. he’s an embarrassment. and of course i have to save his ass, so i take him outside to sober up. in other words, he’s a huge cockblock. now i did this several times–i did this every time he and i were at a party together, in fact, from high school on to college. i realized i got laid more often when i didn’t go to parties with him. because i couldn’t ignore him, you know what i mean? he’s my brother. but he stopped being invited to stuff. i feel bad. he went from a social drunk to an introverted drunk, which only made his alcoholism worse. i’d come home–we lived together in college–i’d come home and he’d be in his bedroom, passed out, or in the bathroom, puking, or passed out. his liver’s gotta be shot by now. i’m surprised he’s not dead…

so, i mean, that’s ted. that’s who he is. not a lot of nuance there. if you’re asking me what his hobbies are, i’d say, “drinking.” he gets disability because his left leg’s a little shorter than his right and when they tried to fix it when he was a kid, they screwed it up, so his left leg’s weak. he gets disability for that. kept him out of kuwait too. plenty of time to sit on his ass and drink fifths of vodka. but if you’re asking me for anything deeper than that, i can’t give you anything, because there’s not anything there. his life is a tower of booze.

johnny. what is johnny? who is he you mean? is that what you’re asking? okay. johnny’s one of those guys that’s hard to pinpoint. he’s an actor, you know, he’s got those chops, he can read a person like a paperback, cover to cover, instantly. you watch him, he’ll enter a room and you watch him introduce himself to someone, he scans ’em, does a once over, and boom, he knows you. you get to talking to him and within five minutes he knows enough info about you to destroy you from the inside out. but johnny, he’s too nice for that. he can’t bring himself to tear a person down. he gets what he wants, sure, but he’ll leave you intact while he goes after it. me, i tore people down, but every time it was like hooking a string to their backs which pulled a bit of my soul outta me. stuff wears you down. nah, johnny’s nice, he’s too nice, he’s this actor but he don’t have any spirit, no, ah, no fire in him. he wanders around like a ghost. you watch him, he’s always wearing white. cause he’s a ghost, see. he loves that symbolism bullshit. people think that makes him superficial but he’s not, that’s the trick. he’s not superficial. if anything he’s too deep. he’s in too deep. he’s swimming in the deep end looking for meaning, and most of the time it nearly drowns him. he’s gotta fight that, so he put son a good face. he acts. he is an actor, after all. johnny loves a person who’s open, loves a guy who will not bullshit him, because he knows he can murder you with whatever information you give him, but by giving it to him, it shows a level of trust.

look at me. talking about my own brother like he’s a polar bear or someshit. johnny’s a good man, he just has trouble relating to people because he’s acting. he wants you to be real but he’s not being real. you get me? if you find a way beyond those defenses, then you will have a friend for life. but it takes time, and it takes effort, and honestly, i don’t even know if it’s worth it.

all of mom’s photos are in a jumble in that box over there. i went through a few of them but there’s thousands in there. it was hard. like. look at all these memories, why did you kill yourself, you have all this beautiful stuff. this beautiful life. two kids, one of whom is doing well for himself. yeah yeah, i know. dad. it’s all dad’s fault. but you know mom, you know how she was. even if dad was a nice guy, she would still have whatever it was swimming around in her head. dad just married her because he settled, because he was a piece of shit. when you’re a piece of shit, your options are limited to “damaged” women. he could control her, he could manipulate her. but even in a loving home, which, you know, after dad died, she had. she had a loving home. these last few years were us practically strangling her with love. and yet, she’s dead, he’s dead, the house is gone. you’re a drunk and i’m a failed actor. the sun rises, the sun sets. we die and get turned into worm food. what i’m saying is: maybe this is supposed to be. maybe her suicide was fate, written into her bloodstream, little morse code dots flashed in chemicals in her brain. something was misfiring. it misfires in all of us, ted. we are the chaff of a dysfunctional family, ted. we wanted to be the wheat but we are definitely the chaff.

alright. i’m a superhero. is that what you wanted to hear? wanted me to come clean, did you? well here i am, squeaky clean! i’m the masked marauder. not a name i came up with, though all good nicknames are never made by the person. you get what i mean. superman, batman. batman never called himself “bat man,” everyone else did. the name stuck. see, i wouldn’t consider myself a marauder so much as a vigilante, one who uses his superpowers to help avenge the crimes that are overlooked by the police. am i lawful? no. have i killed a few people in my line of duty? yes. again, not like batman or superman in that respect. i think if people are too bad, they need to be put down. but does that make me any worse than you average police officer who kills innocent people left and right? of course not. am i better than the cops who murdered tamir rice? yes. absolutely. definitely. will the disenfranchised people rally around that? yes. and they should. because i am taking care of their issues, and i will always help them no matter what you try to do to me. because all of you in here know that i could break through these chains and snuff your lives out without a second thought. but i don’t. because i’m better than that. i’m a superhero, not a supervillain. so do us all a favor and release me, so that i can continue my work.

everyone thinks their life is the definitive one. and they should! because you don’t know anyone else’s life except your own. it’s why i think people do so much with their lives, because no matter how hard you try, you’ll never be another person, and i think there’s a loneliness in realizing that. you know, on an atomic level, you never actually touch anything? weird, huh? your collection of atoms comes close to the collection of atoms on a desk or whatnot, but they never actually touch, cause of the molecular bonds and because of the electron cloud. that newspaper you’re holding, you’re never going to touch it. that woman you love, you can hug her as hard as possible but you’ll never touch her. even if you make love to her, you’re not touching. crazy, huh? in the grand scheme of things, you are alone in your own mind. some people can’t take that, they gotta be around people all the time, to fill up that sense of dread. others, like me, well i can hang out under this bridge and sing little songs to myself and entertain myself and whatnot, and i’ll be fine. everyone’s different. point is, i don’t get mad when people yell at me or tell me i should get a job, because the way i figure it, those people have had decades of a life that’s so different from mine, ain’t no way we’ll be on the same page. even people that love me, even people that say they’re gonna help, they don’t know, they’ll never know me, never know what goes on inside this head of mine. so damn right i should think my life is the most important one! it’s the only one i know!