(From "Dying Whispers")


The first emotions he ever felt were pain and surprise. His feeling of pain came from witnessing the pain of another, and his surprise stemmed from the fact that he had, for the first time in his existence, ever felt anything at all. Explaining this all is a complicated matter, but I will do my best to make it intelligible. It is a story that passed the universe by with hardly a notice. Whether it was an accident or something other that has made me the only human to know this story is beyond my grasp, yet I feel this story is one that should be paid greater attention to, so this is my attempt to bring it to a greater audience. With any luck they’ll help me out with it in the long run, but there is really no appealing to them, so I feel that this is solely in my hands at this point.
Firstly, referring the character of this story as a ‘he’ is quite a misnomer. They, the beings that he is a part of, have no gender; they have no need for it. To be even more specific, they possess no body that we are capable of understanding. I can only guess at what type of form they actually have, and this is because they do not exist on the same dimensional plane as we do. If one of us were to superficially grasp the concept of their existence we might assume them to be gods, and I suppose, under some terms of classification this could be correct. But they are both more and less, hopefully by the end of this you will understand that.
Secondly, there is no name that we could attribute to them in our reality. I have grown into the habit of calling them ‘Whisperers’, because it is the closest word I could think of to describe what it is that they do. From what they have let me glimpse their kind is obscenely ancient, if not eternal. This is not to say that they do not have a form of birth and death, but seeing as to how I can scarcely conceive my own creation or demise I never would expect to understand theirs. By now you either can understand the complications of giving this character a gender, let alone attributing it with a name… or you think that I’m considerably insane, and I do not think I can blame you. Yet, for now, I will refer to the character as ‘he’ just for the sheer simplicity of it, and continue with my attempt to re-create this ancient story for those of you who are giving me the benefit of the doubt.
The Whisperers were present at the creation of our universe, whether they existed previous to it, or will continue to be after it I do not know. But they were there at the instant energy cooled and matter came to be, whispering and influencing everything. This is what they do ultimately; speak and influence with a staggering omnipotence. There are multitudes of them, however, so there are specific Whisperers influencing specific facets of the universe, but they seem to operate with a collective pool of knowledge. They are able to perfectly understand, at once, the entirety of our universe, as well as hundreds of others. From the actions and movements of an electron in an atom at the farthest reaches of space, to the complete movements of all the galaxies that make up space, and even to the thoughts and hopes of all beings capable of such feats, all is understood and seen, simultaneously, by each separate Whisperer. With this information the Whisperers view the changes that they have set forth in the universe, as well as the changes they never actually made and those that they will make.
Despite having a collective pool of information, they actually operate rather individually from one another with their influences, and rarely get involved in the affairs of other Whisperers, yet, often the actions of one will affect the actions of another. Each Whisperer affects it’s own portion of the universe. There are some who concern themselves with affecting the movements of  several constellations, while others may focus on the growth and changes of a singular plant or animal. Every facet of our universe we can conceive has at least one Whisperer affecting it, and even things of other universes our minds cannot come to terms with are governed. Even the things we have come to assume as human creations such as mathematics, language, politics, religion, and musical theory are, rather thoroughly, controlled by the Whisperers. Not even the emotions of any single creature are unnoticed or unaffected by them.

Some movie on Lifetime
ends itself.
I feel like i should
push these keys again
and try to make
some sense of self…
but overall i’m disappointed
because I know that it’s not self
that i’m trying to make sense of.
I’m trying to make sense of this computer,
and the sewing machine
on the table next to it,
and the air conditioning,
and whether or not it’s acceptable
to mention modern innovations
in poetry.

For example, if,
in a poem alone
(because i can talk to you through other mediums),
i tell you
(we’ll get to who you are in a bit)
that i
(don’t worry about who i am)
texted a girl,
(and she’s just as nameless as you are)
does the fact that i mentioned something modern
detract from the significance of the poem?

Of course,
poetry is all about the use of words as well
(sometimes we hang them from the walls
just to see how they make us look),
so i guess really the question is
whether or not
you managed to make it all work
in a way that makes sense to you.

Because honestly it’s worthless what I have to say;
you’re constructing these phrases
piecemeal
(in your head)
as we
(yes,
i’m there too)
push the buttons
(ahh, can you feel it?)
on this computer
to make us
spit out
images.

Haha,
psyche.
these are just black specks
on a white background;
our mind only attempts to give them significance
because we lack it as well.

You ever get the sense
like someone is constantly
riding your ***?

I have been living with my grandma
who weighs maybe 280
and has arthritis in...
well, everything it seems,
and i've never seen her move
from her reclining chair
until i came here.
Then i started to notice something strange,
she gets up and finds a reason to move
into whatever room
i go into.

I've given up talking to her
because she never has anything interesting to say;
just things like
"It's sunny outside today,"
(she only goes outside to get in her car)
or "I'm feeling warm, what's the thermostat at?"
(she sweats bullets any time it's warmer than 72 degrees)
or "If you're making a sandwich,
could you make me one too please?"
(i'm not going into how much she eats)
or, on a really special day
she'll coment on the activities of the neighbors
that she can spy on from her window
next to her chair
(i almost always have to pull the blinds up for her).

Even now as i'm writing this
she's found her way to where i am,
and i've never heard someone
make so much noise while reading a newspaper.
She seems to fold and crinkle and giggle
just so i'll know she's there

Still,
i always do find it amusing
how everyone in the world acts like a child
and is afraid to be alone.
Some people solve this through
***
or parties
or drinking
or wealth
or online chat rooms
or military service
or church
ect, ect, ect...

Me?
I just jot stuff down
and pretend that someone else will read it.

The only coffins i know of
that are built for two
are called mass graves,
which are often frowned on
but somehow
easily arranged.
Oh,
and an added bonus,
i hear your family doesn't have to put up
with the costs for a plot
and a casket,
but that's probably only because
they'll be in there with you.

So Chinaski took down Hem,
eh Buk?
I could take your cardboard mask
anyday
because i know he's more of a paper tiger
than the commies hoped america would be.

I'm crazier than you
and i'm willing to bet
my pecker against yours;
if you win
i'll chop it off with a rusty cleaver
and we can braid eachother's hair
while we tape my pecker onto the tip of yours
and spray silly string and ***** into my wound.

So what you got?
Huh? How crazy can you get?

After all,
i think you died naturally.
I still got time in these bones
to walk onto campus with
a gallon of gas
and a pack of menthol cigarettes,
asking to *** a lighter.

How crazy
have they become?
And how crazy do you think
it will make me?

"That's not,"
matt was yelling
"your water,
ron!"
from behind my back.
"This is my
lawn,"
ron replied defensively
as i looked
down at
the ants building
"Yea, that's your
lawn, but it's,"
an empire under the
sidewalk.
"not your spigot!"

i looked up
"I don't take orders
from you!"
to see the clouds in
"Okay, but that's,"
the sky. they were
"not your water, ron!"
flat and streaking
across the
"YOU AREN'T THE BOSS,"
sky tonight.
"OF
ME,
MATT!"
i could hear
"RON, STOP USING THAT,"
the sounds of
"SPIGOT! IT ISN'T
YOURS! YOURS IS,"
traffic bustling to
"OVER THERE!
THAT IS NOT YOUR,"
and fro
out on
"WATER!!"
third
"YOU AREN'T THE,"
street.
"BOSS OF,"
i turned to walk inside
"ME!!!
!!!"
and am confronted with images of recruits for the Phillippine army being slapped and punched on the television i left on so it could entertain itself because it was making me too sick to keep trying to quit smoking.

What a strange universe
i have found myself in,
i can't wait to
leave it
behind.

It is spring time

(raining slightly)
i am twenty years old
and my parents have just separated.
I could tell lies,

(often i do)
but that urge has left me today
and so instead i will allow the truth
to say that

(in fact)
i do not feel so affected.
Standing outside
under a soaking sky

(this happens so much;)
i draw on a cigarette
to draw myself into question and exist

(i'm out of it so lately)
while i surrender my eyes
to the ripples formed by the rain
as they merge in puddles that populate
the plane of pavement.
I start to wonder

(often i do)
if each ripple is aware
of the others it affects,

(so much)
or if

(in fact)
the ripples are just ripples

(it is in debt of meaning itself)