When did I become invisible? When did people almost walk right into me? When did I stop being acknowledged?
I don’t recall the year, the month, the day, or the time. It was as if I entered a different universe full of strangers.
They are young and bustling, a word that would never trip off their immortal tongues, these people of now.
I want to let them in on the secret, but they wouldn’t believe me. Because they don’t see me. See me no more.
It’s the old horizon trick. Spot a spot, vanishes upon arrival. The plus is that you cannot be late. Get there not getting there.
The minus is you’re never there. You are stuck in a infinite loop not of your own making. No shaming here. Not here or there.
Better to stay rooted where you have planted your oaks, built your library, and cultivated the art of being here, right now.
Let’s dance through the maze and hope we never find the exit but dance swirly twirly with a fetish-like delight.
Let’s eat a quart of ice cream, one for you and one for me, adorned with chocolate-covered nuts and whipped cream.
Let’s run naked down to the sea in the middle of the night with our hair blowing in the wind and our voices at high pitch.
Let’s have one last warm and affectionate coupling on the sand at the beach before we hold hands and enter the sea.
Did you hear the one about? What’s up with [fill in the blank]? So I walked into this bar… Holds the mic for dear life.
Sweat full of fear and loathing drizzles down the comic’s back as he takes a nip and tries once again to survive.
The cramped flights, the road tours, the buzzing barflys, the cheap Scotch, the dank rooms, the imitation food.
For one laugh. Even a guffaw. Hell, at least smile, you ******* hicks in your shitforsaken towns in Nowhere, USA.
We chat about the weather, the high price of gas, the big win last night, who’s doing what to whom.
We don’t chat about our failing children, our oversized debt, our crushing depression and panic attacks.
We answer our phones, e-mails, our texts. We bring in the junk mail, the groceries, the dogs and cats.
We ignore the surrounding decay, the the worried looks, the angry chatter, the trigger-happy sensitivity.
Mirror images writ large on the landscape. Slithery snakes in boorish human clothing. Eyes glazed with evil.
We’ve become inured to the banal desecration of all that we held dear, forever and ever amen. God help us all.
Keep in control. Step here, not there. Repeat the words. Obey the fetal position for maximum safety.
Keep very still or rhythmically bounce. Speak in hushed tones if at all. No explanation allowed. Shush.
Step out of bounds and risk mortification, deep wounds, pain that reverberates in every part of you.
Wrapped in the cocoon of my own making, I am at peace and safe from the destruction of my soul.
The inevitable footsteps come closer with malevolent intent inscribed in blood on her overly painted lips.
I’m here, I’m protected, I’m safe. Until. I discover. The shell. Is fallible. Porous. Protection, a mythical balm.
A choice between annihilation or metamorphosis. Die a lifelong death or live armor-less and vulnerable.
I shed my shell. I take a deep breath, dip my toes into the water. I reach up to touch the sky’s the limit.
The constant cacophony, the needles in all sensitive places, the rush to get to the end for no reason.
The give and take between strangers, the screaming sirens, the specious silence of the app world.
The rescheduling of schedules, the tweets fast and furious, the world spinning off its axis in disgust.
I sit on the step for a few minutes, watching the multicolored spider weaving like an ancient woman.
A bird of paradise colorfully waves at me. An elderly man bends over to talk to his also elderly dog.
A man tunes his piano from an open window. The waves of sunset begin. I calmly go back inside.