10:35 p.m.

Again the man ate too much for his own good. He could barely sit long enough in his car ride home without an involuntary bowel movement threatening to ruin the interior leather of his new convertible car. The same convertible he happened to clean earlier that day, and for the second time that week. Barley able to transition out of his car he wobbled his way to his front door and into his house away from the fascist eyes of his affluent neighbors. He plopped to the living room floor assuming the only position his body was capable of. As he lay spreadeagle on his back uncomfortable and slightly anxious he ripped his shirt off in fear of suffocation. The spinning fan above brought waves of nausea if he starred at it for too long. Rubbing his naked protruding belly seemed to be a brief fix for the brewing pain in his stomach, but then the pain turned for the worse. He felt the sidings of his stomach stretched and the food nearly about to overflow back out of his mouth. A small burp came from his abdomen and he could taste the food as it rose and steamed in the back of his throat. He questioned himself In agony, "Why?". Why would he continue to spoil the treat of dining out at his favorite restaurant in town just to come home in disgust and pain? Is it an inability to stop himself from ordering the biggest plates of food and forcing every single grain of it into his mouth? Or are the pictures that show the plates of food just too enticing for his self control? Is it that the price seems right, therefore it only seems logical to order the full plate and its copious amount of sides to choose from? Perhaps it is just because his finances allow him to and his lack of appreciation for what sparse living feels like, or even worse famine. With no real acknowledgment of the nonrefundable resources he so easily exhaust, not to mention the physical harm done to his body, he was doomed for failure. He winced as he rolled to his side. No burp could subdue the agony of each turn in his stomach. He feared at any second his dinner would decorate his luxurious new rug that he took so much pride in. So much pride it was not uncommon he would insist his guest to bend down and feel the plushness of it every time they stepped on it. Still the war raged in his abdomen. Focused on his breathing, he shut his eyes in hopes of a get away. Struggling to remain still he reassured himself to breath.

11:07 p.m.

Suddenly, like a light switch found in a dark room a life changing truth was revealed to him. One so beautifully powerful it was to change him for good. The awareness of this truth would put an end to his pain and suffering, his lies and imperfections. There was now an answer to the constant void in his stomach, his unquenched hunger, the glass half empty. No longer was he a prisoner of deception. There was an overwhelming fleeting of demons and a mountain of weight lifted. His vision was as clear and vivid as it could ever be. The bliss was not ignorance, not anymore...it was unfeigned truth. For the first time ever he could see life for what it really was. It felt like a lifetime of emotions in one moment. Simplicity surrounded him in every direction. He felt the joy of complete freedom. The weightlessness of eternal peace. He was to tell the world of this untapped truth brought to him. A new and better way to live. An actual sustainable lifestyle free of judgement.

Then without his consent, he abruptly stood up. Dazed and in a state of confusion, he glanced at the clock.

11:11 p.m.

He then looked down and saw what his life cleansing truth was. He had simply soiled himself while asleep, ruining his new living room rug.

A blush of rouge in July
the sway of Lady's fingers
who do you otherwise spurn,
are there any more wishes
you could christen
over and beyond the neck of mountains,
you had your flings -
entertaining gapes
mustering mouths,
spreadeagle
shinning with the fields
a touche of July

There it was again, that feeling of having been skipped out on by someone I trust. Trusted, past tense. When had this begun, this sense of having a rug pulled out from under my feet? I drifted backwards in the pool of memories and landed in my one-and-a-half-year-old self, watching her as she made assumptions based on her limited experiences up to then, heard her thinking, felt her feeling angry. So angry. And ashamed, because she was angry with her mother, and that was a betrayal of her mother, wasn't it? So betrayal worked both ways in her. She was the betrayed, and the betrayer. I pop out of that memory fast, then shudder.

I can feel a misty fog descending my mountain of a brain. I feel myself start to shut down, go catatonic. I sense that someone is calling me to them, but am lost in the fog of fear. I can't move, my whole being is away. Somewhere else. Gone. I'm left in this shell which has no brain, has no heart, has no meaning. Do I go up? or down? Do I stay put? Is it safe here? or there? Can I even lift a foot to step?

I can feel myself hyperventilating and feel powerless to stop it. Then a rough hand grabs me and I'm tumbling. I hit and bounce. Hit and bounce. Head over heels. Back flips. Dives. Something tries to get my attention. What IS that? "Spread your wings." What? "Spread your wings." What wings? "Spread your wings."

So. I spread them, and I'm flying instead of tumbling. Or maybe soaring is more like what I'm doing with them. Soaring on a thermal spreadeagle. I feel like a parachute, open and catching air as I descend to a narrow valley. When I land, I keep my feet.

barney chose his footsteps
whimsically
no deliberation
no destination
whimsy was his map and strategy
all night and day

"what’s happening, barney?"
"harpsichords, baby"
"what’s on the agenda?"
"pastrami and democracy"

and when barney picnicked in the park at 3 a.m.
and heard "give me your money, ******"
barney laughed a great laugh
and collapsed spreadeagle on the grass
the perplexed mugger straddled him
delivered a bemused punch to the jaw
and rummaged through barney’s every pocket
to find only pistachio nuts