I have been in a state of deep despair for the better part
of 26 odd years yet it has been even more intense during these past few
days. The reason for this sudden dark
turn is my loaning of a beloved digital video disc to a co-worker slash friend
this past week. I told her she could
keep the film through the long weekend to give her ample time to watch it, not
realizing the withdrawal symptoms that would set in, including but not limited
to cold sweats, dry heaves, chronic migraines, uncontrollable trembling and highly
explosive diarrhea. The movie in
question is none other than my copy of La Nave de Los Monstruos which is easily
one of my favorite films of all time and one which (up until this past week) I
watch no less than 9 times a day, 7 days a week. I find myself madly in love with Lorena Velazquez’s
character and for this reason I need to return to that world each and every
day.
I was at 4th of July party the other day (can’t
quite remember the exact day) and was having a wonderful time. There were several friendly faces as well as
some hip new cats whose acquaintance I happily made. At one point I considered lighting a firework
and sticking it in mouth and/or pushing it as far down my throat as possible
but I did not commit to this action due to my paralyzing fear of fire. At the party I asked a dear friend if he knew
who the Martian Manhunter was – as his weakness is also fire – but he was not
familiar with this character. Alas,
aside from our mutual weakness we have nothing else in common. The Martian Manhunter is incredibly
intelligent and remarkably strong which are two qualities never ascribed to
yours truly. He also has an incredible
ability to shape-shift which means he can pick from countless forms matching
the common perception of male physical excellence. However this is a non-issue when compared to
me because even his alien form – which many humans find off-putting – is far
better looking than my grotesque face and disgusting body.
At some point today I was reading a review of PJ Harvey’s
2000 release Stories From the City, Stories From the Sea. While reading the review I kept glancing back
at the cover photo which I found to be quite beautiful for multiple
reasons. For several minutes I read the
review and glanced back at the photo.
When I was done reading the review I repeated the process but was unable
to get through the text a second time because I began to cry and the tears
clouded my vision. I have been crying a
great deal lately but have made no effort to discover the reason why since no
one – myself included – has bothered to ask.
The only thing I can say with some degree of certainty is that during
the masquerade ball scene at the castle in the movie Labyrinth I like to
imagine I am Jennifer Connelly’s character (Sarah) and I am dancing with Jareth
the Goblin King.
“My life is in shambles.”
Someone in my office kept saying this all week, at least three times an
hour. At first I thought it was the
gentleman tasked with repairing our perennially debilitated air conditioning
system and then I thought it was the file clerk before finally realizing it was
me.
I lay curled up in bed and I have my hands on my head and I
am begging for it to stop. I glance
around at the walls and see strange shapes and symbols and some kind of liquid
that is either black or a very dark red but it is dripping down everywhere in
thin, persistent lines and it is slowly covering all the white paint of the
walls. Everything is scattered inside my
head and all around me. I close my eyes
but this only makes my own thoughts come into sharper focus and this
alternative is no better than the horrific sights of my room. There are so many things thrashing and
bleeding and screaming and the blood is getting on me too, it covers my hands
and stains my clothes and it is on my face.
The screams only sound human about half the time and I do not know which
are more frightening to hear. But in
between the screams there is someone or something whispering in my ear and it
just keeps saying my name over and over again and I don’t know how I know this
but I know it is grinning while it says my name. My thoughts are always covered in red and
gray and they feel like palaces being destroyed and falling into the ocean,
endless explosions and crashes and impalement and suffocation and sinking into
darkness. It doesn’t matter anymore whether
I cry out for real or only in my head because no one hears or if they do they
simply ignore it. I pray to her and
plead for forgiveness and ask for relief and even though this does not come my
love never falters. I need to be dragged
away and I need someone to realize what is going on and to please help me and
to figure out the strange insides of everything. I can no longer take these journeys without
the personal toll rising. The inner
corridors are too oppressive and strangulating and I know there will come a
time when escape will prove impossible.
No one sees that I hate talking to them and every single word I force
out of my body takes a herculean effort.
No one sees anything, they can’t see all the colors on me and I don’t
understand why. Why can’t they feel them
either? I can feel each color as it hits
me or as I’m forced to drink it and then I can feel them all clashing in my
stomach. I say another prayer to her and
there is at last the briefest respite and her warmth surrounds me. She holds me in the palm her hand and then up
to her lips and she says “tranquilo” and her voice finds its way into all the
inner spaces and fills me with ecstasy and somehow I bathe inside of her while
she still watches over me.
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