Part Seven
Off into the night went I, wandering through the city with my gimpy stroll, the skin of my shoulders tingling, the muscles throbbing. To be perfectly honest, I’d had no plan formulated, no vision of my quest until I was staring above myself at the ceiling tiles of the angelic tattoo parlor. I had known I was going to do something drastic, something to get people’s attention, but that was it -- just a few random postits so far because I’d had no plan of action, no vision.
Then, it was there, in the ceiling tiles of the angelic tattoo shop as I waited for the young Nietzsche fan to finish up and I stared into that little infinity and tried to come up with an idea for what should go on the postits on my shoulders, I envisioned a map of the city and my course across it. I would start at the northwest corner of the city. I would cut a swath across the northern end of the city, labeling and categorizing everything I came across. Then I would move south one block and start over, cutting another swath back across the country. I dreamed a little dream there in the tattooist’s chair, making faces of the patterns of texture in the tile, of a city blanketed in postits, warmed and lighted by the volume and voracity of its color, a gunmetal sky overhead and the postits fluttering in the wind.
I made it to the bus stop and stood waiting for the bus, keeping my distance from the curb. I finally stood still long enough without anything on my mind that I was able to relax. In that relaxation my body began to throb and ache, every thrum of my pulse a reminder of the injuries to my neck, ribs and knee. Once I became conscious of the pain, it seemed never to fully go away again. I closed my eyes and made an attempt to visualize something pleasant.
The night was cool, and a gentle breeze swirled about between the buildings. I imagined myself lying in the middle of a wide open field somewhere in the middle of Wyoming with the same breeze as this night swirling through the grass, and me staring up at the clear night sky fairly brimming with stars. And in that idyllic picture, I concentrated on the vastness of space and the indigo haze of a trillion stars coupled into this galaxy. Until I noticed that each star, every one of the trillion in its glimmering beauty, thrummed to the rhythm of my pulsing pain.
The squeal of the bus brakes brought me back to the city, and the thrumming as it was within my body. I boarded the bus and made my way directly to the back where I might relax comfortably on the long bench seat there. I closed my eyes as the bus started going, and I tried to bring back the star-thrumming blissful picture that I’d been enjoying at the stop. I was alone on the late run of the bus with the exception of a young girl who sat slumped against the glass in the middle seat. I could not ascertain from behind that she was indeed very young, but something in her demeanor led me to believe it was true. My curiosity only slightly aroused that someone so young should be riding a bus so late at night, I disregarded her presence and concentrated on relaxing.
There were several change-overs required to get me from the eastern edge of the city to the northwest corner. At the first change-over, the young lady also changed buses and we both sat in the same respective seats on the new bus, affording me and continued view of the back of her head. I passed this off as well, assuming she was headed to the central station to make her way out of town – probably a runaway. But my curiosity was piqued when she again followed the same change-over as me at the central station, as if she were also heading to the northwest corner of town. This was not an unreasonable assumption, but it began to make me suspicious that she was following me for some reason.
Editors of Nonzine: Though I have some time yet left to me this afternoon, I feel I must stop at this juncture. I cannot write another word on that subject. Every attempt I make at continuing this aspect of my story results in an uncontrollable shaking in my hand that tears the toilet paper to shreds. Though I have promised to reveal my entire story to you, in this case I feel that it may be appropriate to censor myself and leave the rest of this night out. Every superhero has his secrets, and I am no exception. It turned out she was following me, and I do not want to admit to you what became of her.
Then, it was there, in the ceiling tiles of the angelic tattoo shop as I waited for the young Nietzsche fan to finish up and I stared into that little infinity and tried to come up with an idea for what should go on the postits on my shoulders, I envisioned a map of the city and my course across it. I would start at the northwest corner of the city. I would cut a swath across the northern end of the city, labeling and categorizing everything I came across. Then I would move south one block and start over, cutting another swath back across the country. I dreamed a little dream there in the tattooist’s chair, making faces of the patterns of texture in the tile, of a city blanketed in postits, warmed and lighted by the volume and voracity of its color, a gunmetal sky overhead and the postits fluttering in the wind.
I made it to the bus stop and stood waiting for the bus, keeping my distance from the curb. I finally stood still long enough without anything on my mind that I was able to relax. In that relaxation my body began to throb and ache, every thrum of my pulse a reminder of the injuries to my neck, ribs and knee. Once I became conscious of the pain, it seemed never to fully go away again. I closed my eyes and made an attempt to visualize something pleasant.
The night was cool, and a gentle breeze swirled about between the buildings. I imagined myself lying in the middle of a wide open field somewhere in the middle of Wyoming with the same breeze as this night swirling through the grass, and me staring up at the clear night sky fairly brimming with stars. And in that idyllic picture, I concentrated on the vastness of space and the indigo haze of a trillion stars coupled into this galaxy. Until I noticed that each star, every one of the trillion in its glimmering beauty, thrummed to the rhythm of my pulsing pain.
The squeal of the bus brakes brought me back to the city, and the thrumming as it was within my body. I boarded the bus and made my way directly to the back where I might relax comfortably on the long bench seat there. I closed my eyes as the bus started going, and I tried to bring back the star-thrumming blissful picture that I’d been enjoying at the stop. I was alone on the late run of the bus with the exception of a young girl who sat slumped against the glass in the middle seat. I could not ascertain from behind that she was indeed very young, but something in her demeanor led me to believe it was true. My curiosity only slightly aroused that someone so young should be riding a bus so late at night, I disregarded her presence and concentrated on relaxing.
There were several change-overs required to get me from the eastern edge of the city to the northwest corner. At the first change-over, the young lady also changed buses and we both sat in the same respective seats on the new bus, affording me and continued view of the back of her head. I passed this off as well, assuming she was headed to the central station to make her way out of town – probably a runaway. But my curiosity was piqued when she again followed the same change-over as me at the central station, as if she were also heading to the northwest corner of town. This was not an unreasonable assumption, but it began to make me suspicious that she was following me for some reason.
Editors of Nonzine: Though I have some time yet left to me this afternoon, I feel I must stop at this juncture. I cannot write another word on that subject. Every attempt I make at continuing this aspect of my story results in an uncontrollable shaking in my hand that tears the toilet paper to shreds. Though I have promised to reveal my entire story to you, in this case I feel that it may be appropriate to censor myself and leave the rest of this night out. Every superhero has his secrets, and I am no exception. It turned out she was following me, and I do not want to admit to you what became of her.
© 2006Labelman
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home