two voices

"lately i've been seeing myself in the city. just a glimpse, sometimes just enough to recognize my particular stride, my hunched back. i realize, after a dozen or so of these encounters, that i'm insane. that i'm projecting. i see myself, up ahead, turning the corner. not always walking. sometimes in the passenger seat of a familiar car. i am haunting myself."

"have you ever tried talking to them? i mean, you - one of you?"

"no - that's anoher thing. i freeze up, i become ... strangely inert."

"when do you - when does this happen?"

"all the time. at random. i could be anywhere. i see myself walk by the windows at work."

"do you ever see your face? are you sure it is you?"

"no, i'm not sure. but i know. i know it's me."

"maybe you're trying to tell yourself something."

"or i'm dreaming. or i'm losing my mind."

"i don't think you're dreaming."

"so i'm losing my mind. might as well be dreaming."

"well - what's so bad about it? why does seeing yourself cause you such panic?"

"wouldn't you?"

"panic? no... well,"

"you don't know how you'd feel. i swear, it's like i'm being haunted."

"some hauntings have been described as friendly. the ... hauntees, become acclimated to the presence."

"this is different. i feel ... threatened."

"by yourself?"

"yes - no, I - "

"it seems like you're saying that when you see these - apparitions, you feel as though you could be harmed."

"it's not like i'm afraid they're going to shoot me, or stab me, or... you know. there's just this horrible, nameless..."

"go on - "

"i - don't know how."

"you're shaking. should we... move on?"

"...no."

Pause.

"how many times has this happened to you?"

"i stopped keeping track."

"...at last count?"

"7. or 8."

"for how long?"

"i kept a tally on the back of my hand. in sharpie. then someone asked, and i stopped. it's been a few months since then."

"all summer. when did you first ... see one?"

"right at the end of spring. first really warm day, but still night pretty early. i was - well, i was drunk coming home from work and i walked past myself. i know what you'll say - i know, i was drunk - but you asked. for the first one. that was it. i felt it, turned around to look, but just - saw myself, the back of me, head down & hood up, walking the way i'd just come. only when it had turned the corner, only then, i turned & went home. ran home. said to myself i was just drunk & stupid. thought i saw something, drunk enough to have convinced myself it was real ... i forgot about it for a few weeks until i saw myself again, walking by the front of my house. even ran out after it, but stopped at the last step, staring after my own image, again, vanishing around the corner."

"that's twice you mentioned seeing it outside of your apartment. have you ever seen yourself indoors?"

"once, maybe twice. at the bar. once, returning home, i thought i was already there, asleep in my own bed, but i'd only left the lamp on. the window was open, though, and i didn't remember leaving it open. maybe i left before i came in. maybe someone's playing a joke on me. how can you tell when you're hallucinating?"

"you don't... it's the nature of it."

Pause.

"have you heard the story of the appointment in Samarra?"

"no."

"it's the story of ... well, this guy sends his slave to the market for something, and when the slave comes back, he's trembling and white with fear. the man asks his slave why he's so terrified, and the slave replies that he saw Death in the marketplace, and Death made a threatening gesture at him, looked at him weird or something. the man gives his slave his best horse, and the slave tears off to Samarra, which is far, far away. then the man goes to the market, finds Death, and asks about the threatening gesture. Death replies: 'it wasn't a threat, i was surprised to see him - you see, i have an appointment with him tonight in Samarra.'"

Pause.

"seems to speak of ... inevitability. of powerlessness to Death. are you afraid to die?"

"who isn't?"

Pause.

"why did you tell me that story?"

"i don't know. i remembered it. that ... feeling you get. hearing it. that's how i feel when i see myself. dread."

"... implies a premonition of sorts, doesn't it? an omen?"

"i read all about Doppelgangers. i don't know. it's something ... else. almost doesn't feel real. like i'm the only one meant to see it. no one else does - well, they - how do you ask someone if they can see you walking down the street without coming off insane? you can't - that's how! do you know how i feel even telling you all of this? insane! that's how!"

"you're not insane. ... maybe we should move on."

"to what?"

"you're clearly experiencing a great deal of what seems to be stress - "

"... can we not use that word?"

"what word would you feel more comfortable using?"

"i just don't want to give the impression that i'm under some sort of ... pressure, that i'm ... imagining this."

"can you say for sure that you aren't?"

"well - not, not ... for sure."

"then don't discount it as a possibility so off-handedly. i'm not saying you're losing your mind, just - trying to cope with some as-yet undisclosed distress that your psyche can't handle."

"sure sounds like insanity to me."

"it isn't."

Pause.

"have you ever heard of something like this before?"

"specifically? personally - no, but that doesn't make it worse than anything i've ever seen anyone deal with before."

"maybe i need a priest. an exorcism."

"you don't think that's being ... a little dramatic?"

"i was joking."

"i see."

Pause.

"so... what else would you like to talk about?"

"i don't know."

"do you have any friends you've been able to talk to? about this?"

"no. well - i have friends, sure - but no, i haven't talked to them about this."

"what do you talk about?"

"um... books. music. movies. i don't know - stuff."

"do you like yourself?"

"which?"

"... sorry?"

"which myself?"

"well..."

"sorry. joking. again."

"oh. ...why do you think you - "

"defense mechanism."

"... let's try this again - "

"sorry."

"no need to apologize."

"i know. do it anyway."

"do you like who you are?"

"would if i knew who that was."

"are you sure?"

"that i'd like me if i knew who i was? no. guess not."

"how do you feel when you look in the mirror?"

"try not to."

"must be a hard thing to avoid. there's mirrors everywhere in our society."

"try to avoid that, too."

"...joking, again?"

"not really."

"so you tend to be a bit of a homebody, i take it. spend a lot of time by yourself?"

"yeah."

"and it sounds like you drink - how often?"

"don't know. enough."

"enough for what?"

"to knock a horse out." Pause. "sorry. kidding."

"were you?"

"well... how much would it take?"

"too much."

"hey - judge not, lest ye be..."

"why do you think it is that you drink?"

"to dispel ghosts. look - can we just ... i don't know, talk? i feel like i'm kinda being interrogated here."

"you're uncomfortable with being asked questions."

"- that was a question. you just said it like a statement."

"going to answer?"

"no."

"that's fine."

"of course it is. i'm paying. customer's always right."

"if that's how you want it."

"it is."

"we can sit in silence if you want. as you said - you're paying."

Long pause.

"we seem to have hit a wall."

"i thought i was paying for silence."

Pause.

"something tells me you're not."

"hour's almost up."

"does this feel like a good place to wrap up?"

"no."

"well, what else would you like to talk about?"

"have you ever been haunted?"

"no, i haven't."

"then we have no common ground."

"i don't think that's true."

"i'd like to request to talk to someone else."

"...it's certainly within your rights to do that."

"who here has been haunted?"

"... that's not something we keep on file."

"then trial & error. who do you think - "

"i really think this has gone far enough."

"...yes. you're right. i'm sorry."

"and i think our time's up."

"yes."

sui generis

S stayed after E went to E, and for awhile we yelled at one another over the music. she was drinking Guinness. i was drinking a lot. it's very easy to lose her voice to the din, a lot like my friend ryan, who speaks so softly so as almost not to be heard. ryan has chosen not to smoke marijuana as of late, due to an increasing paranoia while high. he has also taken to drinking vodka with tonic as opposed to beers upon beers. i have, as of late, taken to drinking shots of whatever with my beers. doctor macgillicuddy's. i've been staying away from whiskey. edging away.

last night (dare i return to it), a shock to the system in the form of old friends. i am a different person, i feel, than i used to be, yet i am standing on the rickety stilts of the past. sometimes the ground gives way beneath me. i wish i'd handled it better: instead, i had a strange panic attack. later, after they'd left the restaurant, i felt that old blackness settle on the insides of me, that disappointment. having reviewed my actions of the past hour, i was sickened with myself. i kept telling the story to everyone i knew who cared enough to listen, as if trying to explain to myself my actions, trying to rationalize that i'd freaked out and basically hid from them the whole time they were there.

Q: What were you hiding from?

A: a lot of things, actually. i didn't want to talk to them. didn't want to engage them in any kind of conversation. didn't want to have to, didn't want them to.

Q: Why not?

A: well. old patterns, i guess.

Q: What do you mean?

A: it wasn't them - it was him. i could've handled it had it just been the two of them, but he was there too. -- and, he said "good to see you," said this master of the genuine, said the honest, flawless trickster.

Q: So what is it about him that scared you -- or sent you into panic mode?

A: unresolved conflict, maybe? but everything is always unresolved. you lose someone, it's not like you can tie your relationship with them up neatly or succinctly.

Q: What do you mean by "lose" someone?

A: i've gone through a lot of social circles. i've known a lot of people. and i've fucked up in every single one of them in a major, awful way, and ended up crashing out of their orbit like an asteroid. those are the people you don't generally get back.

Q: Sounds to me like he wanted to be your friend. He said it was good to see you.

A: and he's not the kind of guy who would have said it and not meant it. or at least, that's who he purports himself to be. maybe he didn't mean it.

Q: Sounds like he did. And didn't she text message you before they even showed up?

A: yes - but she asked me what days i had off. i assumed she, and she alone, wanted to hang out. -- you know, i kind of feel like i was invaded. i feel like they deliberately came to the restaurant, probably high as shit, thought it would be funny, and thought i'd be fine with it. well, i sure showed them it wasn't. i wasn't.

Q: You did? By hiding from them?

A: yes.

Q: It's possible they didn't even notice. Maybe they just thought you were doing work elsewhere in the restaurant.

A: i was conspicuously absent.

Q: Are you sure?

A: well, no. i felt i was.

Q: They don't know that.

A: this settles nothing.

>>>

so after last call, S and ryan and i went to johnny's house. she got too high and i walked her home. may have come off a little creepy. i'm developmentally challenged. sorry. man-child.

days like today, in the backlash of last night, with an empty stomach and no goal in the windshield, make me kind of miserable inside. but the sun is so warm - !

i am wearing my watch again. it makes me feel like a different person.

last night, too much to drink

back to camel lights? marlboros make my lungs hurt. i need to quit smoking.

THERAPIST
...I think, I think that you're...searching for something, and ... whenever you don't find it, you get frustrated and turn to using. or abusing."

ME
... it's funny ...

THERAPIST
What's funny?

ME
the prefix "ab" on the word "using" is the only thing making the word negative. the prefix "ab" means, away from. Away from using? Ab-use. Use away from.

THERAPIST
What does "using" mean, then?

ME
When you ... damn, it really is one of those words. When you.. um, are acquiring? No. Taking... Using .. see? damn. When you ... are trying to achieve something, when you're ...okay. Let's say: When you need to get to a goal, and something aids you. No - see, that's not it either.
(pause)
I don't know.

THERAPIST
So when you "ab"-use something, you're taking that thing's function and using it away from the goal.

ME
But... what is the goal?

THERAPIST
It's something different for everyone, isn't it.

********static*********

my dreams last night: the color red, predominant. red tongues, red walls. red dress on the red-eyed woman. firestone jewelry, glittering white fire. fire leaping out of the totaled car, leaping licking flames against the black skin of night - the girl with blood sliding like a hand down her face, half in, half out of the metal wreck. her dress had fallen over her body and i could see her cunt, now just another gory slash in the company of so many others. like a child with a pair of scissors snipping idly at a piece of paper. you know, to make a snowflake.

a party, a veritable gala. huge chandelier. big old house with a lot of people crammed into its foyer. the wings lay empty, almost eerily so. what would it sound like if there had been no house built there. in the middle of the forest.

someone at the party jumps off a cliff and splashes soundlessly into the sea. then they all start doing it. from my view on the third floor: penguins, hustling themselves off of an ice floe. the house inches closer to the edge, picks itself up and shuffles towards them in ashamed lemming-fashion. i run out of the room and try to escape before it hurls itself to the pitch-dark sea. i am successful, though by only a stuttering toe-hold on the edge of the cliff as it plunges down to the waves behind me. it's one of those instances when i feel that logically, i should have plunged with it, but because it is a dream, i allow myself to suspend logic and continue on living. most of the time in dream, i am a camera behind my own head. i am a brilliant cinematographer in my dreams: i work all the angles.

**************

plaid shirt to work tonight? warmish weather. maybe rain tomorrow. wash away the dirty snow. ryan says: "one more blizzard before spring, i guarantee it." he "grew-up-around-here." i said we should put a wager on what date the huge snowdrift in front of the museum would melt by. i was joking. there was no bet. but now i'll be watching.

big band of green and pink coming westward, crawling in on the edges of the radar like moss, vanishing, and doing it all over again. i am watching for green grass. i am on the lookout for that first warm day. the sun and the birds. the surrender of winter, snow plunging heedlessly from roofs and impacting the ground in huge heavy splashes. the thaw's begun, i'm waiting for the capitulation.

sometimes i feel inordinately crazed, of a sudden, spasming with fury, frenzy, and desperation - like a dog that's been poked one too many times with a stick. then i settle down and realize it's nothing.

such big words from such a little mongrel.

such dramatics, such histrionics, from such a little man.

it's a wonder people like me. i am unable to see how.

cigarette.