Graphic Sleep-CHAPTER ONE

GRAPIC SLEEP: 1

Chapter 1 2

I found a trail of bread crumbs after reading over the area I was in. Those bread crumbs were in the shape of foot prints, my size. Realizing that I had nothing better to do, I succumbed into following them until I was seriously lost. The sun rose to the highest point in the half circle we stood in. It was the brightest it’s ever been, the wind was light and there was a gentle rain that fell constantly and slowly through time. The farther away I walked, the more I seemed closer to something I would soon raze through, the village would be oblivious to my presence and my war. Chaotic it seems, I know because I am.3

An ocean transmutation is none the less a wave twirling closer to the shore, sweeping away the rusted material never recycled. Reaching out to the Hotels ‘Welcome’ Sign, leaving straight lines of foot prints, the sea shells outlined them.4

I inhaled the fresh breeze just to find I choked on the entire emptiness of the far out blank sunset. My eyes could see all the way through to the edge of the world, right smack into nothing. It formed an emotion of suicide yet, I’ve never felt so stiff and alive.5

Tip toeing to the top of dry land with hands gliding up the sky, just as if I were to swipe a cloud from the light blue construction paper. The clouds were fulfilled and dark in revengeful secrets, they were leaving motionless shadows around and about the universe. The sun sat in a hole, seeming like a welding spark tacked up on the wall. I was only capable to glance.6

Only the vision of such weather condition could I have easily described. A confused path unmarked. I was mapping out every step, it seemed that is. Pointless it was. Until there is some sort of contact available, that is when I can assure myself in survival. Survival in technology. I programmed my feet to travel closer to the H2O, I stepped up as if it was a staircase from planet to planet and to another planet that passed the white seeds that lay out on the black comforter, above and beyond all recognition.7

I was a Jesus ice skating on thin liquid ice; I danced a while then continued onward. There came to be rock instead of the water-bed desert. It came to be more stable and likely to hold any weight. It was concrete with some loose gravel, spreading everywhere in a parking lot style. Except no white marked lines or handicapped signs. In a sudden, most of it turned to green grass that was barely even two inches. Forming a path that only a one person could fit his two feet upon. Trees sprouted upward, all the way to the sky that all that was once there earlier was now a doubt of what really is there at that present moment. 8

Virus infections that were under construction, the digital like of the trees building themselves into beautiful, exact homes without room to spare a custom yard or a swimming pool. One parking lot to each home and a gold star in the center of each grey door. In the center of those gold stars were words. Those words were names. 9

After time of search that constantly irritated my eyes, a needle in my spine, I finally found my name. Should I walk in? I had thought out loud in my head. The door was unlocked when I checked. I swung it open without fear but as quickly as I could. Standing in silence, an occasional paranoia would creep in and out of my mind. I glanced around and saw these silver cars in every driveway.10

I stepped inside.11

The kitchen had black and white tile and a round table in the center of the room. A window above the sink, and two closed doors, I guessed one went to the living room and one to the laundry room. After checking, I was right. Something hit me at that moment, the smell of coffee and a quick look at how there was only one chair at the table. I helped myself and made this home.12

Minutes flipped on the clock. I introduced myself to my very own voice. He is my voice. He was introduced.13

My idea, my diseased little idea. Here comes a crack to form in a cornerstone of all our little pathetic guilt trips, it rips through with the most annoying noise of all. This, this is where you find yourself, dying, slowly into an anarchy message, a dialect someone else had lightly a hard time to understand, easily giving up without really attempting. I start off picturing me living the life I want and then the one I have. I saw both lives surviving on a tube while all personality traits sank into the pillow on the rotting bed of life then death. Though it seemed to shed liquidity balls from the corners of my depth green eyes. Overwhelmed by your authorities and those hospital bills, which by the way, seemed way to complicating in my simple little life. Those doctors and psychologists really can’t say why we live off of money, that's your fucking TV and your $50 toothbrush too. All these materials represent you. And how do you overcome the knowledge of this?14

I started off with my hands limp on the counter, relaxed and thoughtful. The feeling of death touching me made me feel a bit molested and it sure left me to be a whore. I was blind for so long, it’s like opening my own dead eyes for the first time. I couldn't possibly tell you it was a miracle of God since He is obviously not the answer to our vitality and truth. That’s when I ended up disconnected, perhaps it is because I am...and so are you...to me that is. Medications are meant to moisture stiff, bold eyelashes. I am a paralyzed sin frozen upward, I need my pills.15

Vividly overcoming...and at the same time, I am becoming.16

When you become something more, it’s like seeing a new color...again. And those who die simply seem closer. Haunting you with spoiled memories that's easily misdirected into basic depressions and you are just another obvious trouble that slits their wrists. I couldn't sit for a minute to hear out other cries. I couldn't even swim in the pool of my own pity and depression. Meanwhile, while I am tediously denied into material and the selfishness of suicide. Most people ignore the complexes of life just to live with a smile…even if it is plastic, like a Barbie doll. Trademarked by company and customer.17

And then...I saw color, a new color again.18

At the same time, I saw you as a number. 19

A device that sits on the counter next to the microwave, something someone uses and entertains themselves with, something they have control over when they are struck with a faded alight boredom. I am so dead and being dead is much easier to play with. There is no defense, no help, no way out…A Toy Story that is. This isn’t really a story though, think of it as a fact. My fact is nothing more than a rumor to you. Having no clue which side and which reason to believe. Merely caught in the middle of an annoying controversy. You’re pathetic for opposing each view. Facts don’t have reasons and facts don’t have opinions, it’s just the way it is and there’s no side you can take or believe. It’s an item that is already with you to begin with. It hurts you.20

An item, a neutral item on the shelf. It’s a glowing galaxy of red scars that one should hide. As long as you laugh, no one will care. Not until you are a mute behavior that is feared and observed. When the whole time, you just have an inability to S  L  E  E  P.21

This could be your virtual instincts of overcoming and becoming. This could be nothing but a realization of the society you were droned into. Defined in media and governmental morals and amendments. There is hope in the law and there are chaotic mysteries in those laws. Paranoia and disrespect is clouding the government. We are the people and we hate being the people of a government. I could speak for all of you if I wished. Would it be true? Would it be fact? No.22

This could be something no one will ever experience. Something everyone needs. A black swelled fat lip, from something pointless to form something. Friendship is something. Something that dwells deeply as if it were a tumor. Whether it throbs with kindness or hatred it is something that hurts us and becomes us. 23

Something...? There isn’t anything, there wasn’t anything to begin with. Again, a neutral item made out of thin air isn’t just something, it’s everything. What we breathe and what he choke on. Either way it will awake you from a slumber of nightmares and dreams.24

Now that I am a waken whore, I need my coffee to calm. It is 6 O'clock, the time a mother leaves home for the office. Every Saturn leaves its driveway at this time. Those silver cars I mentioned earlier. For a second, I thought there was one in my driveway, I swear I saw it drive in reverse just like the rest.25

So, unique and exact. A Stepford wives neighborhood. I hate it. All the right moments, the perfection and obvious intentions. It’s sick and disturbing to think that whatever you do is exact and perfect and also right. My fingertips lifted halfway off of the coffee cup. My hand stretched and it shook violently. It was impossible here. That the cup couldn’t fall and shatter. Instead, a tear drop fell and broke on a single black tile and it formed a puddle that never evaporated. He said that I had fucked up and there is nothing to do to fix the stain. It was there forever. A reminder.26

For something to be perfectly beautiful, it must first be destroyed. I tried that and it didn’t work. That's when all of it was ruined. It was like a sweet candy, the lawyer filing her lies and filthy covered up reports. Wrongly accused. I know it brings the most necessary revenge opportunity. Innocence is accused. Childish lies and obscene toys. Can’t help but think that perhaps true youth holds rebellion and never innocence. Innocence doesn’t exist. Innocence is nothing more than a mask every celebrity wears.27

There at the stool, the stiff, flaky skin of me, from being dried out from the sun shining through the window. As for the curtains, frayed and ripped through with stains and holes. Every string was on its own practically like they were trying and prying themselves from the rest. The table was balanced well when I decided to lay down my head on it, looking to the side. In my view for the last time was nothing but that one kitchen window. The last thing I ever saw was the neighbor’s house. Peaceful and home-like. The garden looked fake, a picture off the TV screen.28

"Don't look at me like that" 29

An angry tone, it couldn't exactly direct itself to my face. It was guilty insults that were aimlessly fired. Hitting wall to wall like sound waves and musical rays. Always leaving a faint ringing in your ears.30

The voice was trying to ignore me, but couldn't help but stare right back. If you are uncomfortable, close my eyes. I did nothing wrong. The fact was, I was an alarm that was paranoid. 31

I am a hooker that is obvious. Every step I took was a mistake and a foot closer to trouble.32

The whole reason why it started was to show society the truth behind crime and misunderstood love. I was unwilling the first time, and when I had got so angry, control was something I’ve never really desired until then. Control is a monster unable to let go. Rage, a mission set in revenge. That revenge was on innocence. And all I ever did was sit there to watch. Even though being lost and oblivious to it all..33

There I am, by the light bulb while it flickers into a dull darkness. I watch myself and the being next to me, freaking out in panics and emotional screams. The fearing gears turning so fast that at any second they could jam. Then BAM, he will be a burnt out light bulb staring out the same window.34

That window...35

Don't ever forget the last thing you saw, because the last thing you saw will be the first thing you see too. Of course, I'm not there yet. And I haven’t realized or compromised with him on what to do next. He told me no. He knows best.36

You will start to realize that the trigger is your goal, or perhaps theirs.37

"Eat a Bullet"38

Not in suicide terms but perhaps a bit of quick direction that is consumed. And right there on the white screen blurs into a focus. A word: Awake.39

The bold, black, printed stamp on my forehead brands a scar. A mental damage in my heart, a scarlet letter sinking into my skin, my life is in the setting of unforgiving fortune.40

I am describing my cold withered body to you. I am blue. (Blue is my color.) Green are my eyes. Livid are my thoughts. I am pale from the coldness of anger, my stitches are swelling with truth. Difficult breathing, a struggling cult in despair and confronted with the lie. Just shut up, I thought. I am so irritated at the outcome of me. You could define this and write it up to be a form of being bipolar. Not exactly what it really is. Everything is not what it seems. You’re agreeing, aren’t you?41

Inch by inch, you will slowly come to find, the part of me everyone knew. But right now, you’re into something deeper. Complexed beginnings with a simple ending.42

Would you like to continue? Or stop to lick your wounds?43

Stepping into the cold kitchen, like every morning goal after a screaming night of terror. I had to have it. My coffee. He gave me a cup every morning at 6 a.m. while I watched him drive away along with the other silver Saturn’s and on and off sprinklers. The sparkling fake grass. That grass, it never swayed with the wind. I studied him as he left, but the thing is: He never really left. He stayed to dog me around and to piss on my fucking leg. I hate him.  44

"Blink."  A demand that came from his angry voice. 45

"I can't." I plead. I just can't anymore.46

”Bitch.” He snarled.47

“I...” I am speechless and out of the blue with nothing else to say, I broke down in apologies.48

“Sorry, I am so sorry sir, is there anything else I can do?” I said rather quickly.49

“Shut up.” He snapped back to end the conversation.50

After leaving, finally. He made an appearance that is believable to your eyes and sometimes mine. He got in his car and drove away. But I know the truth. He is in the other room, waiting. Just telling myself that seemed like I gave away the secret. Once every hidden thing is exposed becomes to be false. So now I’m back to thinking, did he really drive away? Its paranoia, it will get to you real hard.51

Ring ring ring...ring ring ring…52

It would ring three times, pause, three more times again. I suspect it being a code, a tapped in conversation, circling the topic, avoiding all key words. I am smarter than those narcotics you slip into my coffee.53

"Hello?" I said when I answered the telephone.54

I shouldn't be answering that parasite, but I couldn't help it. Just wondering who, exactly who was calling, what they wanted and why.55

"Who is this?" I asked in a stutter. 56

There is only one side. That is, because the coin is blank on the other side. It's as if, we were all blind in one eye. It's a pointless side of you. Deep down, we all know it, but never discuss it because we couldn't bring it to words and our damned emotions couldn’t handle it. In simple terms, it could have been deep pain, or hate.57

"Hello...Is anyone there?" I said in a louder tone.58

It was nothing and no one. So I hung up on my only opportunity to communicate with someone on the outside. Except, I was talking to that silent side of me who never could answer my questions or even stop to say hello.59

"What were you doing on the phone?" He demanded an answer quickly.60

"Nothing...” The only word that came out was the word from a liar.61

There, there, it's okay. Shrinking in fear...62

I am the size of your thumb. I am, I am the size of your hot wheel car.63

"Please don't." I pleaded.64

My words have tears of their own. My words could create an ocean you could drown in, just like that ocean I was born in front of. My words, they irritate you, they anger you.65

"Put your head down." He demanded.66

Again, this is my only ability that does not harm me physically. After obeying the command, he sat next to me. He pulled up a chair from the table. This chair, by the way, came from the dust that was swept off the table when I rushed my head down. 67

That's not exactly what happened. I did not mention the details of the details of the details.68

Who is he? He...is the half of me. He is a conscience, an aspect of my thoughts. Nothing more than a mental disability.69

He is my disease. My mental disease. It is everything that I am. I want to so badly to just…70

Forget everything. Walk pure on electricity’s rainbow. Clear and hopeful. 71

For all has been redefined. My disease it nothing more than who I am. He is my trademark, he is my system, and he is the disease I believe is final. Perhaps, I am just an ignorant soliloquy, a whore that stinks. Deep into low self-esteem...My excuse is: It's all a metaphor. And your solemn gestures upon reading this really piss me off. Relax and laugh a bit.72

A change in subject: 73

You know the sound a door makes when it's quietly opened...that creek of secrets. Sneaking into dark complicated troubles that everyone hides from or runs into. Whether you are escaping the sanitarium or just a reason for a fresh breath of air?74

This time, I am out for good. This time is final. And along came no one. My disease, I believe, stayed behind. 75

As I creaked into a sneaking secret of disappearing, I found the lawn was dry. It was not green and it did move with that slight breeze. Everything I had thought was true was now false. It was as if it were that quote. "The grass is NOT greener on the other side." And surely, it was all a bit creepy and weird. One step, came the landing of my naked foot onto a dry weed, it stabbed me with a remembrance that, I am actually leaving. As each strand prickled in between my toes the more I came aware of what I was doing. Yet, no matter how much I wanted to go back and dream of the world I am in right now, I could not, at all, stop myself from continuing into the darkness.76

I found a spotlight. Where I chased off the cats so I was able to stand alone. That spotlight was nothing more than a street lamp a few feet from my house, on the corner of the sidewalk where everyone has walked. I remember now. This was the side walk that the mail man walked. Of course, I have not seen him in years. Or maybe I no longer notice him as much as I use to. It's when you get so use to things that you are no longer interested in noticing the new details. It's more of a daily schedule to see such things. You see it, but you don't. I call this...blindness. I am blind...and so are you.77

Awe, what the hell am I doing? Walking bare foot in the middle of the street?78

I am telling you what I am doing so that my thoughts seem more of value...I cannot tell you what I am wearing for I am not looking down at my clothes. I could only speak and think, remember that I am blind and so are you at the moment. When the time comes, we will open our eyes to see who is there and what disease we were clenched into.79

For now, I think I will stand here in this spot light and wait for a spark of missions to give me a great work of exploring. And when it comes I will move on ward...or maybe backwards.80

He is noble and I am too. Since that is so, I can stab myself with bravery while it stings with slavery. He is my drive of creation.81

I thought I left him behind but it looks like he is coming along.82

I created him in oblivion's tumor. 83

I am the voice in your head, the words you read to yourself. Whether it be inspirational or a crime. And these words could support you, help you.84

It is dark and I am guessing the time by glancing at my wrist, yet nothing is there but my own flesh. I shouldn't be worried of the time since I am not going back. Unless some force drags me into that cave, the house that is not a home, the roof that rained underneath. A demon walking into heaven.85

Do you believe in Angels? You cannot find them in a Home of Christ, or in a book in a house. They do not live in caves and they don't come from the Heavens. They are there, always, inside of you and within you. They are here to become you, and the fact is, it is a terror that gets under your skin and eats your muscles.86

He is my angel, the angel of white. A white demon wind that carries the leaf, the mildew and whispers across my skies. They are the colors I see here and within, the answers.87

The concrete is cold; I come pale with sickness and paranoia. Everywhere I look seems like a Polaroid I could never forget, one that couldn't burn to ashes. I walk slowly out in the middle of the empty street. There is an echo but it's nothing more than the blank silence. I found the item, the boredom I had tripped over. No words are spoken and nothing is happening but the steps I am making, the closer I am getting, the farther away I am going. From here on after, it is me and the street. 88

These houses are empty, the silver cars have not returned, or is it they have never left? My focus is what is between each street lamp on the left and on the right of me. The road straightens out into the city. The city is not peace; it is a war with billboards and Wal-Marts on every corner.89

A city of whores and poverty, a place I can sink into the street without being noticed?90

He is my city and my money. Without him, I couldn't have entered the ashtray. My only fear is being soaked with decay, burned and coiled on Halloween.91

I want a city of my own. A city demon that walks, but a light bulb can’t light without a source.92

A source..?93

The street is an aspect of the source. The street is a drawing in an art show. Nothing more than a display, a Gothic time era that shaded into grey and then murder red. Red is my color. It was a new color that I saw again. This was the design of a headache, my eyes would excessively blink, then...94

The bright, the electronic beeps, nurses running. I smell rubber, I smell sickness!! And there I am, looking up at the light bulb. Now under it and it is blinding me. My first reaction was a yawn as black figures outlined and sketched, appearing in simplicity and annoying questions.95

"I am plugged in." I finally spoke. I said something clear that didn't echo in fog.96

"Plugged into what, hun?" Caring but freaked out. I woke up and they were all there to see it. Now they have the next phase worry: Me being who I use to be.97

"A tube."98

He is my tube that feeds me. He is my sickness, I soaked myself in.99

I am filthy in mental poverty. I am young and sleepy, I never had thought of death like this. I felt...infallible. My string has knots and the scissors are dull, the witch is hopeless and her needles are broke.100

"You are free, it's good to see you again!"101

"AGAIN! What are you saying? I'm back from the dead?" I'm confused. I don't even think he finished that last word before I screamed. It is simple terror that I can easily overcome and then complicating...become it.102

"No...You...were in a...coma...” 103

Was that slow enough for you? Hearing those words seemed so false. I mean, don't get me wrong, I knew I was blind but it being just a sleep, with my eyes actually closed? Was that a dream or was it reality? That window, I still remember it but now that I am awake, I cannot go back to it. Well, never say never. 104

Am I in Heaven? It's not the clean room or the flowers and gifts. My, family is it? Surrounding me. I didn't awake, I was BORN!105

When you wake up, you have everything figured out.106

When you are born, you are just starting to figure things out.107

Oddly, I want to go back to the window and rest my head on the round table. All is happening way to fast. 108

He won't help me.109