Your kids want to wake you up, but you know they can’t, won’t and you won’t get up. The hotel room is barely a beige and red wall. You finally snap to and they’re over your bed in the hotel room. Your wife gets ready in the bathroom with a soft light on, not wanting to wake you yet. You bolt out the door with you dragging the kids behind you, your wife dragging behind you. They’re not moving but your dragging them behind you. You’re not touching them, dragging them behind you. You dive off the stair railing and fly only to fall. Straight down and Blackness. And you can hear your kids whispering over you.
You hear your wife silence them, it’s so early, don’t wake your father.
Think vertically, the more you struggle the more they have you.
Meeting in apartments.
A lot of history here they say, your friends say. You walk through the magnificent lobby like a paradise of glass and marble but you see no angels. You have to meet with someone first they say, but you don’t know who. A girl bumps into you, and you lock eyes for a moment. Hers say something intelligent, but heartless, the kind of beauty you see when wrecked against rocks. She takes slightly too long to place a perfect amethyst in your palm, tiny purple dot on a large brush silver ring. You slip it into your pocket and never see it again, because they are potentially anything but almost never a pocket with that ring.
You can’t control that sort of thing.
The room you meet in is a marble living room with a great view and shitty bunk bed frame. They leave for a moment and you’re left with them. The them is six, but are all one, it’s ultimately all one broken painting. Illusionary. The man in the bright blue Hawaiian shirt asks if you fought before. You can say anything because the conversation only holds present importance. You lie about how you used to fight a lot. Then a skinny whisker patch in a wife beater throws a punch. You block it like it was choreographed. It was, all one broken painting. You dead eye him and he backs up, he says he’s just acting like a man. You say there’s no such thing. There’s no such thing. You walk away to leave, but the girl grabs your arm. You look at her, it’s the same girl. Different everything, but the face, but she’s also completely the same. You sit with her on a couch and she pets your hand as she talks passionately and you don’t listen. Words are just means to an end.
The only end is control.
You try to destroy everything, but it knows. The girl pulls you close and a man offers you beer. You politely refuse, and they exploit the opportunity to try to talk to you. It was a mistake, but they rushed too hard, and you realize in the overwhelming stimuli that you can just, make it stop. And that makes them worse. The girl bites your fingers, and everyone starts to yell until you manage to peel.
Black, All Black. The borders to the room are transparent, but there. They are still there. They stand, with blank Black faces around you waiting. You want to go to the beach so you do, but they are there, different but the same. Ever present. The park, they are there too, and also the sky. You panic and writhe until it all comes into view.
That beige and red hotel wall, but you can’t get up.