Fragments

• Spooning - the original sin
• Phil's house - "I'm having a miserable time..."
• Dr. Kendall told me to tell you to go fuck yourself 
• The beautiful moment - wrist/nose
• The snake tease - car door
• The suitcase - "funny"
• The last visit, which bleeds into the last phone call

How Phil's house maybe shoulda gone (some awesome fictional bullshit)

I meet you outside. I throw my cigarettes at you, as if they were that fucking important. I fully expect them to bounce off of you, but you catch them and tease me with some keep away motion - as if I actually care to play that tall person versus short person game. I tap on my car (this would be the teal Camaro that I think I left it in the driveway so people could fuck in it - I have the keys, it's fine), "Hey! Have fun! Take care of my shit! I'll be back for it later!" We are kinda walkin' fast down the driveway to your car. You're leading, but you turn around to make fun of me by mouthing, "I'll be back," and blatantly flexing like you're the governator. I'm trying not to laugh as we glide far the fuck away from that mess. "Alright, where should we go?" you ask when we're both in your car. "There's a parking lot down the street at the mall, take me the fuck there so I can puke," I say. "Oh-kay," you nod slowly, and it doesn't take long to arrive. I did manage to hold it, but I leapt out of your car to spew. "It's not that bad," you try to comfort. "Says you," I say between heaves. "You're just dehydrated," you say. "Gimmie that," I grab some soda thing from you, it's not water, but it's better than nothing. I gasp after some chugging, "Ye-ah. Fine. So sexy. How about I sit on your lap and kiss you now?" I stick out my tongue for emphasis. We both laugh, although you kinda shake your head, and we end up leaning against the car. The fresh air is nice. "Well, that sucked. They really are cool people, with or without the drugs, I swear," I say, while watching for comets. "You and your big mouth," you shake your head. "I can't help it," I admit. "You can never just let shit go, huh?" you ask. "Up to a point. It's like how I do witchcraft. You start in the mind. You don't need the candles and incense bullshit foreplay. Everything's all interconnected. It's about energy and intent. If that doesn't work, go ahead and use the foreplay. If that doesn't work, call in the big guns. The Gods, Goddesses, whatthefuckever, just make it happen. They can use people and things as vessels to carry it out, you know," I mansplain to impress you. "Maybe," you say, "...Do you believe that if that's true... If I or anyone you cared about passed on, we could one day look at you from someone else's eyes?" "Undoubtedly so," I'm trying not to leer at you, "But neither of us can explain that to the vessel, it'll spook them and break the spell." You let that sit for a bit. I know you're thinking I'm a crazy bitch, but I'd bet you still like me, so I go on, "Do you believe in time travel since it wouldn't necessarily affect spirits who are not really condemned to the dimensions humans can only see?" "Why not?" you would probably add your own creative theoretical bullshit spin here, but I really can't do it by myself, so all you do is say that. "Just checking, 'cause I think it'd be fucking hilarious to inscribe the dog tag necklace with your name on it, so it says I'm 'Erik's Bitch' instead of motorcycle guy's bitch," I laugh and see you smile as you look down a bit. "Bitch would be the wrong noun," you say. "And just what noun should it be?" I ask. You don't add anything for a minute. You let me think about how in nature, brightly colored things warn others of venom - but since I dyed my hair blue-black, they'll never see me coming. And you also let me think about how the email name you used was "Mattao DDE," which, you never explained to me, but I got it pegged - "Mattao" is Hebrew for "gift from God." Hebrew is one of the oldest religious languages. And the "DDE" means "double duplicate Erik." "Don't worry about it, you've already opened up some portal," you transition the reverence. "You sure it's not a mortal wound?" I ask. "More like a war trophy," you say. "I like those," I admit while zipping up my black hoodie with the red fire wings painted on. "You'll be fine, let's go," you instruct as we get back in the car.

Of Insanity and Other Euphoria (some awesome fictional bullshit)

"So, I have to ask you something," I'm watching you multitask driving while also watching me. "What's that?" you wonder dryly. "Why did everything you do have to involve drugs?" I deserved an answer. You look back and forth between me and the road a couple of times, "Not always." "No, you fucking hid that shit REALLY well," I cut. "You were a kid for a large portion," you retort. "Yes, but the concentric circle of most of our time together was AFTER the label of 'jailbait.' WTF did this start as? Escapism? Was your childhood really that bad? And was I seriously not enough of a drug for you?" I won't stop staring at you. "Oh, don't give me that, miss escape artist queen," you're thinking about grabbing my wrist and I'm about to let you - but not that easily. "You were fine until the end," my voice drops softly. "You know I stayed at halfway houses, tried programs, and was working on jobs up there," you're feeding me a line. "You also would tell me how your room-mate buddies or whatever would sneak shit in. You just needed room and board to do carte blanche because you chose to have the system fail you," I'm hoping you could give me anything worthwhile to counter that. "Not sure if you realize this or not, but the guy is supposed to lead. Very fun until I realized I was in over my head. I put you first. Then went for the mediocre but stable bliss to allow the greater good to happen," your head is no longer turned toward me but you keep looking at me from the corner of your eyes. "You know, Sonia wanted to make me a manager. That means I could've gotten you a job with me. They pay for employee rehab programs. And we could've pulled the truck together - while clustering up to do so, I would've inconspicuously backed my ass up into you at times! You missed out on SO many jokes! I could've texted you my finger. We could've gotten away with murder together and driven everyone nuts because they'd never be able to break that productive bond!" I began to get uncontrollably louder and louder. "You know I would've probably let you down and gotten you fired," you said solemnly. I started out loudly and dropped my voice into a throaty whisper at the end, "I would've sat on you, every fucking day, doing anything I could to give you a better purpose and you know what - you'd still be afuckinglive!" "What was stopping you from dragging me back home to your house?" you ask, knowing the answer already, far too well. "Let me show you something," I took my seatbelt off and reached over to torque the wheel into a catastrophic crash, "I HAVE BLINDERS ON, REMEMBER?!" You fought me to regain control, hard. In fact, there was a flashback of when you held me, "I am bigger than you, I am stronger than you, you are not going to hurt me." But I threw my hips into it and pushed against the ceiling, screaming so loudly that it shattered the moon and sun into a million more stars. The trickling glass flooded the vacuum of night into a million ribboned sequins of sharp reflective elements. It was kind of what happens when you put one mirror in front of another and they go on for infinity, but you're somehow able to jump into the middle of it. The vast unknown took our breath away and we faded amongst the perpetual black.

A Higher Dose of Spoons (some awesome fictional bullshit)

"Fuck your greater good," I thought I was screaming it at you, but I was actually just mumbling it, and the enormous pain my now-horizontally-stiff body was in became very hard to ignore. Your head appeared above me, stark against whatever kept changing around us. You blinked down at me with a quizzical, concerned look in your eyes, and my pain was instantly forgotten, replaced by bliss. I wanted to touch your nose with mine, but you took my hand up to your chest instead. You briefly glanced at the black heart with veined lightning coming from it, tattooed on my palm, and breathed a light, amused smile at it before placing it where it belonged. "I had the best life that I could. You are the most tenacious escape I couldn't wrap my mind around ever deserving," your other hand held mine on your chest now too. I turned my head away from you for a moment, then looked back at you regretfully, "There is no crime in loving an idiot other than the standard one makes up." You recognized the words I'd echoed from before. I've always been too profound and intense. You're also profound, but the vulnerability I seem to expose in you was always frightening instead of the sexy I seemed to always be aiming for. But what did vulnerability matter now, tho? A soul isn't trapped by fears and restraints of the human threshold. When you transcended, you became one with the rest of your withheld energy from the continuum. You honed it and leaned forward, not exactly wondering if I could see that depth. What mattered more was starting by gently sliding the tip of your nose down the bridge of mine and continuing into closing all gaps of space, time, and elements. It was the most fulfilling kind of lightwave, where boundaries yielded to infinite possibilities - things happening all at once and not at all, existing forever and never, an endless current of power and exposure. Because love was no longer something that hurt, it just was. And it could not be contained or restrained anymore, only unbound. Reality opened beyond the dimensions we'd once mistaken for all there was.

The Uncontainable War Trophy (some awesome fictional bullshit)

Time passed me into waking up in a panic and despair. "This cannot actually be like that Beetlejuice cartoon," you smirked but then continued, "I have no business here anymore and it's wreaking havoc in your life's opportunities." I didn't wish to acknowledge some lame Prime Directive, "What is there to live for that draws me back instead of staying here with you?" and with that, my desolation turned to anger, "I just fucking endure. There's this bullshit society game where everyone gets to make you jump a bunch of needless hoops, and displace their lack of control onto you for their own sadistic amusement. I was taught there could be fulfillment and purpose. I am so very exhausted and I have no more for that. Yet they continue to hit below the belt and take what isn't even there anymore. This human condition is depraved - and I don't advocate it at all." You looked up and laughed once, realizing that you had no place by your actions of the longest and most euphoric suicide ever into the cultural heart of disconnection via whatever dopamine tolerance allowed to be considered survival. You looked back at me and gave me the most idiotic smile because you watched me see it too, as if I were supposed to recognize some stupid cliche here about how 'life is what you make it.' "I'm not leaving you," you said after a few moments, "But I can only remain in the background." "But I remembered you - after I repressed you TWICE! And everyone thought they could just ignore it, and it would somehow just go the fuck away," I interrupted and began seething at the realization of how deeply autonomy and experience had been rejected by "authority." "I know. We tapped into it, it's undeniable, and I will always be with you. Equally, their version of love manifests me in ways too," you replied, "If I showed you that love exists, then I'm going to take it one step further. It's a thread of energy that interconnects everything. It will find you, if you can just be and stop letting it hurt you so much." I began shaking my head, but you continued anyway, "It can only happen like that. You can't force it and you can't chase it because it's innocence." I thought about how I could only find the keyhole in the dark by not looking directly at it and just knowing it was there. You sternly blinked and the present slowly evaporated into the now.