2015/03/22 – Sunday (Lisbon, Portugal)
... numb... Suzanne's text message was wreaking anger... chemtrails were being sprayed in Cascais... especially on this sunny afternoon with the beaches being crowded... she was asking if I had seen any planes over Lisbon spraying mind bending toxins... and to stay indoors... lovely thought, is it not... fear is a slavery... and as far as I am concerned, only the physical body is affected by these chemicals...whether I stay in or outdoors, I do not like my body as it's only a temporary shell... luckily, either way I was and am doomed...
...caretakers...if we are served shit but are told it is chocolate...do we know we're getting fucked?... what about the chemtrails this afternoon over Cascais... it's a beach day, most if not all...do not want to look into this conspiracy theory...but is not a theory an educated guess?...the career homeless man in the train station this morning too... looking at the turnstiles with their green and/or red flashing lights... green light you are allowed in, but not with red... with no money nor time... yet his red, shot eyes craving to jump over the turnstiles... with no physical destination whatsoever... but maybe, the turnstile is a portal if he gets through without triggering either colored light... a password of sorts to get to the other side... wait, still waiting and more waiting...his indecisiveness to react is typically human...eventually he must let go of his earthly train ticket...
... expanse... though this body has been brainwashed... I do function well enough in it... but it certainly does not need to be polished and pine scented like a car... it's value is in the mileage, the more the better... I feel and why not even know my soul will be tray me...it will leave without me... unless I out smart it... could I do that?... can I get out and hand the baggish outfit of cells suit to my soul on my way out...I could live forever in my thoughts... memories are eternal, no?...
... ambidextrous... at about the age of 12 years old... my brother and I are playing with a tennis ball against a neighbour's bricked house... left being his weak arm, my brother throws the ball and hits the glass window... the sound of glass popping and breaking was also a neighbourhood shriek... a community neighborhood watch affair... with the whisper of broken glass falling... my father comes out to see what has happened... naively honest, as we were never taught to think for oneself... once the blaming fault established... the existentialist question of good versus evil in the same entity became evident...my father's endearing tone of apologetic words promising the neighbour to pay for the damaged window... and with the same breath now void of any oxygen... with such harsh words, that it got my brother running back into our house seeking the illusion of safety...
... architecture... since I did not break the glass... why would I go home... so, I stayed alone in the shelter of the big city street... as my fucken old man gets in the house...he turns around as if he had forgotten an annoying something...his eyes gripped and told me to stop lingering and get in the house too...reluctantly, I followed him into the house...I did not feel whole... I was already breaking up... swooshing away parts of this physical body trapping me inside... we lived on the second floor... once at the top of the stairs, if you turn left is the kitchen and then the bedroom my brother and I shared... and to the right of the stairs are the living room and his bedroom...
... children... reaching the top of the staircase I faced a wall... my eyes focused on the white wall color... I could see all the miniature bumps and ridges which had been imprinted by multiple paint rollers, a silent history of sorts... all the while... my left ear picked out the sounds of my brother crying in bed in entangled whimpering sounds of fear... my right ear... picks out his heavy steps coming towards my direction... I take one step back to my left and lean against the fridge door... the warmth of the cold metal surface presses against my body and soothes me... through the heavy steps... I hear the quiet sound of him folding his belt in half... once folded he pulls both ends and snaps it...a greeting of sorts, an ego power trip of the absurd, a father/man encased in raging isolation... at this point, I did not know if I would get whipped too... but I did not take a chance... I pressed myself harder into the white fridge door...my chameleon proficiency made me disappear... I became one with the fridge...I allowed the compressor vibrations to fuel my heart... to sustain the body, while I stepped out momentarily... my very fear prevents me from saving my younger brother...I hate myself...
...youth?...when I came back...I found myself on my bed looking at my brother lying down on his bed... he was in a near fetal position... the black & blue bumps and ridges on his skin branded the belt mark signature on his back...it caused his skin to ache when stretched and even the bed sheet I put over him was excruciating...my body was intact...my gift of disappearance saved me this time... the little man in front of me was full of fear...the old man was nowhere to be found and probably was also full of fear, alone in his bedroom... even the silent smell in the house, imposed fear in any daring airborne molecule...the silence persisted until mother arrived from work... a few adult words could be heard between them... soon after, the mother person is now rubbing oils on his small back to ease his pain and trying to console him...but I feel, he is just a shell now and that my brother is also gone... he managed to escape too...
...instant adult... a few days later I was called to the principal's office... he and my brother's teacher wanted to know why my kid brother was walking like a crippled...and I thought...I'm just a kid too...so, fuck off...I miss hugging my own kids...their touch goes through this shell and touches whatever humanity is still left inside of me... otherwise, I would've been long gone...
YOU ARE READING
Paper Cigarette
Random...... ...Paper Cigarette (slices of life)... ...for better or for worse, what happens on the Camino does not always stay on the Camino.... .. it's a journal style novel (fiction)....... it's about a man who inadvertently finds himself on the Santia...
