The Tower of Brahma - 58 - the Twelve: First Five

4/7/09

I find five people to help define me. I seek to find my shape beyond her realm, alone floating in cosmos, flailing about seeing who is there. There will be twelve, but now there is five.

I wander Friday night out, trapped between worlds, unable to return home, unwilling to lock myself away. I inhale the remnants of smoke trailing down the sidewalks, seeking some sort of high, asking to be distracted. Exhaling finds my heart racing, my breath and time are short.

Before I close the bars behind me, I send out an emergency beacon hoping to be found outside the next night, for I feared the madness would return and end this once and for all. I tried to absorb doctrine, to let my mind be at peace, but there's so much to think about.

I slip out the crack of dawn and keep moving through the streets, mixing with the masses, splinter in the public's flesh. I meet with a seller and grab five bags of sanity. I jump ship and abandon the island, long subway ride to lose myself.

I trade the five bags for a night of normalcy. Two guys hanging out, drinking beers, fetal on his bathroom floor, I wash my hands and face a friend. We watch movies and bullshit, things are calm, I don't need to watch my peripheral for possible attacks. I'm off the map.

I crash on his couch after playing couch potato. I wake and step out into the sun, it hates me intensely. Coffee and cigarettes make me feel worse, and I drag myself up the platform, hop on the first train in, and plunge back into life. Somewhere along the way a distress signal from a kindred soul flares across the West of Brooklyn so I break out.

The drama we've separately shared since we met tells us that there is a deeper connection. We'll need to be there for each other, magnetic empathic resonators, empowering and devouring one another. She's switched on like never before and on the run from an ex-assassin, as am I.

An ally comes to meet us for wine and sliders on the outdoor patio. I run distraction as she leaves to protect her love from insane jealous rage. I skirt paying the bill with an innocent smile, and the inside man comes out with me. He brings me back to Manhattan, and we head to the highest point.

Overlooking the city skyline, a few midnight cocktails in me, I try and get the information I need from him. He drops hints and tips but dodges anything concrete. He does what he can but it's not enough, I'm impatient to advance to the next level. I'm in Hell and I'm holding her hand. How do I get out?

He leaves me cold in the wind. She floats upon me and envelops, we disappear into the night, returning home to hide. Beside her, the madness gurgles and begs for release, I finally sleep, forcing myself to surpress the viral enemy inside me.

I dream of falling back, landing hard on my spine, paralyzing me at the point of impact, only it never comes and instead I bolt upright awake. I don't know how I can resist the darkness in me any longer. I've got to get back into the game, find the zen in the movement forward.

The silver laptop that was once all I was, the entirety of my being crunched in the bits and bytes of digital images, playlists, and bookmarks, it needed to be resurrected. She knew I must be connected on my own, my soul shredded by the rumaging through her own computer self, seeing her love someone else.

She heads out for another mission, but before she does, I leave, not wanting to watch her dress the part: the short skirt to catch a guy's eyes, the top that held them, her hair ensnaring the mark, with eyes that took everything. I couldn't watch her go that way. So I ran.

I met my friend and his friend, and they brought me along to be manly. We ate wings, drank beers, watched sports, talked shop. Somewhere in the moment, I was released from every snare, and free to exist as I wished. We went back to the old bar and had a free shot.

It felt normal. I was a regular joe, living his life, forgetting the burden of eternity that rests on my shoulders for one brief night. In my old bed I try and sleep, my eyes burning with tired. My mind begins to slip and slide across the wreckage of my life, I grind what's left of my teeth, the cyanide capsules all gone, leaving holes in my mouth.

Tomorrow begins a day to become myself all over again. I hope I'll be stronger, more sane, and further from the devil that dogs my step.

I don't want to live in this prison. I want to stop escaping. My friends hold me afloat as I rise from the ashes.