khmer rouge

to keep you is no benefit. to destroy you is no loss.

12:03 AM*rough draft

My eyes snapped open like a pair of over zealous roller shades and my red rimmed eyes skim about the all too familiar living room. two dirty sneakers, where bare feet reside, rest on a glass coffee table. I notice on either side of my periphery a stretch of green leather couch, empty but welcoming. it was as if i had been expecting guests earlier in the evening. but, over the course of the night, had drank myself into a comatose state.

the first thing my immediate gaze attaches itself to is the lime green and dark brown skyline of some translucent cityscape that lay before me on a glass infrastructure that resembled the coffee table i had remembered being empty hours before. i feel the the right side of my cheek tighten and contort into an odd smile. i had remained still as stone, a sleeping mountain chiseled over decades by some ancient race of people into the vague form of an omnipotent being. a mount rushmore of some sort. whose unseen divine powers had once held influence over a primitive civilizations moral structure and whose wrath had once commanded the outcome of precious crop conditions.

over time, however, these people seemed to have lost faith in their all powerful creator and turned, instead, to scientific research and basic reasoning. this great mountain became a mere reminder of the archaic and embarrassing beginnings of this now great race. a tourist attraction.

this being has slept for too long. clouds of dust, skin of the ages, crumbles and swirls with every slight movement. his people have vanished into obscurity, leaving only vacant buildings and deathly quiet streets.

the living room is dimly lit by a dull yellow hallway light, half hidden behind a corner, a dying star reflecting on a blank television set. it all adds to the utter loneliness of the room.

my giant hand slithers down the empty street once proudly called budweiser memorial drive and up heineken avenue, resting on marlboro square. the leather clings to my body as i rise up and every bone in my body creaks in protest. my skin felt two sizes too small. i can already tell this will be another eventful, sleep depraved night.

a meeting is to be held at two.

while cracking open the unopened pack of smokes i find myself wandering over to my parents liquor cabinet and browsing through the fine assortment of cheap liquor, most are covered with a thin layer of dust. it's pretty apparent that my folks aren't heavy drinkers. the fullest of the bottles, a bottle of *brandy*, stands out among the rest. a bright label, a cheery smile and some heavy lidded eyes.

"hello." i said, my words somewhat muffled by the tobacco stick dangling from my lips.

"eh? oh, you again." he said almost impatiently.

i remove the cigarette.

"yes, you'll do quite nicely. these things don't go particularly smoothly without a drip, you understand." i start heading for the back sliding glass door.

"yeah, yeah. do what you gotta do, i guess." he said.

-the full moon casts subtle light on my backyard. a white-blueish glow that creates an odd feeling of calm. the way the ocean waves silently lapping at the sandy shores can put you in a zen state, of some sort. the light seems edible, delicious even. a subtle taste so familiar, but so allusive to the senses. a butterfly that refuses to be pinned down and displayed. the light fills you like cold milk but breaks like ice or glass, so as not to cut up the roof of your mouth. like icing on cake. yellow, on the other hand, seems more ketchup and mustard like, more aggressive and abrasive on the pallet, but also smooth and creamy. the blue seems to soften the harsh edges of any angles, from the castle-like concrete retaining wall to the swaying blades of grass.-

also, within my window, i see my familiar shape. the two different types of lighting competing make the details of my body almost indiscernible. my form, outlined by a halo of dim yellow, seemed dotted, easily detachable from the world around it. the inside, or filling, blank and shadowed, only a heavy brow line and a prominent nose remain visible. as if molded out of clay and yard debris, a golem bending and moving to its masters will. strangely camouflaged with what lay beyond this sheet of glass, another bit of earth and life, an assemblage of active carbon, oxygen and hydrogen molecules. i also notice the reflection of a blinking red dot. the answering machine.

baited, i turn to regard it only to find my flight itinerary laid out neatly at its side.

"something on your mind, kid? you look a little sick." brandy asked me curiously.

"hmmn, just a little shocked i guess. things seem to be moving at an extremely quick pace. i'm just sort of carried along with it"

"oh," he glances down at the flight plan, "denver? san francisco? how about aberdeen? tokyo? something a little different?"

"boy, i wish," i say regretfully, "money, or lack thereof, is the problem."
"can't help you there."

'no, you can't, seeing as how you're partly to blame. if only things weren't so uninteresting without your company."

i grip and yank at the handle on the sliding glass door and step out into night air thick with insects and humidity. clutching my companion by the neck i rush out into the fray, a field medic in search of an escape from the constant, bloodsucking barrage of mosquitoes. the gelatin air suffocating, suppressing, almost painfully wrecking havoc on my pitiful sweating body. to think the night had appeared so peaceful from the inside.