Sunday, October 5, 2008

your name is paul

the first half of the night felt great. you swung that ancient wok up and down, tossing stir fry mix seemed not unlike tossing salad mix. anal. veggies galore, dash of garlic and a tablespoon of water, flavor condensed into vapor all wafting up the hood system and out into the alley. the alley itself smells strongly of sizzling teriyaki sauce and garlic. you know this, right?  the inside smells as it usually does, the air saturated with the sickly sweet smell of soy sauce, aged and dried in the act of running down the sides of the grey trash cans placed conveniently around the restaurant. it's liquid defying the laws of gravity with the help of whatever secret ingredients this mystery sauce contains and the natural toll time takes on edibles. salt and soy? nah.

you talk shit with your co-worker, updating her on the present situation you're in, normally these sort of events remain hidden from the untrustworthy public, but because things seem to be running along oh so well and because you've just taken in enough caffeine to kill a horse, you feel your over active tongue give into the rush an overly strained heart and a brain pumped full of oxygen presents. you speak, at lengths, about your trip, arrival and return, as well as the usual problems associated with a prolonged love life: respect, fidelity and future plans. your co-worker seemed interested enough, especially when you mentioned the shirt. remember? this was the first shift after a weeks absence, you traveled extensively throughout the United States. you came home to a foreign article of clothing that had a strong, pungent odor of masculinity. right?  

the corner of your eye, the dubious realm of shifting shadows and familiar humanoid forms and, possibly, mistaken movements or colors,  announces, quite suddenly, the appearance of a  new character onto your mental stage. the actor arrives from off stage left, a navy blue veneer dotted with boom boxes and microphones, such an innocent front for something, you're convinced, is the ultimate threat to the circumstances at hand. so quick was this image projected that you fear you did not actually see it, just a creation of your overly hyped imagination. but if it was actually there? well, then, the threat is imminent, you know this, it must be confronted as soon as possible. the pattern on the sheet teases you with familiarity. right? do you confront the matter now, possibly make a fool out of yourself? perhaps you were mistaken, as i said before, the realm this fleeting abomination arose from is a strange one, often deceiving the most composed of minds. hell, what you saw could have just been a glimpse of movement, a leak of activity from this forbidden realm, and nothing more. casual, that is how this must be approached, casual and calmly for you have made mistakes before and, as you know, it is never good to repeat these sort of mix ups. 

you weaved your way through oblivious employees, who dart to an fro, and past the great array of dishes. yes. those pronged racks arranged with steaming china and soup bowls. those great sheets of plastic, multi colored dishes stacked between the prongs form crop circle signs. the linear soup cup arrangement (red miso bowls, white salad bowls, red miso bowls, white salad bowl, etc.) and square plates, limed up domino style, or the swirl approach, dishes arranged in beautiful patterns circular patterns around immense ceramic entree plates. the nicer the arrangement is, i believe makes it more likely those darting bodies will take notice, and actually put them away. the brightest flower is often pollinated by even the most distracted of bees. but, right now, you cannot be distracted by such things. yes, strange, obsessive observations, but not now. no. there is another matter you must tend to. perhaps you can make use of these things...? 

you grabbed at the dishes, randomly, and through the darkened hall, the doorway between front and backstage, into the dimly lit front you went. you casually put away those godforsaken plates all the while you ran your eyes over the dining area, looking for the uncertain, strangely decorated sheet. yes, so damn familiar, isn't it? your eyes halt halfway and yes, it is real, that sheet with its innocently designed facade is there and it's enjoying itself. so, not only is it real, it's confident. and quite aware that you've noticed its presence and not giving two fucks about it. it seemed to say to you, quite loudly, "so what if I, a fictional creature, escaped the boundaries of my world. i'm here and ready, nothing you throw at me can effect me. i am impervious to all tools and weaponry of this reality, but mine to you? well, you'll find out soon enough, that is, if you have the balls to confront the matter." 

you smiled in its direction, not a waning smile, but certainly not assertive. just a simple smile, take that as you will, positive or negative. 'who am i to play jailer?' your expression said. but beneath the frozen surface of Europa lies a raging sea of god knows what. a swirling maelstrom of negative emotions and thoughts will haunt you the entire evening after that. you feel like you're balanced on the edge of your toes, craving the satisfying gurgle that a toilet makes once it has been successfully flushed, watching the dirty log swirl about. but i am disappointed, that's for sure, and my toes began to burn horribly after a while, that shit just bobs there, calmly.  

we'll see how this plays out. this diaphanous specter can't stick around for too much longer, can he? oh , but he does. you retreat back to the lair of solitude, which really isn't all that solitary, and mope. it isn't after too long after that it reappears, beer in its coiled sheet edge. can this creature even speak, you wonder. or, much less, drink? who knows, really. what looks exchanged or words spoken within this span of time are lost, for you are submerged beneath the icy surface of Europa. you keep focus on the cooking at hand and eventually the creature retires, perhaps losing interest your passive mien or perhaps losing interest in the mundane routine our reality offers, but still, you are left without peace of mind. if this can happen once, if these creatures with their ambiguous intentions, have the ability to free themselves from the confines of their world, how often will they appear? when will their true objectives be clear? should you wait on it? wait for them to put, quite possibly, their insidious plans into action? no, you tell yourself, you will seek them out, break out of this layer and confront the living or un-living shit out of them. how will this night end and when will it ever end?

suddenly, you find yourself pondering the matter on your roof, many a beer carcass by your side, unable to sit on the slope you lay them in organized rings on the edge of the chimney. dead indians or 'engines,' is how you remember them called. something else happened between the end of the shift and now, but you aren't quite sure what. information was circulated throughout the restaurant, talk of a party honoring the arrival of the sheet, you believe. there was also the bar you insisted on going to alone. now, how does getting drunk help your situation? drinking till there's no worry or pain? nah, that's a bit cliche. wait. like flower petals to bees or dish racks to servers, the plan will manifest itself within, perhaps it will be attracted by your pathetically slouched form and mustard yellow finger tips, and pollinate your ideas. they will grow and blossom in turn, and the way shall be made clear. correct? maybe. just wait, be patient, that's all. shush.

quite suddenly, you are blinded by two mental projections playing almost simultaneously in your head. the plan has arrived, finally, all it took was a twelve pack and a pot of coffee. in one you are gripping both edges of the sheets, a gentle smile on your placid face, as if you had just pulled this enemy from the dryer and its comforting warmth had settled over you. you appear to be folding the sheet for storage until, at the last second, a maniacal grin and a wide eyed expression burns away the calm, like dryer lint to lighter flame,  and the sheet is roughly torn in two. those boom boxes battered and corded microphones cut. yes, sure that is a good reaction, destroying the cocky bastard. but does that still not leave the gateway open for more beastly, otherworldly creatures? the other image is one of patience, the straight forward approach, you assumed. this series of images portrays you draping the sheet over your empty bed, neatly tucking it beneath your pillows, and you lay down on it, hands folded behind your head with a thoughtful expression on your carefree face. still, it's quite possible the sheet will enfold your form and smother your unsuspecting body. 

quiet now. you see them arriving, how much time has past since your epiphany? you wonder. the car pulls up the driveway, is the mischievous fabric lurking within? or have they arrived alone? you hope for the lone crowd, but crave sighting his softened edges curled around her neck, his company and you're on to it and its intentions. that's right. your vantage point offers some secrecy, from here you can figure out what is really going on between the sheeted one and the female. make a noise and you'll be discovered, who knows, the stretch of fabric may well destroy you. you will the mental images back into place, both seem much much more detailed. you burn the fabric after savagely ripping it into shreds, you confront the fabric, drilling it confidently with questions. 'what have you been up to?' you ask, "friend or foe,' you specify. 



you're not sure what the rules are for this foreign reality, so you'll never be exactly sure which of the two scenarios took place. you are sure of this though, the sheet was not in the car with them and, to this day, has not made an appearance. your mind seems to be more at ease for the moment, but uncertainty seems to encrust the outer edges of this loaf of bread. 


amazing what effect a stray piece of laundry can have on one's peace of mind.