Thursday, July 5, 2012

Never Learning: Stuck groove in an endless record.

                         Never Learning: Stuck Groove in a record.


              Light, dark, light, dark, light, dark, causing pupils to expand and contract too quickly, hurting fragile head. Faces looking down at her with looks of urgency crossing their brows as they’d go from shadows to vibrant, shadow to vibrant, light, dark, light, dark, light, dark.

            The wheels of her gurney squeaked violently as she was hurriedly whooshed to down hallway to waiting Emergency Room 5.

           Cold, this room was so cold, so far removed from the humidity she knew mere moments earlier as she hung with friends she’d cultivated through total desperation and loneliness. These so-called friends controlled and fed her illusion that she controlled them.

          One of them decided to put a slug into her.

          Plasma, stat.

          Yes, doctor!

         Knock her out! STAT!

         Affirmative! “just count backward from ten, please.”

         She’s lost a lot of blood…


         Audible snap as nurse feed surgeon the tool requested.



        Nurse absorbing free flowing blood to give surgeon clear view from the point of entry.

       Ten, nine, eighhhhhht, sev.

       She was now sent to the neverland of the mind-world where the body feels nothing, eyes cannot see and arms and legs fail to move.

       Ears still firing signals to the brain that never truly sleeps regardless of drugs given to make it idle. Christ, I can still hear what they say! Why? Shouldn’t hear nothing?

      Hearing the sounds as they cut into her, attempting the remove the bullet from her chest.

        Beep! Beep! Beep! Mechanical sounds repeatedly playing, giving the Staff vital information as to her failing physical whereabouts.

       BP falling fast, Doctor!

       10 cc’s of…

       Pulse at 220!

        We’re losing her!

        Got it! Bullet removed.

        CLANK. Hunk of lead hitting stainless bowl.

        Flatlined, vital signs nose-diving, darkness descending.



       Charging, Doctor.

WheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE! Voltage mounting to reach-


      Thunk! Dead body arching suddenly, explosively.

      I’m not dead! I still hear! Is my hair fro-ing out?



        Motionless, like the branches of trees on a windless night, she lay there bathed in the glow of sodium illumintaion.




Slender frame rising as voltage causes muscles to tense quickly.

       Beeeeeeeep, beeeeep, beep beep beep beep beep. Leveling out to a steady metronome that comforts staff.

        Nurse padding sweat from Doctors forehead.

        Brain sending signals: fill lungs with air, make blood right again. Blood holding within. Live.

       Stable, taking control of the bodies mainframe. Systems that function normally when we sleep without outside guidance by us. Operating crucial memory given at birth to keep us alive.

       Green eyes open quickly days later, seeing blank ceiling tiles, faint whiffs of rubbing alcohol filling her nostrils, ears picking sounds like those heard in a long tunnel.

      Processing slowly: of area with all senses sending information.

      ‘Wheeeeeeeeeeeeel offfffffffff Fortune!’

      Brother looking down at her, tears falling like a gentle rain. You’re back!

      Hearing his words, casting no smile nor look of happiness.

      We almost lost you! His eyes flowing freely now, congestion taking grip of nasal reaction, getting stuffy, difficult to breathe.

      She solemnly aimed her eyes into his.

       I’m back? Her voice even and cold.

       How long this time?, she asked him without emotion.

       Things will be different this time. He stated this with a voice of confidence, looking down at his sister in the hospital bed. As he had, many times before.

     Where’s my friends?

      God help my sister.

      Where’s my fucking friends? Where’s my cellphone?



      Some never learn. Some cannot learn for they have no sense of self and are more defined by others in some sad attempt to justify their lives. Shape-shifters in the most profound sense, adhering to the codes of lesser forms that manipulate them time and time again to their own demise.


      I received an email from a man that left me his phone number. I called it and spoke with him for about an hour. Complete and utter tones of desperation, filled with frustration with him stating he felt useless and wanting to bash his skull into the nearest drywall.

       Trying to comfort him, telling truth that some human-train wrecks cannot be avoided no matter how hard we try to save someone. Getting nowhere with words no matter how well intentioned or expressed, suggesting he simply give up like other members of his family had years ago. Failing further with each counter he swung at me.



       I told him to call me when feeling at wits end.

       Taking some comfort in that, <I hope> he said thanks.

      We ended this conversation, but not before him saying:

They shoot horses, don’t they?


       Mark William Darus 07/04-05/2012