The power a word carries with it a unique kind of danger. Words race through the mind to an unseen finish line. When they aren’t our own, the ability to change what is already there seems impossible. The true power a word carries lies in the ability to reveal something that needs to be discovered. If there is nothing to reveal, rationalization takes over, only serving as a distraction from action.
It’s time to tell a story no one will ever believe, because no one believes anything here. I don’t blame them. It’s so easy to get lost in an endless cycle-- to keep running without ever knowing why. The metaverse is a hamster wheel, promising an escape but only leaving us sad, stuck and lost.
I carry a book because I’ve read it. I read it because I carry it. I ask it, “who is there,” but it tells me not to care. If I keep asking, I’ll lose the answer. I yearn for discovery higher than me but only find myself within it.
I sit on a rock and feel Nature’s silent embrace. I hear the rain drizzle off the leaves giving meaning to silence. The wind is always there yet I never see it— I can only feel it’s light serenity. The pitter patter of the rain like drums dancing with that sweet whistle of the leaves-- a flute? Is this music? A strange thought, but others have learned to hear it too.
Is this synchronicity Jung? To have such an odd thought… did you see me? I feel like I see you. It took only 40 pages, yet I’ve come across another on the path. To hear the music in this drab world? Who else but you could wonder? The same reason I wandered here… how did we get here?
I will look and stop thinking… So, I can learn to think again. I yell out to her, but I don’t think she hears. “Do you want a book?” Why did I say that? Who cares.
Oh, psychology? How funny! You know his name—no one else does. Want to borrow it? I suppose your purpose is to not read it.
How Did We Get Here
Many have wondered about my origin story. Not that anyone cares, except for the few I’ve pissed off. Am I a loser? A billionaire? A playboy? A homeless bum? A genius? None of it matters to me. I’m not here to convince you of my virility or lack thereof. I do not seek approval. I’ll share with you something I’ve found instead.
A Not-Quite-Friend told me I was wise once. She had so many words trapped in her mind making it easy to get lost. She had a strength I didn’t possess. She had books, while I had action. I read a book when I know it is time for it to be read. A strange concept to most but leaving words behind to find action is how I stopped being lost. What she gleamed from my actions is what led me to her books. The actions are all I care about. To see the world shift around me, but only she and few others could tell me what it meant. What a wisdom to have!
One such book was a collection of essays on Nature by Carl Jung. How long it had been since I’d bought a book. A shelf sits there with hundreds I’ve read, but to adorn it with another would be a waste. I left words behind long ago in search of actualizing what mattered. For some reason, I feel like I must read this one-- so it will go with me.
What a passage. To find music in nature. What a speech I had given once. Out at a natural park, with a best friend I’ve now lost, listening to classical music to introduce the fisher to culture. “Say, what you think Matt? About nature being music? Don’t you hear it? The wind rustling through the branches? They creak and sway. With every wave, do you not hear a symphony? Isn’t it just like a flute?”
Maybe not a unique thought, but I’ll be going soon. I’ll find hell because I was curious.
“This could be our last conversation together you know,” I said it not meaning it, but I discovered shortly after I’d be right. Fear not death of the body, but the separate paths we must walk.
How beautiful my friend’s life could be in its simplicity. A wife and a child. Poor? Perhaps. In debt? Maybe. But every time he sees that little boy, it makes everything worth it. Everything he’s been through to find happiness at the end of the road. I guess round these parts that makes him a loser. Funny how that works.
We sat upon a rock. The bells rang. A voice echoed after, beckoning from far away.
You Have to Keep Going
What does that mean? I’m not sure. I only started living five years ago. How many never live at all? It’s an op, but you’re not astute enough to see it. Some of you mean to crack the code and find success. How long has it been now, my alt-right nemesis? Almost ten years and obscurity is the only relevance.
I do not claim a faction because there is no faction here that would represent me. What is this blind hatred of the world disguised as politics? Lashing out at the, “normies,” seems to be the only thing that unites this political wasteland—just with a slightly different taste. What is a, “normie,” my dear terminally-online techies? Do you hate them? Perhaps it is because you cannot be them. Many of you seek to convince me you’re an all-knowing, hyper-agentic individual on some holy crusade.
I see no difference between such a method of being and some liberal lashing out at the always present, invisible fascist. Hatred disguised as politics which stems from hatred of the self. So-called aristocrats hating the poorest and base among us. To proclaim no one likes you in your day to day, you’re too toxic to be around, and yet wearing it as a badge of virtue.
What kind of man hates their lesser with such malice? The lesser is of no concern to me unless they bite that which I hold dear. That which is higher? It doesn’t float the boat here. I wanted so badly to be a “normie” once. I attained it. I can step outside and have my social structure. I could be a homeless bum and they’d get me back on my feet. No one would stare down at me demanding I follow them down some delusion for bread.
Perhaps that is why the normies hated these cringe politics all along, because it lost what it means to be human. Swept up in the Hamster Wheel
This is my first foray as an active participant in this disgusting social structure-- A bunch of rejects demanding Godhood. All I see is a blind drive to feed an illusion. Did I want to find my way here? Not necessarily. But I didn’t always want to find my way into basic training either. I just ended up there, seemingly by choice, but not determined by will.
To hear the music is to follow it. To follow it is hard enough-- To be everything you’re trained not to be, by every social structure. Our education system. Our workplaces. To let go of knowing and embrace ignorance to find enlightenment. While that is not what I pursue, how do I keep finding bed fellows who want it?
I hear it again, as I slumber and lose the thread: you have to keep going. Will I lose you once more?
I saw the synchronic moment dance. To follow impulse, to not think but act. How long had I been thinking but not being?
I will find the numbers, Jung, only to find a pink haired lady. Libra, wanna come?
Never Forget, this is Where it All Started
The crumbs have been there all along but none of you care to ask. It’s funny—how easy it is to hate another without knowing who that other is. Hatred should be reserved for that which harms those genuine to you.
Do I hurt your feeling? I’m almost never serious and always am. The joke is to make me laugh—hopefully you with it-- but there is a lesson found with comedy. I discovered that with enough tragedy.
I had attained something once thought impossible. Me, of all people? Living a normal life without a financial worry in the world. All I must do is keep going. I’d left that political stuff behind a long time ago. I dabbled with philosophy, but the path was already set. I merely follow. It had been a year since I’d tried to love that which was simple and good but found nothing better as a result.
The past year without her felt as empty as the six months with her. What exactly do I have to complain about? I’m so fortunate to have what I do. I fought for it all, long and hard. Everyone around me struggles-- I can’t be grateful to have such simplicity?
Sure, I miss the strife and struggle of life as a full time Soldier, but I had found a way to synchronize that with a new family I call friends. I don’t have to yearn for much. Perhaps that is exactly the problem. Nothing feels difficult anymore. Waking up is the hardest part of my day. After that, everything flows. The structure is already set. I just follow what I had laid out. What is this bland emptiness I feel? I am no family man. It is not that which I seek. So why aren’t I happy?
I’m starving, so I’ll take this man’s food-- and cry about it later. I have no money; my stomach is rumbling. This is what I wanted, so why am I complaining? She’s all alone. Am I going to leave her like that? I have a nephew on the way. This is who he must see?
A long time ago I reached out to something I didn’t understand. Locked away in my tower of mold and rain. There must be a purpose for all this madness. To everything crumbling around me. Those dying and those lost. Why am I here? Faith isn’t something I’ve had in a long time. The last Christian died on a cross and there’s nothing else to abate us.
What is this impulse I feel? Meditation? What is that? No one has sold me on its value. No one has mentioned it to me. The internet always has the answers I seek, so I’ll ask it one more time for guidance or leave the path behind. To control ones breathing? The hand signs sound cringe, but I’ll sit and breathe. I’ll never do this again, but a pang in my chest calls with every fiber of it’s being, “If there’s anything out there, please, show me my purpose. Please!”
I go in believing in hope with every fiber of my being. I reached out in a way that can only be genuine. The last gamble of a man with nothing to lose. I count. I fall. I come back. What was that feeling? I count. I fall… I come back. One last time, I count, I fall-
I’m in a place I don’t understand. It’s but a dream that is real. Images flash through my mind but I’m there for all of them. This isn’t dreaming. I am here. This is happening. Who is she? All I see are green eyes but her face is a blur. What is this feeling in my chest? I reach out and she’s ripped away. Millions dance in front of me. I only hear a ringing, then I’m sitting, a room full of light, a chair, my arms marked, larger than before. I look up, but there’s no one there.
I come back, heaving and huffing. I am frightened. I start coughing. I already have tears in my eyes. Was I crying? Was I sleeping? No… that was no dream… that was real. There was something in me now. Something I hadn’t before. I had purpose. Three weeks later I was in the Army.
Time had become a flat circle.
Welcome Back
What a deadly voice. It certainly didn’t sound friendly. A rumble like thunder, paired with a mischievous smile. A character I had written long ago, but now, I see it clearly. A shock flung my body from darkness back into light. All I wanted was… to find the pink haired lady.
I understand the split now, dear Jung. You sought to understand Archaic and primitive man. The eastern mind, in conflict with the western. I had sought to understand western man and found the same thing you did. Only where we started was different.
I have a problem. I loved your work so much because you sat upon a rock, hearing the same thing I did. It resonated with me. It filled me with vigor, just like Nietzsche had. Only this time, I wasn’t toiling away, manically packing boxes waiting to ship off. I heard the wind rustle in the trees, the full moon shining, and as the gust passed by, I came across a passage. The wind rustled through my hair—once again—I hear the bells.
I will take what you discovered and actualize it in the way I have done before. It’s been so long, but that feeling in my chest is back. Passion. Vigor. I can’t stop myself. I will become archaic to rediscover that which we’ve lost. I will stop thinking and discover instinct once more.
Today is the first day. Or was it yesterday? I don’t know anymore. I’ve stopped thinking and started acting. It’s so hard to do. I’m doing crazy things, aren’t I? Yet I feel… so happy.
What? A man I haven’t heard from in so long! What about this? Oh, a little encampment? A three-day venture? So, like a camping thing? Don’t tell me. I already must go.
This will be the test. I’ll see if you have anything of value to teach me. No more thinking. Just action. What will I find?
Oh wait. I forgot! Who cares!
Libra, want to come? I’m sure you miss him!
The Circle is Linear
All this man vs bear nonsense has led me to the conclusion that no one listens. Our young men and women are broken beyond repair and only seek domination of another through separate means. Am I supposed to fear my own manhood out of regard for their virtue? It is that manhood I sought to build for their own benefit. That fear they feel is the one thing that keeps them from harm.
Capacity for violence is something we all have. Men are just better at it. To see a woman broken and bruised is a sight I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy… and how easy they bruise. Am I not meant to have strength? Am I just a man you see, or your man you see? Dear girl, the difference lay in the definition.
Do you feel safe with me? When I held you, I heard that once, but now we are separate, you fear me. Why do you feel safe? The violence I keep at bay out of love, only used for you and never against you.
There is contempt I have for the logicians who seek to deny a lady’s claim. I listen and hear you but know that does not mean I must agree. Do you want me to listen or to kneel? I can only promise the first and not the latter. How have you earned my subservience? All I see is a woman, and you’re certainly not mine.
What is this domineering will such a lady has? To weaponize one’s trauma for the sake of domination is one they are all too familiar with. The true fear they have is a man with a will equal to or greater than theirs. How much did a willful man hurt them? Something so weak and transparent could never take mine.
Yes, women should fear men. We are bigger than them. Stronger than them. With a flick of the wrist, we could leave one battered and bruised.
It is that flick of the wrist many men have died for. Not swung towards a woman. Another man stands on the other side. For the women he holds dear, waiting behind. Is it life we must hate? That beautiful dance is something I adore. To fight without reason is to be driven mad. I need something to return to.
Am I evil to tell women this? To be straightforward and honest. Have we been living such deluded lives for so long we must kneel for you? What stands between you and the evil man you have concocted in your mind? After all, if I listen too much, I’ll forget how to stand. Who will be in his way?
“You’re not listening,” she tells me. Perhaps I have listened too well. Try listening to me.
There must be more than this. I do not want white shariah. The only woman I can truly love and admire have always been fighters. Those with a passion and inner drive towards actualizing a will. The verbal spar like a dash of swords clanging only to become sharper. That inner feminine strength, perhaps with a masculine masquerade, but a deep love buried below.
I am on a journey now and perhaps these thoughts no longer matter. I see the synchronic moments dance, and dwelling on rationality isn’t helping. The urge is all I follow, and I hear the call. What will I find? This will be the test of a philosophy in action. How quickly I move, Jung. All it took was 40 pages and I’ve seen a man I already know.
I got in my car and drove. No more dilly dallying. Many may ask, “How on Earth could a Dionysian endeavor reveal an answer?” Do you think at the time I knew? I just knew I needed to drive. There was no predictability or reason. The pink Haired Lady awaited me, but was I to know it at the time?
How could a woman teach me about women? The internet is corrosive, and that is already the question I hear waiting. Do you find others in books? How old are the books these so-called modern philosopher worships. All the books I’ve ever needed were outside. They were there the whole time, but none of these so-called intellectuals ever see it.
My cat is in tow, her leash and backpack awaiting the new journey. It was supposed to be a camping adventure. Maybe some drugs and kumbaya bullshit. The reality was quite different, and I’d have to take her back, but neither of us knew at the time. This was no Kumbaya, but a full blown lil Bonnaroo near a state park.
The drive there I began to wonder on that I’ve lost in the past year. I ran from the me I was a year prior. Too many bad decisions and bad habits, but I found friends for life in the journey. I noticed the same impulse that led me to that Halloween party had led me here. What is this impulse? It’s only done good things for me. At the time, I didn’t know this impulse was a subconscious awareness of the purpose I had asked for. Ignoring it for so long for results had left me empty.
Civilization begins to fade away. No more houses. Not even trees. A grassy knoll is all we know round these parts. Eventually I see the park and a little encampment appears to my right. Is this supposed to be a renaissance festival? It just kind of seems geeky. They’re dressed up in horns, costumes galore, and all I see are smiles. Thalia lives here.
Old Friend
How long had it been since I’ve let this drive run rampant? The hustle and bustle surrounded me. Trails of stone and wound in every direction. A shopkeeper stood at regular intervals, each trying to sell their wares, with a practiced smile and a glance. Perhaps if I was less frantic I’d care—but right now, I was on a mission. Though, for what I couldn’t say.
No ventures to these events alone. Groups of people waddle past me, the sun beats relentlessly on my back, and I wonder when I’ll feel the cool touch of the moon. How exuberant she makes me. My mind races and I leave all earthly wares behind. Did I even know what it was doing at the time?
Libra is mewing in her backpack. Just like with the eclipse, I’d brought her somewhere she wasn’t ready for. While I moved through the crowd, laughing voices passing with the wind, my poor darling didn’t like the ocean. Regret knotted in my chest, but I hadn’t known where I was taking her.
I call my old pal to let him know I’d arrived, high on life and the crisp summer air. It was Instinct that led me here, but something primal was in the air too, threads lightly fluttering around. The one I followed was the one covered in blood.
The mud gave way to asphalt and tents to RV’s. What a perilous people—too unwilling to let nature’s fully embrace us. My standard-issued tent and pussy pad waited for me in the trunk of my car, and a mixture of pity and disgust filled my veins. If it was too much for them, they shouldn’t have come. If they had children, they were just raising more middle-class pussies. The RV’s melted away and I’m stood at the edge of an open field, with a trail sloping down to my right. More Asphalt. Gross.
An old beat-up sedan sat abandoned in the middle of the field. People took turns bashing it with a crowbar. I had arrived late, but there was almost nothing left of it. Shards of glass littered the ground, and it looked like it had been set ablaze. How many had taken turns destroying a symbol of the machine to leave it so battered and broken? A smirk slowly crept across my face.
The food truck stood waiting, and that old familiar voice I’d almost forgotten was laughing in the distance. My old friend, who had known me in my tower of mold and rain. We don’t talk much anymore, but that’s how it goes for me—very few people stick around. It was mostly distance that kept us apart.
I approached, “I told you I’d bring her, didn’t I?”
He’d seen the pictures, but I guess he hadn’t really believed them, “Is that Libra? You don’t got her in a backpack, do ya?”
Libra responded for me, with a chirp and a mew. Who had called her name?
“Oh yeah, she’s really good with it now. Didn’t expect there to be so many people here. She doesn’t actually do well with crowds…” I got quiet, guilt twisting inside, but she had to be here though, “I can take her around and show ya her though.”
“Hell yeah,” Joe’s beard splitting as his smile stretched side with his laugh.
I rounded the truck just as he stepped down the stairs outside. Perfect timing. Not too many customers and he had a partner—some chubby woman. Poor thing looked like she came from an Appalachian trailer park.
I swung Libra’s backpack to the front with practiced ease, unzipped her special flap at the top, and gently set her down. Inside she let out excited squeaks, when she knows it’s walkin time. I pull her out and set her at Joe’s feet,
“She probably ain’t gonna be too attentive right now. Too much hustle and bustle going on. She just doesn’t really like the noise in general.” I give her a soft caress, “It’s okay libra.”
She looked up, meowing in confirmation—her head darting back and forth— her focus caught between music in the distance, from the rustling of grass as people step by, back to the sounds of the fryers inside the little truck.
Joe smiled that big smile familiar smile, “I never thought she’d gotten so big. Hi Libra!”
Libra circled my legs, unsure whether to stay close or venture out. I felt a pang of sympathy for her—this wasn’t the place for her.
“I didn’t think it’d be a kinda ghetto bonaroo thing” I admitted quietly, “ or else I wouldn’t have taken her. Just thought it’d be neat for ya’ll to meet again after so long. I’m gonna love it here, but I’m probably gonna take her back home before the gates shut at 9.”
“Oh, it’s fine. Just glad I get to see her again.” He called out to her again, and I gave her harness a gentle nudge of encouragement. She approached, allowing him to reach down while she nuzzled his hand with every trail from head to tail.
A Year and a Half ago, a tumultuous night with Lou left me in what should have been dire straits. Two tickets and no arrest was the best thing that could have happened. An unintentional flash of the CAC card and a mustered sobriety test I had no business passing saved me. I sobered up a couple hours later, drove out to Joe’s house, and ended up with a cat.
“You should meet this Hailey girl I got out here. We used to work together. She’s bad. Wants to be a cover girl or something. Got a picture of her ass, actually” he laughed.
Something tells me I was here for a reason, but that didn’t feel like it, “Sure, I’m down, but right now I’m fucking starving. Let me get somma that chili.”
“It’s free for you,” he stated with that classic smile on his face
I circled back around to play customer, got my food, and promptly began to chow. It’d been a while since I had my hometowns drive in’s classic slop, covered in that local chili, and it struck a melancholic chord within me. Before I had a car, this was the closest food nearby. I didn’t get it nearly enough.
Customers began to approach, and I backed off, allowing my old pal to go into worker bee mode without distraction. I told him I’d return but wanted to find some private trails for Libra to walk. I didn’t feel right taking her out for no reason other than to put her on Red Alert. I said my goodbyes and started my journey once more.
The Gal With the Pink Hair
I sat on a picnic table with some shops in view and an asphalt trail running by them. I had scored a little decorative collar from some pagan lady who insisted on telling me all about Lilith and how the Christian Church disregarded her existence. Apparently, the church pushed her into obscurity to discourage ladies from having a sense of purpose outside of subservience to the husband. I wasn’t sure I agreed with everything she said, but I was mostly just curious to get her take on the matter. Ole Lilith sure didn’t make it into the Sunday School curriculum.
Libra was perched on the table, scanning her surroundings and meowing whenever something of interest crossed her sight. Ever so often, she’d wander over to me, looking for reassurance in this chaotic new world she’d stumbled upon. People passed by, laughing and smiling. It felt like a little Island away from modernity, with a liberal twist I quite enjoyed. Doubt I’d find many Nationalist types here.
A gal in a renaissance outfit stood at a distance, studying me as if I was a science experiment. My cat had a way of garnering attention in public—definitely the ultimate hag-maxing accessory. Fuck dogs. My problem is I don’t go out to get noticed—I just wanted to give Libra some space to roam, and her have an adventure. When I’m walking my cat, I’m walking my cat. Please, local MILF’s, let me walk my damn cat.
The gal looking on eventually approached, tentative, until she stopped about 10 feet away.
“You can walk your cat?” Voice tinged with curiosity.
I chuckled under my breathe, “Yeah, I tend to get that question a lot. Libra ain’t so bad and I didn’t do anything special. She’s a natural. Not full grown yet, but I can’t wait till she’s finally a Chihuahua.”
She smiled a light smile, her nervous energy softening a little. She walked up and sat across from me.
“You been to this event before?”
“Nah, to be honest, I’m not sure how I ended up here at all,” I laughed and scratched my head,
“Just following something. Not sure what yet. Let’s call it instinct. What about you?”
“Oh, I come here every year with my father. It’s a great time and we don’t really get to do so much together. He’s a firefighter and I’m always in school,” she sounded solemn.
“A firefighter?” I had a shit eating grin on my face, “Hopefully I come across him. I can finally thank someone for their service but not be sarcastic.”
She returned the favor, “Oh, he’s never gotten that before!”
The conversations flowed organically after that. We joked around, traded stories, and I felt something stirring in me that I hadn’t expected. This lady was sharp. Really sharp. She was studying to be some kind of Forensic Analyst. I couldn’t resist asking if she knew any philosophers, named off some less obscure names to names everyone should know. When we got to Plato and Socrates, she gave me the affirmative.
“So that your major or something?” She asked raising an eyebrow… another odd thing.
“Nah,” I lost a little of my energetic joy, “I study Airframe and Powerplant. Gonna be an Airplane Mechanic of sorts. If I had more time to waste or money to throw away I’d do something like that. Gotta pay bills and this path will give me enough money to raise a family by myself. Might just take awhile.”
“I see,” she said it in that Feminine way a girl does when she likey, “I never really wanted kids.”
“Ya know,” I let out a light laugh, “I don’t really think I ever have either.”
There and Back Again
I didn’t exchange numbers with the Pink-Haired-Lady. It felt too forced given my reason for being here. Her name was Rachel and she was a beauty—just two years younger than me. Something felt different about that one. We had deep conversation, throwing ideas back and forth. Even though I didn’t know her subject material and she didn’t know mine, we somehow found a way to dance together—our words meshing into some higher synthesis. It felt like I was discovering something new…
Rachel had showed me her campsite and encouraged me to stay with her and her father. After that, I ended up back at the Food Truck. The sun was starting to dip, bathing everything in a warm orange hue. Summer Evenings were had a kind of magic to them. The day’s oppressive heat had finally eased, and now there was just that cool, crisp breeze that makes everything feel right.
I noticed a skinny girl laughing and joking with Josh, her voice laced with confidence and sultry coy. Her long blonde hair was tied back in a ponytail… couldn’t imagine why. I already knew her name…
“Ah, so this is Hailey,” I grinned innocently, knowing I’d catch her off guard.
She glanced over her shoulder, then turned to face me, her big blue eyes meeting mine, “Yeah, this is her, who is this?” Her voice had a curious, questioning tone.
“Oh, that’s the Apoc guy I was tellin ya about!” Josh chimed in from behind the food truck window.
“Oh, he’s cute!” Hailey said, biting her lip.
“Yeah, you fit the bill too,” I offered a smile, though, honestly, she was a bit too thin for my taste. I kept that one to myself—Gentleman don’t disparage needlessly, and she was an objectively beautiful girl.
“You come out here to get fucked up too?” Hailey asked, almost casually. “I’ve basically done everything out here but am looking for some Adderal!”
I laughed. “Hah! I got some but it’ll keep you up all night. It ain’t a temporary tab. I came prepared, so I didn’t take them with me. I’m a big bad retard with ADHD, PTSD, and tism apparently. Pretty easy to get my hands on it.” I gave her a look, half curious, half amused. I already knew this gal’s history without even knowing her. The real question was how far she’d let me in.
“Ah man! You should go back and get me some! This Lexapro doesn’t do the job itself,” Her eyes gleaming with a vampiric sparkle.
“Maybe, but first,” I said, tapping the bottom of Libra’s backpack, “I Gotta take this one back home.”
“Wait, is that like a cat? I was wondering what that was!” Her voice rising with excitement. “Oh my god can I see her! What’s her name?” She got closer, probably too close for comfort.
“Sure,” I said, opening the the top flap to let her peek inside. Libra’s little head popped out, looking around like she was surveying a crime scene. I took her out, holding her up for Hailey’s inspection. “She’s a sweetheart really. Wanna hold her?”
She let out a long-drawn-out bellow, “Please!”
I handed Libra over, though I warned, “She usually only likes being held by me.”
Libra sat in Hailey’s arms for a moment, eyes darting around at the distractions around her. Then extended her paw toward me, her movement almost childlike.
“Wait, she’s reaching for you like a baby! That’s so cute!” Her mouth dropped open, genuinely delighted.
“Yeah, she’s basically my child,” I said, gently taking Libra back and setting her down on the grass to wander around my legs. “Not planned, but the greatest mistake I’ve ever made. Actually, got her from that one right there,” I pointed to Josh who was still taking people’s orders.
Hailey tilted her head. “Oh, what’s that story?”
I went on to share a little more about my life, keeping it light but real. She told me about her chaotic upbringing, her fractured home life. We meshed based on past but she began to feel like a bit like an airhead to me. She showed me some of her, “photo shoots,” and how she was third in some competition to get on the cover of a magazine. I could make her laugh with ease, and as much as enjoy making girls laugh, it was clear there wasn’t much substance to her.
That’s when I noticed a difference between Hailey and Rachel. Over the course of my life, I’d met so many Hailey’s, but never a Rachel. Whereas Rachel was stable, smart, and had a wistful sense of humor, Hailey was unstable, a bit airy, and had very little wit. Mentioning my reasons for being out here felt more like a lesson she wanted to learn rather than a way to find higher meaning with me.
“Tell ya what,” I was putting Libra back in the backpack, “I gotta take this one home before it gets too rowdy at night and the gates close. I’ll come back after. You got a number?” I took my phone out, pulled up the keypad, and handed it to her
“Oh definitely!” Hailey grinned, typing her number in with a bit of flair. “You should hit me up when you get back! I basically came out here to be a huge slut! Was last night and I’ll be one again!” She eyed me expectantly as she handed me my phone back
“Sure thing. No guarantees though,” I said, slipping my phone back into my pocket.
The Grand Finale
I had done my turn and burn, getting back just 20 minutes before the gates closed. The sun had set, and the moon bathed the world in its soft ethereal glow—filling the darkness with a pale white hue. Now… now was my time to shine. I grabbed my booze, the only responsible drug for an Appalachian hick, and shot-gunned what I needed before burying the rest in my bag.
Somewhere in the back, a concert was in full swing The sound reverberated through the trees, bass booming with each thumping note. Every few minutes, cheers erupted as the crowd lost itself in the music. I just began to walk, without purpose or a sense of guidance. The threads were still there, and I didn’t feel like texting Hailey. I wanted to see who I’d bump into.
Groups of people stumbled around, flirting and laughing. Some couples pulled each other into the shadow of the trees, bodies pressed close as if they were trying to become one. It was a viral eruption of base urges and desire.
That wasn’t why I was here. Call it faggotry or whatever. Every woman I’d been with physically had meant nothing to me. After a while, I just grew tired of it. I wanted something else—a love that would fill every inch of my soul’s desire. A connection that would make me long to look into her eyes after a kiss that wasn’t guided by raw urges, but by something deeper. Something where, if I let her go, I would feel like I was losing a part of myself. The kind of love that would make me want to never let her leave. Where she would occupy my thoughts long after she was gone, and I would be certain she was waiting for me at home. A connection that vibrated at the same frequency, sending chills down the spine.
It wasn’t that I couldn’t find a girlfriend. I’ve done it enough times before. If I really wanted one it would take me a week and a few DM’s. Every single time I pursued and bagged one was out of frustration. It was because of a love I either couldn’t follow through with or a love they couldn’t return. Three times that had happened. I always ended up with some basic, boring girl which only made it worse. The emptiness never really went away.
The world’s broken. Young people like me either go to college or end up in sporadic workplace environment with few individuals near our age. Especially with masculine proclivities and work habits—or a blue-collar environment—there aren’t many women around. Sure, I could go to the bar and bag a girl there, but that would be another hollow pursuit. Dating apps weren’t wroth the hassle either; the type of girls there weren’t what I was looking for.
Then there was Rachel. She showed me something different. I didn’t give her my number for that reason. If I was going to run into her in this dark maze it had to happen organically. I just walked, slowly meandering my way towards the music. An old classic had started blaring, and on the dirt path down, the pink haired lady past right in front of me.
I couldn’t hide my excitement, “Hey! It’s you! The Girl with the Super-Secret Place!”
She turned around, her face lighting up with recognition, “Oh! Apoc! I didn’t think you’d find me again to be honest!” She stopped to chat with me.
“Guess it’s just meant to be, init it?” I said with a sly grin, not even trying to hide what I was laying down.
“Guess so,” she paused for a bit, “I’m down there listening to Green Jelly with my Dad if you want to join us. I hope you don’t find that weird or anything,” she frowned, “Everyone gets weirded out and doesn’t want to hang out with me because of it.”
“Ah, I don’t mind girl,” I spoke softly to reassure her, “I think it’s kinda cool. You want to spend time with your Dad. What’s wrong with that? Besides, maybe we could bond over our different forms of, ‘service’,” I made quotations with my two hands.
She looked visibly relieved, “Okay! I’ll introduce you two!”
Time is a Flat Circle
My rational mind started to fade as the concert ended. The booze took over and soon enough, stumbling became the norm. We jumped from place to place, game to game, event to event, Rachel by my side the entire time. It was just the two of us, laughing, discussing philosophy, her genetic research—her face scrunched up, bouncing her fist on her forehead as she tried to remember this study or that. We exchanged numbers.
At one point, I told her the sweetest thing I’d told anyone: “You’re the physical to my metaphysical. Together we’d be unstoppable.” She loved it and giggling in that way that made everything feel lighter.
Time passed in a blur—hour after hour, laugh after laugh— until we found ourselves sitting together alone at a picnic bench.
“Ya know,” I said, “I’m actually glad I found ya,” our arms brushed against each other, and I turned to face her dark blue eyes.
“Yeah, me too,” she replied, her gaze dreamy. I felt it too—there was no sense in hiding it.
This was the moment. We locked eyes, the world around us fading away. I knew what I should do—I should lean in.. For a moment I do—then stop. An electric jolt zips through my body and I quickly fix my gaze straight ahead.
Rachel doesn’t say anything, but I can see in the periphery she’s confused. A flicker of disappointment. “It was a fun night ya know?” she said quietly.
“I think so too,” I said, my voice suddenly solemn. Perhaps too solemn
“What’s wrong?” She asked, concern threading her tone.
“Ya know,” I looked down at the ground and muttered, “I don’t know.”
In the distance, her dad called out, “Rachel, think it’s about time we started packing up for the night. We have ta leave pretty early.”
She turned towards him, “Alright, just finishing up our conversation!” then back to me, “Guess I gotta go now…” her voice trailed off silently.
“Yeah, guess so,” I said, giving her one last look, “You think we’ll see each other again? I’d hate to not talk to ya at least one more time.”
She perked up, “Of course we will! Don’t worry!” Then she stood, her hair bobbing as she ran off to catch up with her dad.
I sat there in the sudden silence, a weight settling in my chest. I missed her already. I wanted to… Yeah, that’s it. Guess I won’t see her again. I smiled.
“I doubt it, Rachel,” I whispered to no one, the words hanging in the still air. Comfort, however brief… alone. What a relief.
Nobody said she had to sing good…
Beautiful word 🖤