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Thursday, July 2, 2009

Sleep: Night Four

By: M.G.J.

Ran out of paper, crap what will I use for my entry in my journal, so much I wanted to tell you today, guess I’ll just tell you now, write it on my skin with this X-acto knife. Ah feels so good, the sting, the warm blood running down my arm it’s almost soothing. So I lost my job today. Your asleep now so I can tell you, couldn’t bring myself to tell you earlier. Been there for fifteen years and this is how they repay my long hours and dedication. I always went in early to prepare. Always left late to make sure everything was ready for tomorrow. Think of all the long hours at home. All the long hours we spent together working on projects so that my delivery would be perfect, you were such a great help. I have shaped the lives of so many, influenced hundreds, reached out to more lives than any ordinary man, yet I am so unappreciated that I was let go. My students were my life, we’ve argued so many times about this, how I love them more than I love you. Its not that I love them more it’s just that…just that they need me.

I know you can hear me. I’m sorry. I’m sorry that I’m not the man you married, the man you remember. Things have just been so damn hard. I mean just look I can’t even do something as easy as falling asleep. My mind wonders like a child who’s mind has been polluted by hours of non stop television watching, constantly needing to see something in motion, like Jose, he can’t sit still can’t focus, now I know how he must feel. Poor boy, who will work as hard as I did to try and help him learn to focus? I wish I could sleep, forget this life. Start anew, in a world like no other, a utopia, or heaven perhaps. But no I’m stuck here in San Lucifer, job less, soon to be collecting an unemployment check, and I can’t even bring myself to tell you. I am just like him, I see it now. You always told me I worked so hard that I was nothing like him but just look, we are the same man. I hate this God Awful life, this place. Just take a whiff of that smell. Death fills the air, that’s the only smell I can compare it to; a rotten body, saved by a necrophiliac waiting to have his way with this defenseless body.

I can hear sirens, there coming close; they come to stop outside my apartment, not unusual here probably a drug bust, after all they’re as accessible as candy from a gumball machine here. And yes of course they are always followed by the sound of a copter over head, lights beaming into my room, and the walls shaking causing dust to fill my room, and my sneezing, yet you lay motionless. “Ahhhhh!!! Abraham! Help me! Please…” That voice is it already 3:33. Should I go outside? The cops must hear her. But they wont do anything to help her they never do anything to help anyone, damn crooked cops. I feel like it’s my duty to help her, like she’s one of my students. I put on my boxer briefs, and run outside, scurry through the pitch black in search of the keeper of that voice; her screams calling to me like the song of a Siren luring unsuspecting pirates to crash into the reef. Will she too lead me to my demise? Mmmmm. Cherries on my lip, and the smell of Channel in the air...


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