Last night a student at my university got stabbed in front of a local bar. When I was talking to someone before that, they accused me of being a fraud. When everything starts to fall apart, and you have no sanctuary, there is a peaceful stillness in the gentle lies put forth by our bosses and authorities. The same night that kid got stabbed, which I really wonder how that feels, being stabbed, and I'm sure that the sight of blood made all the other kids holler. But blood does nothing once it leaves. There is nothing to say about this-- That kid got stabbed. I'm glad I wasn't there.
We got on the Staten Island Ferry, my friends wanted to see the green lady. They were excited since it was free. There was some popcorn on the side of the floor I was staring at while Max stood in stoic silence in awe at the ballad of the lights. I was thinking about Islam. Kiley's boyfriend asked what Max could have possibly been thinking about. Max said nothing. I knew what was going on in his head. He’s my best friend.
I asked the same question to a man I used to know and frequently kiss. We were sitting in the communal area on my floor, on a couch all crunched up next to one another. I was getting bored with our conversation, and sitting on his lap like a fool. I asked him what he was thinking about-- he looked like he was deep in thought. His eyes were wide like I had stabbed him, those kids in front of the bar probably looked like that when it happened. I was thinking a lot about that. Exploring touching fingers and my heart was wretched and distorted. He looked at me weirdly and it offended me. So I really did stop and ask what he was thinking about.
He said “Nothing”. So, I said he was hot and we continued.
I think that I need a martyr of some sort to give me direction. Or I, quite possibly, could be that figure. But where would that leave me? I've noticed my knack for pretending I know what I’m doing. Im the leader for small things, insignificance. The queen of insignificance and boredom. I sell my information to the kingdom of heaven. There is a theater I stand in, red curtains and felt. Scissors I left behind, sharp things, evil things, I keep hidden in the back.
That guy who thinks about nothing had evil things too, burn marks on his hands and his veins were pulsing. Ripped me and bit me, and ravaged me and dragged me down underwater. His hands were crawling on my skin and I was in his arms. But it's easy-- I could have died. I could have done something like that and ended my life with nothing to show for it. I could have been there when the kid got stabbed- I could have been the one. Altruistic suicide, and better yet, I don't know this person's name. He wasn't a martyr. Definitely not someone worthy of worship. You lose that sometimes if you act the wrong way. If you don’t listen closely, you miss gentle hums in the background of our worlds that tell us what direction to go. Like music. Then the music snaps, the record player snaps, and the CD snaps in half, and the lights go off like a big gorgeous silent show. I keep my ear to the wall, listening closely to the words of the women living next to me. They call their parents every night. And I can't stand to think that the only thing that I and my friends talk about is drinking until the absolute end of our capabilities and then puking it like some great big show once again.
I'm trying to think of how it even happens. I'm sure I would need to suffer some sort of persecution first. Persecution of what exactly, I'm thinking about this. I'm deprived. Of course, the label only comes posthumously. So even if this was my goal, I wouldn't see it come to fruition. I guess that's not really the point though. I wonder if everyone feels the same way as me-- so terrifically bored with the way the world is shaping out to be. Incredibly bored, tired, and without direction. I know everyone feels this way, actually. I see it on the faces of the girls on the train. I see it in the reflection of phones and computer screens. Lives go away so fast.
I stood at the top of the stairwell at the administrative building and the linoleum floor was shining, dark blue and grey marble tiles like a portal. My hair fell over the edge like green seaweed tendrils reaching towards the ceiling of the ocean. I wondered if I fell that far, I would go through the portal and finally stop drowning at the bottom of the sea, where my feet are tied to bricks making lines in the sand and disrupting crab communes.