II. A Voice, Loud As God

i had a dream,

all ink and gloom.

naked and alone.

i stood.

or sat. 

or floated.

in nothing.

i felt nothing,

saw nothing.

i was simply hanging there.

in space.

there was no fear.

no love.

it was simply.

nothing.

..

gasping. deeply. forcefully. legs raising. back jolting. up, up violently.

every muscle taut as spun steel. stuck in place. for a minute. only a minute?

night time. i was home. in bed. safe.

sheets slick with sweat. hot to the touch. not warm. hot. strange.

the moody, yellow of streetlights cast a somber tone in my apartment.

it was night and i was alone. a nightmare. must’ve been.

i coughed. coughed. coughed up black dust. smelled like char.

burnt steak. faint memories of heat and cries.

weird dream.

..


he spoke to me on the radio.

tinny, thin.

like a monologue over some old cowboy tune.

“every one is so pleased with your work“

i couldn’t react.

the cork from upturned wine bottles held more life than me.

they would sit and vibrate now and then. shaking off the counter as cold trains passed

the whole city shook, in silence.

a gentle insistent vibration like background radiation near Trinity

“you will find your fee, paid in full, cash enclosed in an envelope. look behind your toilet, taped to the back, in a crack along the wall”

his voice was like a nursery rhyme whenever he spoke to me.

it had a quality to it. mickey mouse in the morbid mode

i stood back, turned to the hall and down. but everything was a little different.
maybe it was entirely different.

like someone took my furniture and all the little trappings perfectly spaced as it was for as long as i’ve lived here, and placed it in some new building.

this was my home. but i feel that i’ve never seen this building before.
maybe it was him, maybe his voice was like this.

surreal. corrupting.

a force of the unreal radiating out like psychic sonar.

poisoning understanding.

his voice interrupting the regular vibrations interpreted by the pineal sense.
turning mute floral wallpaper to stark weathered brick,
turning linoleum to tongue-in groove wood.

Was this the same reality? Was i over tired?

Maybe its normal to hear your boss through the radio.

They could be hijacking the signal. pirate radio.

it’s not as absurd as it sounds.

he must be near enough to broadcast a signal.

they clearly have the money to orchestrate something like this.

i turned down a hall i'd never seen before. instinctually i knew. i found the bathroom.

King James Translation placed neatly on top of the back of the toilet.

i knelt.

felt in the crack behind the toilet. the envelope.

“it’s all there, the total amount, but i won’t be offended if you should take the time to count”

his voice was piping in from the drain in the bath tub. i sat on the edge of the bath.

“how are you doing that?”

his voice was like god, always near.

coming from impossible places.

“simple parlor tricks, i’m sure. they occur to allow the ‘ifs’ and ‘shoulds’ extrapolated from likelihoods; to digress, to help you digest that i am god and as such you must heed my every word and turn will to deed.. to make you say: yes, oh lord”

his voice piped from the drain in the bath, slowly circulating to the sink, to the vent above the sink and outside the door. always fitting its surrounding perfectly.

“thank you”

“thank you?” he croaked

“oh lord”

“good”

the clock in the kitchen down the hall, clicked slow and insistent. the pendulum, a monolith in space. shearing reality.

“stand up, place your back flat against the wall”

reflex reaction drew me back.

strings pulling me gently into place.

silent and perfect

my vision blurred. selective portions outlining a frame similar to a human. like heat in the air but in the shape of a silhouette. it seemed so real. i couldn’t breathe. all the air went out of the room. my throat was swollen and thick. it felt dry and panicked. something was choking me. it felt like a shark was gliding in the air. it couldn’t see me. i couldn’t see it..but we both knew of the other. with hunger and apprehension.

a rush of air knocked me down and i was okay again

heaped on the floor, crumpled.

neck hard against the bathroom wall.
the strings are cut. the puppet falls.

“we have another job for you”

i sat there, out of my mind and terrified.

“down the hall is a shelf, behind the shelf is a wall, brick and worn. the brick will wear where worn and yield to hammer and point..beyond where point will take to mortar is where you will find your next order”

..

“yield to me for i am god”

with that, he left. a rush of wind. the beat of great wings.

i went down the hall, frantic and dizzy. kneeling, reverent and dazed. i took a handful of books and stacked them to the side; i took another handful and another and another. Pushing the last in a frenzy, removing the shelf and pawing at the wall to find a weakness of mortar, a difference, a variation in color.

i stared and stared at the wall. i found a hammer and a screwdriver and started chipping away at the aging mortar. dragging the mortar out and out till the brick edges were raised.
but nothing

no signs, no hints, no suggestions of a clue.

exhausted, i slept.


..


i dreamt of meat. i walked in the woods. i walked a quiet wood. past a lake. up a mountain and down. i felt at peace. serene. and as if it meant nothing, i smelled raw meat on the air. i hadn't noticed it before. the smell was everywhere and everything. i looked down. the forest floor was meat, quivering like gelatin, but meat. i looked behind me at the path i just trod. my footsteps were a fresh wound. the trees seized. imitation tree bark. imitation moss. imitation leaves. rings of mushrooms. wriggling and writhing like a wounded animal. the world was fearful.

a loud crack. metal on metal.

i snapped to. like a snake cracked like a whip.

my heart beat wild, like an old engine trying to find its rhythm.
felt like a knife wedged in my chest

the apartment shook and stamped. the cold trains move a little louder through the cheap part of town. a brick shook loose and rested by my face. startled. fully awake now. i turned the brick over. and over. but nothing. i looked into the hole from which the brick fell. a small matchbook was stuffed in the back, i read it and knew my orders.