Thursday, June 28, 2007

A Ghostly Jest

I live in a wing of the old St. Luke’s Hospital, built in the 1930s, that some developers gutted and turned into industrial-style lofts. I’ve heard rumors that this had been the pediatrics wing. A few months ago, they put in a new elevator. It has had numerous problems and has been shut down for repairs quite frequently. The latest “quirk” is that once you step in and push the button for the floor you want to go to, the door starts to shut, then opens again four times, finally closing on the fifth. Just yesterday, I noticed that this problem had either been repaired or stopped on its own.

Last night when I came home around 1 a.m., I stepped into the elevator and pushed the button for the third floor. The doors shut on the first try, but then the car didn’t move. The doors opened to let me out, still on the first floor. I pushed the circular button labeled "3" again and got the same result. A bit frustrated, I just walked out of the elevator and started up the stairs, which are right next to the elevator shaft. After climbing five or six stairs, I heard the doors to the elevator close and the car start to go up. I came out of the stairwell on the third floor, and right as I was walking in front of the elevator doors, they opened. My rationality wanted to laugh it off as the failure of modern mechanics. But the immediate chill that ran up my spine and down my arms made me wonder if I wasn’t the object of a prank from a child who might have never left the hospital. As I walked down the long corridor to my apartment door, I looked over my shoulder several times to make sure that the unseen was at least staying that way.

Tuesday, June 26, 2007

This Round Is On Me

Left alone with my insecurities, your words replay in my head. Over and over. “Why are you so self-conscious?” This is not an issue that should come up on the first night we’ve met. But it does and I am and I've got no response. Look away. Pint glass to lips and swallow. I’m not good at hiding and I know why I’ve never played this game. Because the best liar always wins.

Monday, June 18, 2007

the Pragmatics of Suffering

Not long ago, I realized I want to be a writer. Then I spiraled into a depression. Not a real depression, just a poetic one. One morning, I looked in the mirror and noticed that I had grown a beard. And that my eyes didn’t look the same.

But it occurred to me that since I’m not famous yet, my going into a depression would not draw the kind of attention it should. So I decided to hold off on being depressed.

Friday, June 08, 2007

---

Several weeks ago, I woke up from a dream, or a vision of sorts, and scribbled down a description of what I had seen. I completely forgot about it until today when I found the scrap of paper I wrote it on. Here is how it reads:

The not-Philosophy
3:44am
I saw it clearly. A four-dimensional, utterly complete system of thought. It was multi-cubed and labyrinthine. Translucent. Skeletal. Truth was inherent in the structure, but it cannot be spoken or formulated. It was the framework of everything, luminous, floating above me as I marveled at its beautiful complexity. As I began to gain consciousness, the object drifted away, becoming as little more than lightning flashes in a distant storm cloud.

Sunday, June 03, 2007

Goodbye, Dresden

It’s not like I knew her. She lived next door for only a short time, six months maybe, but the mere proximity lends itself to a sense of loss upon leaving. Maybe it’s because she left her door propped open after she was gone and the smell of her place filled the hallway. As I unlock my own door, I think how this was the scent that had been closed in until now, how when she would open her door, this is what home smelled like. And it's lovely.
 

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