Dreaming of an Equilibrium - short story (kind of)

He stood by as the world passed him.  It wasn’t that he couldn’t move, it was that he  chose not to.  No one understood what Dillon really wanted out of life, but it wasn’t their fault that he never let it on.  He liked the simplicity of standing still, of dreaming in place, and he tried his best to stay positive in his immobile state.

Once upon a time he had momentum a real energy to his life, a forward motion if you will pressing up the small of his back to go where dared not, and his toes dug deeply into the earth leaving a trail of futile resistance.  

On a particular day in September he read it in in the headlines first, and saw the evidence all around him.  DESPAIR.  He had tried so hard to ignore it, the pending doom, the dread of a revolving aging planet.  It wasn’t the end of the world, but the world wanted it to be the end.  He saw the suicidal tendencies of society dragging at him, anchoring him in deeper to his frozen pedestal.  He didn’t like it, at one time somewhere in his past he had the satisfaction of being a wallflower on the outside, doing nothing but observing, but now it seems this whole planet earth had stopped spinning.  It’s revolutions continued, but its inhabitants chose to withdrawal and ignore everything around them.  

The skies were blue, the air was gentle, and yet no one noticed, it may have been overcast, foggy, and cold as everyone huddled in a mass of recluse.  Where he was once the only hermit, now hermits sprouted up everywhere.  The headlines didn’t help, the media called for people to live, but showed and told story after story of why they shouldn’t.  There was so much good to experience they claimed, but in a shower of caution and fear they bombarded them mostly with chaos, death, brooding, and lies.  

Dillon walked deliberately to his car, each step weighted down with foreboding, and he looked about him.  His suburbia home a clone of all the others, he a clone of all the others.  Or, were they a clone of him.  He felt lost in the common mindset, he needed a new start.

Perhaps he was a chain in a pattern, perchance he could break it if he just switched to what was once their view.  Maybe if he could switch his pessimism for optimism, maybe then he could achieve something wonderful.  Individuality.  Maybe then a harmony would return and he could then return to his original comatose state, maybe, just maybe.

Making the Swan Sing

I hear the sound of desperation depart your lips and yet I stand by idly
You reach a hand out for my help but I am frozen, a blanket of anxiety plagues my body
I ache and twist, trying to manipulate my unmanageable appendages
But to no avail,
As you drown, I can only watch helplessly, and as the world falls on top of you,
I turn away and walk freely.
Free of the chaos I am free to breathe, to move, to react, my blood rushes freely,
And my destiny collides with the clouds.
Somewhere under there you are broken, and crying, desperate and depressed,
Falsely believing angels on high will lift you forward,
Not realizing the decomposition that will consume your flesh,
But I can feel it, as I move to sit, to forget, as I move to remove myself from your ridicule
And my body returns to its original form, fragile and immobile,
I want to be comatose, but I realize what I did then,
I am the cause of my own paralysis, I lifted you up to the supports,
But I never reinforced the beams,
And there,
Way down there,
Beneath your despair, and desperation, I can feel it,
The crushing defeat, the hopelessness, and I ache to mend my mistakes,
Healing you would be my greatest triumph, but I have never been one to aim for simple victory
To win simply for the sake of winning,
To grasp the achievement of achievement,
Such trivial things I do not endure,
But to save a life, even if I am the cause of the misery,
Yes, i'll save a life.

Hypnotic Suggestion

For your entertainment I will now pull a rabbit out of my ass
And then proceed to spray you with laughing gasses
The fateful will squander all their beliefs when they realize the realization of realizing
And for the first time they will have to truly experience rather than being experimented on
And thought he magic act may offend the masses
Who will walk fatefully to five and a half classes
Disguising their greedy ambition in lost inhibitions and through condensation will pour out on the lands
With their briefcases, and ties
And lab coats with pocket protectors labeled hard cash
Cold and hard,
The disciplined disciples discern desctruction
Diluting the core of their senses into a whirlwind dance of melancholy
Due to hypnosis
Albert Einstein would write hooked on phonics and Hemingway a recipe for a bombardment of bombshells
And to fit it all perfectly into perspective perfectly
Do you hear the sound of hysteria?
It whistles like a bad bat, damned on the side of a damned cliff
Chasing car lights
and dodging magnets on the fridge
ABC's exist to teach us nothing but everything
And w don't take the time to even read on the lines let alone between
Look to the moon
If you want to see the sun.

An Act of Mercy

It is a hindrance in itself to claim this fact as fiction
but the whole hole has harnessed itself to its position
and it sits and festers with puss and disease
Waiting and rotting till it breaks away like a piece of dead flesh
and the grip from the hero's hand to his damsel grows ever weaker
As she flails her legs about nearing the rim of a disgusting oblivion
And though he wants to save her,
He would also like to loosen the burden straining the muscle and bone of his arm
The weight though it may not be much might be loosened
And though she may fall, she will be safe, though a little worse for wear
In the mid-day sun the colors would wilt and fade
And she would pass through a black and white canvas, and she would be pale
and expressionless
As she entered into her own recovery room,
Stumbling over the hand me down hospital furniture
Grasping onto a false hope that he might return to be her savior
But she will soon have to find a new god, a new light
Someone to raise her up out of this new slump
It was not selfishness that made him let go
Nor self preservation,
The longer he held on it would not only tear his muscles and shatter his bones
But it would shatter her bones and tear her muscles too
Dangling above that pit of grotesque spectacle
Dreaming up a way of being an escape artist,
But no where to run to
And while they both dreamed electric sleeps of one another
The rapidly increasing growth of the hold would spread to consume their whole worlds
Words and all.