I am living the last charmed life the world will ever know. Many before me, but no one after, will ever live this life again. It has been one hell of a ride, let me tell you. Beginning to end, all the way through. Charmed. Oh, I suppose there were a few bumps from time to time. I suppose the cage was occasionally rattled. But man, the effort I never had to put into setting things right again. I landed like a cat, and walked away from everything. A bruise or two, perhaps, but never a broken bone. My life has been amazing. Well, it’s over now, isn’t it. We don’t have to talk about that. The time will be soon enough in coming, when the scowling doomned will tread upon my hated memory like mouse cakes. You don’t have any idea what I’m talking about, do you. Don’t worry, you wouldn’t. I won’t say it’s nothing to be ashamed of, but it certainly is common. Don’t feel bad about it. I say, as though you need to be told to bury your head in the sand and deny the pitiful reality of your, for lack of a better word, existence. I waste my time on everything. It is from the purest flowing springs of my cool & sparkling vanity that I speak to you at all. Your eyes are like bloodclots. Scabs of ignorance & density. Repugnant in their thickness. Like two wooden bolts, devoid of understanding. It is clear from the set of your jaw, from the furrow in your brow, from the moisture on your lips you are a dimwit. Even a monkey in the zoo has the fortitude to communicate his sorrow through the so-called windows of his soul. You just sit there gaping, more stuffed animal than ape. What is the going definition these days, of pleasure and/or chaos? Never mind I asked. Never mind, I mean that literally. My perfect speech, as usual, is wasted. But oh how I still love the sound of my own voice! Charmed, and full of excellence. That was definitely me. Mine was definitely the last.
You may call me Draculo. It is not my given name, of course, for what parents could have possibly foreseen spewing from their loins a creation so…hyperbolic in magnificence that it could possibly outshine (both in malignance & in intellect) such a creature as myself? Yes, indeed, I outshine myself on a regular basis. Of course I do. I must.
I began my career as a muscular, drunken vampire in 1998. I moved out of the city and into the suburbs of my own mind, determined to travel further outward until I reached the event horizon of pure, luminous intellect, where the air is so dense it is possible to breathe diamonds, where streets are beams of light, light of unbelievable brightness and infinite density, so that it is not only possible to walk on sunbeams, but also to be eaten by them, and to travel up through the intestines of the universe until you come out of the mouth of the universal gods as a toothache, or a poem, a glowing, walking poem, capable of anything. Capable of anything, of course, except for failure.
I was sitting on a bus in a state of incredible boredom, staring at the mediocre hair of the person seated directly in front of me, a person of such palpable electrical stagnation I nearly burst into flames to quell my frustration. Literal flames, of purple and of gold. The head was small & greasy, too close. I could see every unwashed hair in excruciating detail, every micron of dust on every last, nasty strand, until the person’s entire head took on the texture of a rutted gravel road, and then the bus hit a pothole, and I was certain that this person in front of me had caused it, and I simply went inside, deep inside my mind, and I have never once come back, and I am never going to.
I got off the bus at the next reasonable opportunity and stood in the shade of an indiscernible object to my right. A post office, a tree, it made no difference to me, and it might have been a milk truck as far as I could tell, but it served its purpose nicely, whatever it was, and the walking shells of talking meat & shit passed me by without taking any notice, and so I assumed that I had a normal, camouflaged appearance, and when I had cooled my mind sufficiently, I walked in the direction that seemed appropriate to the moment, though if you were to ask me what it was, I would not be able to tell you.
The weather was oppressive, mostly sunshine/clouds of hairspray; I pretended not to notice, and indeed even put a garish smile on my face in order to mock anyone I might have the misfortune of making contact with, and wouldn’t you know it, there was the girl at the counter, smiling like a leaky douchebag, asking me for something. I provided her with the requested information, whatever it might have been, and it must have been sufficient, because she started pulling levers; important things were happening; was I supposed to be excited? The girl returned, however unwelcomely, into my direct field of view, and several filthy, unmentionable materials passed between us. Were they magazines? Chicken wings? Boxer shorts? Bodily fluids? By the grace of God I can’t recall. I leaned over the counter and said something I can’t remember but which was highly offensive directly to her face, and her grin only widened. She even thanked me for my time. And then my field of view was cleansed, and the rain of life received me.
I returned to my home at the hour of midnight, though to my amazement it was still light outside, and proceeded to sit in my chair, while simultaneously failing to recognize the futility of such a gesture in the grand scheme of history. I thoroughly enjoyed the action of my sitting, and even the view through my window, of the future in the distance. I could see the future crawling, like a spider, or a clock. A clock with 40 legs, and furry feet, and fangs!
The neighbors were playing hockey, or hosting a spirited political rally of some kind, and with the unpleasantness of the view out the window, of the future & the spider, way beyond the concrete, over the buildings where nobody goes, I decided to skip dinner and go to bed. I undressed completely and lay down with military precision. Naked was I born into this world, and naked shall I pass. Since I wear clothes wherever I go, I always sleep in the nude, that I might pass from this world in peace. I would hate to be left behind because I left a sock on. No such luck as of yet.
© Nathan Payne
March 25, 2012