stillfugue

I was zooming down the road in a nonchalant style, reclining a bit too much, listening to fantastic music, on my way to do something important. Really, it wasn’t zooming. In a calm soothing crash in slow motion, not a car crash, a cluster of ghosts caught me from behind. I don’t know where they came from, but it was as if they were always right there and decided to become present. I couldn’t see them, but I knew they were there. I could feel the dungeon I lived in not so long ago. I felt that torture, and these ghosts were more severe than the actual torture.

The houses in this part of town need new siding. Some of these houses are fifty years old, and it seems as though they are all white or dirty white along with occasional piss yellow. I thought of all the defects with my house, and I contemplated with a seriously objective but cold perspective how bad I am at maintaining my house.

The ghosts stuck with me. Their only purpose was to cause my mood to plunge rapidly. Did they want me to crash into the brick wall around the drug store? The road was rough, and the ghosts helped it stir me to an overwhelming nausea. I stared at a slow and beaten Toyota with rust slithering all around a sickening white telling us that it wanted to fall apart. The Toyota reminded me that I was on an important mission, and in a highly unusual move, I held on to the wheel with both hands and tightly, like a wacky old lady who should not be driving.  Those ghosts, the dilapidated shutters, the withering siding, and dark, stiff, deep cracks on the road all sifted underground in a place where I could not pay attention to them, and I decided to breathe deeply. With a newly peaceful mind, I wanted to sleep and not crash the car. With deep exhales, the ghosts stayed underground.