A Repetitive Life....

.....can make you Violently Obsessed with Anything New.

As Ivan threw the last cigarette of his 27 hour day off the balcony, he took one last look at the sun rising over the mountains of salmon and orange cumulous clouds. Another day wasted. Smoked pot, laughed with the onlt faces he can remeber, then stayed home alone when they left. Since that time he has written three poems he'll probably never read again, and glared at every wall in his one bedroom for at least 5 hours.

When one is born, it is handed something that is touched by so many filthy hands that it's bound to catch something. And Ivan caught the fear letting people know or associate with him. The few he knows, he's only known for a few years and probably just pity him. The come by and get him high, tickling his ribs associating his laughter with eagerness to live and see they've done their job.

He always counts his exhales before so he can fall asleep, without this tactic he would forever be left awake in the libraries of thought and consciencnous. Every simple thought starts a twenty minute conversation with oneself, twenty more minutes of being awake and staring at the glittery natural disasters behind his eyelids. The numbers are the morphine that give the thoughts plenty to think of for themselves until another, more darker day.

At 162, while still counting his exhales, the thought of touch broke through the numbers and sent his brain in an entirely different direction, but all the while, somewhere in his mind he was still counting.





touch...(184.....185.....186.....187..)

tuh-uch..(192...193..)

we always have to be touching something don't we"...(207..208...209)...

...(215..216)...foot touches sock, sock touches shoe, shoe plants itself into the earth

..(...221.....222......223....224..).....

....I guess maybe when you jump or are falling you are briefly not touching anything..

(240......241...)..well I've jumped and fallen many times but never felt the

sensation of absolute nothing...(..252.....253.....)

....Maybe if you were nude and falling for a long distance you could truly relish in the

freedom of not being connected to anything...(....291.......292......293.....294)

....maybe i need to test these things for myself...(322....323....324)

.....Jump around a little, and try to notice something....



Ivan arose from his bed at 353 wild eyed and different. He took one small jump to test the noise and recieved only a small thump. He looked up and bent his knees at small acute angles and jumped. A quick zoom into the ceiling was all and it was over. Definately too brief.

He then took five steps away from his bed, without ever thinking of what he was doing or the reality of the situation, he took a small gallop and dove chest first onto the floor, The disappointment was worse than the severe rug burn and cracked rib.

He had finally done it. He had finally misplaced his mind and forgotten who he was.

He had lost himself in the lights that create color, that float around in the aironly moved by time and memory. Creating what some call existance, other call it a mission. And Ivans mission was to allow the gentle hands of our air carry his nude body into epiphany. Carry him to the very balcony where he decided to end his day, where he will now (unwillingly and unknowingly) decide to die warmly inside the only freedom we will ever know on this earth.