Bonsai Boy Chp. 1

Chapter 1

I bet you haven’t noticed. I bet you haven’t taken the time out of your pitiable everyday life to notice the world around you, the world in which you live. Now’s the time; do it now. Go home. You heard me, take your sorry ass to that car, the one you love so much. You know what I’m talking about; the one that caused you to remortgage your house because as you said, and I assure you no one says it better, “This is the next best thing, a thing of the future. For sixty-five grand, I’m making money.” Too bad, she doesn’t know yet; she will soon though, rest assured. You’ve finally arrived. Take a look, just a brief glance around this space that you are so familiar with. This space that you love more than life itself. This space that your wife worked her ass off to purchase for the two of you. Now go to your laundry room, the room you never go in unless your “other woman” is around. Your favorite room when it doesn’t involve house-work. Look in front of you, you see them. Two modern day Transformer heads nestled side by side, hollowed out so you can stick your dirty, stinky, soiled belongings in them. You’ve started to notice your surroundings. Keep trying, it’s mildly amusing. You, trying so fucking hard to clean that fresh skeet stain off your pants before good ol’ wifey comes home to see that big blotch of dead children settled into the fibers on your crotch. You can wash those pants till your little stupid heart is satisfied but you can’t remove the memories. Every time you see them it’ll be just another pain in your side, wrench in your gut, lurch in your rectum. No amount of water and soap can take the secrets from those ratty second-hand jeans.

Now go to your kitchen. Stare at the big white Transformer leg sitting in the middle of the room. It looks just like one of the ones in those movies that have made so much money. Yeah, you just bought this one. You had to have the one with the LCD screen on the right door, just next to the ice shute on the neighboring one. Such a pathetic shithead, as if you’re gonna stand in front of that waste of hard earned money and watch anything that won’t reduce your brain to diarrhea. Oh nevermind, if you bought this useless piece of technological advancement then your brain is too far gone; that’s just too bad. Now walk through every room, through every closet, through every doorframe.

It’s time for the big finally; are you ready? Trudge your lousy excuse for a multicelled organismal scrotum of flesh up those entryway stairs to the bathroom and stare into the mirror. The mirror you work so hard to avoid, always letting your gaze fall by the wayside. Not today though. Today you’re going to look; today you’re going to relish this moment, going to remember it. What’s looking back at you? Poor sack of shit can’t even recognize yourself. Go ahead, touch your face. Let your fingertips glide over your cheeks to your chin where it’s like crossing the Sahara Desert. You haven’t been shaving, you unkempt slop of human odds and ends. Feel that it’s real; feel that your face is real. Memorize this image; take a picture of it. Pretty soon you won’t have this luxury; pretty soon you won’t have anything to recognize. Pretty soon you won’t have a face.