Sparks fly on this quiet day waiting for July. That is a lie. I’d rather die than try. No less, I try but nothing ever seems to materialize. My productivity is a good cry. I can feel the rains of spring boiling at my eyelids but I just hold it in. I’m worse than the epitome of infidelity. Is it possible to be out of touch today, when the world is looking at you on a touch screen? My social life has never been afflicted by my reclusion but I really miss having a partner in crime. You. can’t build a life on broken trust and I couldn’t even be smart enough to listen to my worst nightmares. I’m heading into a collision with a drunk driver. Two brains are smarter than this one. Life is so much easier with a friend. Someone to combat loneliness and bounce ideas off of. I would love to be told I’m stupid at this point so at least I would know what to do about it. Instead, here I lay dying.
I think I am a self-sufficient dependent person and that is why this isolation is making me so hung up to dry. It is quiet here alone. We used to scream at one another through the phone. One of my legs is broken, oh no. In one week, I’ve become a festering pig after all my progress getting back on my two feet. My fingertips or neurons have creative tendencies that lead nowhere quick. I don’t know why but a typewriter connects me with my inner beast in a different way than the soft slow retelling of a day that the pencil unleashes. I am at ease that anything will be worth seeing. I can barely close my eyes at night, but I wake up for the morning. My thoughts speed, and I am greedy with my language in an orgy of engagement – even if it’s just me. The news is boring but we all seem to see what’s happening. Somedays I think I have a six-foot-tall bunny telling ME what to do. I have a beautiful imagination, but so does everybody. I shouldn’t expect a break for nothing.
Ben Bonkoske 