As you were sitting back seat of your friend’s slowly moving car, there were long stretches you don’t remember looking out the window, past a veneer of a world bathed in soft flowing trees and late afternoon sun. You felt nothing in particular, or a sensation you were there at all.
It would happen again, in the middle of the day, when I know I’ve slept well the night before that I would struggle to keep my eyes from closing; and feeling I was going to a different place for awhile. It felt heavy on me, like an opaque physical mass was draped over my shoulders and would cause me to place my head down wherever I was.
I wished I could prevent this delicate part of my being, from burning off into the atmosphere and becoming a kind of nourishing substance to some other physical force.
Then I felt an urge to cry. Does ice cream make you cry? I went to the drug store coming down neat aisles, enjoying the smell of gauze. Does the smell of gauze make you cry? I had to pick up money my mom sent me through Western Union. I had to pick up this shitty, busted old phone. I felt pretty awful for myself because I did not ask her to and I steadily walked out of Rite Aid with a couple of $100 bills.
My head wanted to rest over the steering wheel as I drove where there were long red lights, 24-hour gas station, burritos, the same route as usual, somehow I got home.
I went up the stairs, closed the blinds and turned on the air conditioner to a cool 78 degrees. I drift into my room, shut the door, and lay face down on my bed. I lie there and I wait for my nausea to relocate a body again. At this point any being would do. It did not have to be my own.
Pop stars are a parasite, and in you they are looking for a host.
Sometimes, I would look at things on purpose. I often would feel the possession of a person and it would appear that once this person was satiated, object procured, the possession could no longer take hold, the feeding was over, and now you could see in plain sight, your love abandoning you now, a listless, clay shell.