TOGGLE COMMUNICATIONS

note 05.07

Here's to the end.

I flip the light switch and it's dark. Turn the corner and it's dark. Flashlight and it's dark. Stovetop's dark, match's dark. So much fucking darkness.

The shadows weren't shadows at all. They were splotches of black, waiting until I didn't notice so they could bloom between the crooks of my eyes and devour everything whole. Or maybe they were shadows, and they grew. But shadows don't grow, right?

I don't care anymore.

I don't know where I'm going to end up at the tail of all this. I feel blind. The stations are calling for lockdown. Extraterrestrial objects on course for our homes, our cities, our women and children, everything.

And the arms of darkness won't abate a minute to let me see it when it happens. How unfortunate.

I don't have anyone to call my own, don't have a great story to tell, don't have a fulfilling life or a job I'm happy with or a comfortable place to sleep or a family that cares. I don't have much at all and never have. So you best believe that I don't give a fuck in the face of all this loss.

Still, I would've liked to watch the ship go down. That almost makes me sad. To know I can't step into the street and crane my head to the sky to see death meet eye with me, then turn my head down and to the right to find a woman, a woman with natural beauty, a strong and focused face and slight, curving lips, and imagine some short moments of a life with her or of a life where she's sad to see me go and I'm sad to see her go, imagine clinging to her shirt and her clinging to mine and whispering a number of apologies for everything we could have done wrong, everything we'd ever done wrong anywhere and to or with anyone, watching the world and its denizens spin in circles searching for an exit and knowing there is none and laughing, laughing with each other and into each other and cupping each other's faces and sharing a number of kisses so ferocious that the other must know we want to savor as much of it as we can before we bid farewell, hugging tight as the skyline goes orange then purple then, suddenly, dark with the absent colors of death, and then nothing matters, and nothing's the only thing I'm left to adjust to, nothing forever, nothing never, nothing, just nothing.

I can see the keys and the screen and nothing else.

There's a new website.

I didn't find it.

It came to me.

Can't find the fridge. Can't eat. Can't drink. Can't find anything. Don't know if anything's anywhere. I'm just arooooom. I'm just a room, so I'm sitting in my chair and watching the screen churn and the sounds play and leaving this on until I die, whether by the oncoming impact or by starvation or by the darkness.

In the end, I'm still trying to convince myself of my own apathy.

I miss everything.

Goodnight.

click

l. vichmann 05.07