It was fun at first, being a ghost. I followed people around, seeing what their days consisted of. Time had stopped, allowing me to traverse it at will, to move to any point in it, whenever I wanted to. “This must be true heaven”, I thought, as I spent what felt like 100 years reliving my same favorite memories, over and over. I cried a lot during this period. I would immerse myself in these memories, almost endlessly, and then take short breaks — to catch my breath and soak it all in. I wasn’t crying because I was sad, I was crying because of how intense it all was. Imagine experiencing all of your dearest memories in a split second. They felt long and real when reliving them, but upon finishing, it felt like waking up from the most realistic dream. Time felt the same, it felt like it existed, but it was just irrelevant. Totally irrelevant. Meaningless.
I thought it was strange that it didn’t last forever. Maybe I was in limbo. No, I wasn’t. Couldn’t have been. I remember limbo. I was sitting in this giant, plush, brown chair, in a totally empty room, with no doors or windows. I was smoking endlessly, and rocking in my chair. Alex Chilton’s cover of Carole King’s “Let Me Get Close to You” was perpetually playing. The funny thing about limbo was how I needed and craved it all. That situation sounds unbearable, sure, but it was just what I desired. It felt like water when I was dehydrated, like macaroni when hungry, like cigarettes when drunk. Yeah, I remember limbo. So what was this other place, or time, I was in? Where was I a ghost?
Where am I now? I haven’t the slightest clue. I keep wandering around here, looking for something… but… Jesus, it keeps slipping away from me, right as I get close to it. Maybe this is hell. There’s no way to describe where I am. All I know is there is something I need to have, and I can’t find it. I don’t even know what it is.
***
“Colin?”
“Yeah?”
“What are you doing in there, what’s that sound?”
“What? What are you talking ab—”
***
“There. I found it. It was love, and it was snickering in the corner, over there by the mattress. Yeah, the mattress. The one right over there, damnit! The only mattress in this goddamned place!” I said. No answer. “Hello?” I said. No answer. Funny, a voice in that.. that wall over there was just talking to me. I don’t know what’s going on anymore. Beautiful things keep tumbling tumbling around in my head, like some goddamned paper raffle machine. I found what I was looking for, though, it was love.
***
“Anytime you need love baby, call on me. I’ll make it true.” I said arrogantly, like some all-knowing provider. I was full of shit, and I think she was clueless.
“Oh baby, you know I will. You know it’s you.” she replied, eagerly. Shitty classic rock crunched out of the speakers. The wheels rolled, and we barreled along — I’m sure it looked like some shitty ’70s film. Maybe it was. Dirt under my fingernails, wind in my hair, and cigarettes in my teeth, we kept tumbling down the road. I was groggy. A little hungover, a little tired, but calm. The sun was strange in the sky. It looked violently ill, it was paler than usual, and it was hotter than usual. Intoxicating. She kept kissing my neck, but I didn’t want that bitch to touch me. Not after last night. She had plenty of that, and I did too. That’s partly why I was so attracted to her, she was just so intensely all over me, all the time. It got annoying, sure, but it was nice, in a way.
I hate convertibles, though. The wind is always too strong, and my cigarette always goes out. Oh well, we were going. Moving. Change is good.
***
Molly was always flirting with me, whenever we hung out. She’d play her shows, I’d go if I felt like it. I’d play my shows, she’d go when she felt like it. Molly was a pretty girl. Very exciting. Every time we’d hang out, I had no energy. My hair would be fucked up, I’d smell terribly of cigarettes and whisky, bags would be under my eyes. She thought I was mysterious because of this. She truly believed I was some tortured musician, that I was some kind of incredibly deep, sincere, intellectual being. All because I was fucked up and tired. It’s nice to not be worrying about impressing someone, then having them attracted to you. She had a boyfriend, and he’d always glare at me. She’d kiss me in front of him too, on the cheek. Always wanting hugs, always touching my arm, always speaking in innuendo. It was uncomfortable, but there was no blood on my hands, man. No blood, I just remained my tired, haggard, drunken self, and she kept on coming at me. We’d hooked up before, too. I think she might’ve told her boyfriend. Oh well, he’s taking her all over Europe for her birthday. He’s just a big, fat, money machine.
I’m a sexy machine.
