Hello

Heh.

You might be wondering what this is all about. In fact, by some inconceivable force, you may be pressed to learn more. The thing is though, that I don't even know. I want to know, but some things are just too left handed. Some things may rub off as being right but when by all means it reverts.

It bends, it warps. In 1942, twelve people were lined up, of those twelve, one was my father's father. He was selected for some bio genetic enhancement. He was injected with what was codenamed "Blue."

Twenty days later he died.

Twenty days later, my grand mother received a letter in the mail which stated that her husband, the father of three, the father of my father who was still in the womb of my grandmother, has been missing in combat for ninety days. Though they were unsure of his whereabouts, they were not hesitant to state that he is presumed to be dead.

Strange, she had received a letter from him just earlier in the week, it was dated, in his print, just twenty-one days.

You do the math.

Cuba

Mojitos.
Mitosis.
Monitors.

My arms are cold.

Don't lose sight.

No borders, no lights.

Look.

On the thirteenth of last month, something strange happened. I can't describe it. In fact, I can't even see it. I choose not to. Some people would have you believe that the iridescent is what you need in life. Some others will tell you that the world will end. It will start with a letter:

Dear Special Someone,

Enclosed is a check, first and last month's rent. Brush your teeth, floss, rinse; if only to smile. If only to procreate and recreate some long gone fable, some ill bled bullshit that makes you cringe your teeth. At least they're white. (Insert baking soda and peroxide)

But that's alright. Everything is alright. The only road traveled, the only blueprint needed.

Sincerely,

Yours.

Would you buy that? Forget it, don't answer. But the thirteenth was when I saw a burst of light, it was when I first heard the sound, first smelled the air, first felt the touch--It destroyed me.

On a Wednesday

Everything is a derivative of something else. Everything is so connected, so imitated, that eventually, if you go back far enough, the world becomes a grunt, maybe even a glance.

It was late last night when I sat there drowning in a glass of beer, absorbing the world around me at a steady pace: I watched the people, I watched them laugh and cry, sing and shout--I even watched as they looked at me and wondered why I was so far out from the crowd. It was then when I met her, the one from the dream--that easily dissipated flash of light that haunted me the night before.

"Happy birthday," I said, finishing my beer.

"It was yesterday," she spoke in song. I could tell that she had been drunk. But that didn't bother me. Nothing did. I sat there silent and watched as she twirled her hair with the tips of her finger.

She looked at my eyes, then at my glass as I played with it clumsily. She turned and left.

-

It's her birthday. I remember. The headache, it stopped; I could actually see. When I opened my eyes it was bright, too bright. And in that light, that fluorescent illumination of a long forgotten daze, I saw her.

It was clear. All I had to do was pick up the phone. All I had to do was dial a number. Instead, I sat there watching a silhouette of the window curtain dance at my side. And that, well that, was something.