Morphine // Invisible Walls

Dragging a cursor along all these wikipedia tabs and drifting off, 2 a.m. nearing, so a vision of East of Eden floats ahead.

The psychopathy left some pause on first read, especially because all one could know most days, back then especially. The usual morphine. Cartoons and scoreboards of favorite FPS games and one wouldn’t have to pull the needle out too quickly. A drip how you were on the right path, that the world has some semblance of justice, that innocence meant something: that every eye you look into isn’t obsidial bubbling.

Stir awake and curdle for a moment before sliding out of chair and brew some tea. Sun peeking and staring ahead and on the sidewalk stands a jaundiced neighbor with a flubby beagle kicking over his newest creation. Walking away their arm fat jiggles unpredictability, mostly due to their staggered and held back walking efforts: solidified from years of holding in stress. The body remembers all the things you learn to forget.

In the mirror between the halls stares back bloodshot eyes. Turning the corner into a fancy fence and a hill of graves. If you walk up enough you can sit in the middle, you can sit and look all around you and wonder why they place pillars randomly along the path. A red balloon floats by.

Maybe it’s time to read East of Eden again. Because it’s all one can see sometimes.