hic vigilans somniat
Working early at the store, music playing overhead while I stand at the counter and tap away at my computer. Preoccupied with personal gripes and past arguments—sifting through parental and paternal confrontations long past and never happened. My mind, in short, on other things. “Hey.” A hoarse whisper, loud, from someone standing in the open space to my left. I… Continue reading attention
Talking with my wife today about recent events, particularly those involving our daughter. Making plans for when the exorcism should be performed, discussing when she might be able take our daughter out of the house for an hour or two. So I can work. She remarks that we should time it with the next full moon phase. Personally, I don’t necessarily… Continue reading nemesis
My assignment for the magazine put me into his inner circle, where I could sit and observe first-hand what his life was like. I had five days with him. It was fascinating. He was remarkably laid back and kind. He answered my questions thoughtfully and, to my eyes, didn’t try to hide any of himself behind a facade. I particularly remember… Continue reading David
Sitting alone in the couch tonight, I slowly realize that I can hear someone singing. Somewhere in the house, a man is singing. It has a muted quality, as though it is coming from very far away. I stand for a moment and listen. I recognize it. The clear voice, the calypso intonation is unmistakeable. Someone is listening to Harry Belafonte,… Continue reading daylight come and me wanna go home
In my office tonight, getting ready to sit down and write... I stop. Music. Unmistakeable. Somewhere, someone is playing music. The house is asleep. I’m the only one awake. Yet there it is. Unmistakeable. I go out and stand on the front porch, just in case it’s a neighbor. Nothing. Back inside, the house is quiet. I stand in my office, head cocked...… Continue reading music again
Another entry from one of my old journals, this time from 1996. It begins simply enough... I’m standing in front of a shelf full of journals and books in the dead man’s rooms. You can read the rest here.
The voices again tonight. No music this time, no men. One or two women, I can’t quite be sure. Possibly a child. I told my wife about the voices a few days ago. She could tell tonight that I was hearing them again. And, of course, she cannot. We keep a fan going at night, even in cold weather. White noise. She suggested… Continue reading again
So I have received a dose of poison and I am slowly dying. My body is slowing down and seizing up. I can feel my muscles and joints hardening... Dying. As I’m going, my father is holding me and I’m crying. I’m asking him questions. “Will I go to heaven? Tell [REDACTED] I’ll miss her.” I can feel my body going,… Continue reading limbo
Three old men. Drunken and cheaply dressed sit in a library and make vulgar innuendos to every girl who walks by. In the background a brass ensemble plays Cab Calloway tunes.
