Cotard: taking a shower here isn't the same like in the monastery. there was a unique quiet when you showered there, you were alone, the lights shone hazy like in a prison, the soap always had a brown corner, but you knew this was a time for contemplation, and this was a good time to have with yourself, it was needed as a break from the unusual bustle, you could think, and you knew it was just a break, soon you would be joining the others. everything in its right place. here it's a little too much sanctuary, it's more like solitary confinement, i'm out in the boonies, not the wilderness, not a soul to save in sight, everyone has stopped believing, they believe in more mundane things now, and the shapes in the sky turn into clouds and spill their holy water of life as if to say they're starting over in this area, back to the stone ages to see if they can gin up some human excitement again. anything, a fire, some sign of nascent human civilization forming anew, activity. as you can see, i'm trying to align the drops of my single lead-glazed earthenware stall with the steady drumbeat of the rain, to achieve some sort of something, but i can't concentrate, feelings intrude where they're not welcome, i'm distracted by the reeds swaying forth and back with the storm, see that? it's a small bathroom window i know, but it has a dotted screen so you can really focus on a subject. excuse me.
thanks for waiting. just went outside to break off this huge reed, i'm gonna fashion it into something for me later. not as wet as i would have hoped but cold as fuck. this robe isn't what it seems, it's thin material, doesn't protect, doesn't cover up. i'm not ashamed of my body, wish the window was bigger, screenless, let the people see my naked body, it is not anything to be ashamed of, why it's a sin to think such a thing, this is the very vessel of Creation.
like that feeling, i don't know how to describe it, but it's there, it's after a big artistic explosion where you really delivered the message you wanted, a painting or a sculpture you bought, a thunderous speech, an acting job in front of your friends at a cafe, these leave you feeling you are somebody, you said something important, you directed the conversation your way for a moment. but inevitably it fades and you're looking for the next high. you can't be yourself silently alone, you need some agitation again, some interaction, they shape your identity, hell may be other people, but loneliness is purgatory.
things aren't quite right in my brain, i don't feel good about myself, it's an amorphous solid feeling, did i make the right career choice? how long can i last? without my next friend? i wonder how people i haven't spoke to in a while are doing? i wonder what the news of the day is? i really should see the dentist for the vein popping out of my gums but it doesn't hurt now, the cold is good for that.
IT'S A FEELING OF JARRING YOU WANT TO ALIGN CORRECTLY TO FEEL NOT SO MUDDIED AGAIN, THE VOICE IS RECOGNIZABLE BUT THE BEATS ARE OUT-OF-SYNC, THE RHYTHM IS WEIRD, THE SOUND IS OFF, CLICK HERE, RIGHT HERE AT THIS LINK
well speak of the devil! that was Brother Wax on the phone. i had been wanting this ever since i took his cats. he left me the sweetest note upon initial notice explaining that he forgave me and he knew i needed them more than he needed them, he had someone. i swear you can never rattle ol' Wax! i felt so guilty and guiltier when i realized just how nice of a person Wax was and is. you don't see that in this world anymore. he didn't need to say anything, just the sound of his warm voice put me at ease in that moment. haha, his second letter to me was actually instructions on how to take care of the cats, the right temperature and grade of milk, which toys the little one likes that drives the big one crazy, wish he would have advised me of the latest toy i bought the little one, am open-air circular tube with a fuzzy mouse on it to spin around. kitty pawed at the mouse, realized it wasn't real, and abandoned it the same day.
oh Wax, the memories. the meddlesome memories which have since been sifted out to leave only the gleamingest diamond. the layers of being alone, you miss each successive successful layer peeled off when you engage in an engageless solitary life. flower petals fallen, he loves me, he not. i miss your letters to me, the two epistles, wish there were more for me to hold in my hand, the voice goes fast, but i know you're busy with life.
i got a package at my door, wanted to talk more to the man after i signed the magic tablet with the magic pen but he seemed in a rush. i could only see his eyes framed by the scarf on his face but that framing made his eyes stand out more. he was busy, wanting to get out of the rain. he slipped on the huge slick sleet patch that lines the walkway, that really pissed him off. i scissored it and opened up an urgent notice. there was a helicopter crash, then another one, and i am called to pray dutifully for their souls. i need to arrange a full ceremony at city hall immediately. i am to bring the donuts to the prayer service. excuse me, gotta run.
i tripped on my own sandals lying out in the center aisle. i need to save time but going barefoot everywhere is not doing me any favors. what else do i need to do? my mind is frazzled. i have my robe on, do i need underwear, too? holy water, better lug a barrel to my pickup-truck bed, only time a bed of mine sees action. you can never have too much holy water for any occasion. tap dat ass of the barrel. damn, the spouts have no caps, but a little salt water mixed in the holy water will give it character. there is no purity really.
wait, in all the confusion, in the rush, i'm reminding myself i better take a shower. i'm meeting people this time, mourners, serious folk with stern faces, i need to be presentable and represent the Vatican in the best light. maybe something else will happen to steer me.
i knew it, fortuitous happenstance. unexpected mood whiplash. i got a skype from Atalan, he just called to tell me about his day and the fires he's trying to put out half a world away. i love when people do that for no reason, just call to check in, it's human. he told me the website now has a substantial number of hits to save it from being autodeleted and the comments are more good than bad so live and let live. i agree, the trolls add ad revenue, too. this calls for a celebration!
it's no secret, well it's a hidden stash in my bathroom, it's a secret only because nobody is ever in here with me at the same time i'm in here. not an altar-wine-drinker. here's my case of 40s, malt liquor is my not-so-secret-anymore vice. brought over from my college days, one drop of this amber nectar and it's like you're drinking the food of the gods.
Cotard pours out the entire contents of a 40 bottle down the drain. he pours another one onto his body. a voice from the top frame of the foggy bathroom mirror asks Cotard, "Alex, do you believe in God?" Cotard brushes the voice away with his hand and murmurs, "not now."
Cotard: shit, sticky. i thought a beer shower would be cool. like they do with sports. they put sugar in this now? i'm gonna have to take a shower.
Cotard gets on his knees and licks the bottom of the shower stall of beer before he hits his head on the drain.
Cotard: mi cuerpo. et vivere, reservate. ...coincidence... enemy action.