Tuesday, May 24, 2011


There are some things I don't like to discuss
There are some things I love discussing,
and there is one thing I must discuss.

I've not wanted to do this, really.  There's a pain attached that I cannot bear bringing back to the surface.  However, In my discussions with Emily, she pointed out two things.  I need to be fully honest with my loyal readers.  It may also be cathartic for me to relive the moment.

Forgive me, gentle reader, if I become disjoined, or if I cut off suddenly, I cannot guarantee my words will hold out.

I was enjoying my day.  My good friend Adam and I are out for a drive.  He wants to go visit a game shop across town, and he is driving.  I prefer it this way,  I have always hated driving, and he's been my chauffeur for years now.  I take to the passenger seat like it was my home.  I am singing, poorly, to one of my fravorite songs.  "Epic" by Faith No More.  He wants me to shut up, but I do not.  I've got a red creme soda from White Castle in my hand.

It is pleasant.  it is familiar.  This is my life.  This is my best friend.   I have known him for twenty-five years.   We met on a school bus, in first-grade, and have been mostly inseparable since then.  I am the godfather to his child.  I gave him room and board when he lost his job.  I am his rock.  He is my inspiration.  We are brothers.

I tuck my feet beneath my seat, kicking at the bar beneath the seat, used for adjusting the seat position

my head wihps to the side, i hit the side window.  there is pain, i hurt,  light blur s i feel moved shifted, pushed up and over  i fall on my side   it hurts  i hear a noise  its a voice  i sie him next to me, he bleeds he is hurt  blood there is blod on me and it is not mine.  it is hims my brothers blood

i awake, flashing lighst everywhere i am numb, laid back on a stretcher.  there are sheets on bodies.  there is a truck, its atop a car  so much metal.

bodies, there are bodies, trhee.  there is a woman crying, she is heavy, latino  she is crying.

Call Me Nil.