Category: Written Creatively

This cannot be happening right now.

Daisy expired and shook her head as time and time again she did. We don’t exist. We are bars of Nanaimo treats screwed up on Haloperidol mixed with a touch of boxed salad greens.

So where do we begin?

She approached Alice who was expecting her. As she sat cross-legged on a slice of Dream, Daisy asks, “Miss Alice, are you here? Did you have anything?” This role reversal thing was just so complicated.

They were all messed up. The transition from wifi to digitization wasn’t her, pretty much everyone in town KNEW and it felt like people could FEEL the change, but no one would talk about it in actuality.

It’s just so much more interesting. 

What? 

This new job!

I figured out 5 routes to sudden insight in writing, they are –

Fast, 

Open and shut, 

Take your time, 

Who cares and 

Believe.

Shall we keep going?

The weekend felt like an eternity. She wished she could swoon over these feelings, but she just craved having her own office and working. Daisy gathered her yellow skirt which had fine white polka dots, a fine white mesh of squid tulle and an admirable edging of white eyelet lace. She pronounced with a deep breath to whomever was not there – Here ye, here ye are. We are short, we are tall, we are bright, we are dull. We are equal and there is something out there telling us we aren’t. Try not to be confused, but to trace your steps back towards home, it isn’t where you feel your bones turn cold and your face falls flat.

That’s all she had to do for today, but she was exhausted because she spent days preparing. Social media nowadays did just that. Having to bring together Others was painstakingly dull, hence why the word always made its way into her announcements. Daisy tried to remember why she wanted this job in the first place.

I don’t feel right. 

Alice from Wonderland awoke from a banana split second to comment, “Recall in your sleep, then awake and for the next every day of your life, return to your commonplace and remember what stands as your truth and reality – resolve, confidence and ultimately, sobriety.” Then her eyes shut, but bulgy and half-peeped. She yawned, turned around onto her Dream and went back to bed. 

Chona had a look at where she was. White Spot…hmm…Telus and an escalator…as ‘white’ as pine chairs…hmm. She was just waiting to see Seventeen and Each Other. It was A Day and she felt 92, but was probably more like a 93. “Don’t forget to measure your immeasurability.” Ugh. It always came out the wrong way. Immeasurability is when one does not make sense for various points and reasons not to be discussed. Still, wearing a t-shirt from which her periphery seemed pink, she was holding onto a couple of secrets and there was a good reason for it.

“It has left.”, “It has gone for good.”

I just get worried because I force myself to smile for having an image of my face cropped up in my mind where I look exhausted and homeless. Dr. Waterson at least said I always look flawless.

Daisy quipped brightly and dull, “Ya don’t NEED to eat dessert, hasn’t this body image disturbance issue been cured?”

Oh ok, as you say.

They were both wearing matching lumber jackets. Difficulties often arose in their marriage, however as times were different at least they still had the capacity to travel through about the same rate of simultaneous combustive think. It frustrated them both – training – making them more porcelain and less matte.

“We are old.”, “Yes, we are.” 

Daisy remembers crashing the car in 2006, there were banks of snow everywhere as large as clouds plopped down from the sky. She was psychotic and he was possibly Hindu, but as she sped away jacked on thoughts and cigarettes, A Tree followed her, off the main road. She tried to get away, but she just couldn’t and then, they stopped right next to a previous residence to talk. He parked behind the car and walked up to her window that was crusted with ice. 

Daisy remembers the solid air inside her vehicle, her paranoia and delusions stuck amidst cold breath and the dark matter of her leather seats. She was so scared, more scared than she had ever been in her life. A burly thick man with a bushy red beard approached her on her left side. She rolled down the window and two pairs of eyes extremely intense, proceeded to think. There was silence and patches of foggy air between them. He questioned her actions realistically, but Daisy was determined.

“He didn’t die! He was protected by a higher being, I swear this on my life!” It was as if two different realities were panning out at the exact same time, one that was cold and real and the other which was super paranoid and just too hard to bear.

A Tree stood there in silence in between moments of questioning, sort of half-intrigued and semi-empathetic to Daisy’s arguments. And then, he just let her go. Just like that. She drove away, further and further into it all, arriving at an underground graffiti show that wasn’t worth any of her time, but as per usual she showed up, walked around like she gave a fuck, because that was her job. 

Allow me to circumvent. How many years did it take?

Oh, I don’t know, maybe 10.

I don’t think we can act godlike. The brain gets confused. Then, we become accountable for our actions and if we cannot explain what we’re doing (and these days, throw thinking into that pot), we might be in trouble!