I thought I was the strangest thing in existence. I guess I was wrong.
I will try again I guess, try to find the other side of things, the far reaches of existence which meets non-existence. In this cold room, I will lay down and dream of the other place. In my cold room…
I stay in my cold room, deep beneath Jerry’s basement. Yeah…Jerry, he’s my meat friend. He shares stories with me by the fading light of the afternoon, on the little back porch-the square concrete block with two lawn chairs. I like Jerry. I think he is the best meat friend I’ve had since the 60s-since Jim. I like him so much, that I trust him to keep my secret, and he does. Jerry goes out during the day, works his job at the comic shop, and comes home to speak with me before I leave. I haven’t forgotten what happens to meat friends, they die. When Jerry dies, I hope he leaves grandchildren to keep me company-ones who are like him. This is all I ask if I must continue, no money, no riches. I hate the life of extravagance, and so I want to live underneath Jerry’s basement for eternity.
Because nothing matters except trying to keep my mind occupied.
"I like talking to you, Stephen. Does that sound gay, or something?"
"I find your flesh intriguing...and, I like talking to you as well."
"Why, Stephen? What does that mean, anyway? Is my flesh that much different than yours?"
"Yes. It's fragile but honest."
"You pay attention to details, don't you Stephen. Tell me what you're thinking."
"I'm thinking about the sound of you voice, Jerry. I like the way your teeth clack when you get excited. I like to watch you smoke weed and drink vodka. I like the way your flesh changes when introduced to something alien. I like your poetic voice. It reminds me of someone special who is dead now."
"Wouldn't you rather hang out with some rich bastard on the west coast?"
"No Jerry. I like it here."
The rich, they grow bored. I don’t want to be bored, because time doesn’t run out for me. I want to pretend like I’m a suffering meat man because I am suffering on the inside, somewhere where the meat no longer exists.
Jerry thinks I’m the strangest thing he’s ever known.
Time gets longer and longer and death has a pleasurable ring to it, doesn’t it? If it wasn’t for Jerry, I think I would have hired someone to kill me.
I would like to kill myself, but I don’t think I can. At least, I have no idea how to do it. I’ve tried to do it the way the movies say, but it never works. I just end up lying in some field surrounded by waving grasses, it’s like a do-over. I feel like I’ve put another coin in the machine. It always comes back to the tall stands of grass and empty fields-large pines rimmed with golden sunlight rays. Every time I try, I wake in the middle of nowhere, far from Jerry and far from the answer. After years of this, I still have no answer as to how I get here. One moment, I’m walking outside and the next I wake with churning bees in my ears and cold earth beneath me…and her voice.
She’s moving in the tree line, and she comes to me while I lay in that field of waving grasses. She’s dead already, but she wants to die.
She wants to die much more than I do.
I think she’s morbid. I think she’s the strangest thing I’ve ever known.