I thought for a moment the sun had been snatched from the sky or exploded but then I remembered night. How long have I been staring? Last I looked at this cigarette it was day and I haven't moved from the window and my eyes are still fixated on the glass ashtray and the ash inside the ashtray as well. I thought it I just looked one moment longer I would grow strong enough to tear my eyes away but I looked up and it was day. It had never happened, that was enough for me, but I walked one step toward the street and collapsed at my feet.
I'm walking at night and my head doesn't hurt but my neck does. These strange flashes in the sky keep forcing me to turn my head in all directions and twist my neck like a flamingo. It's like nothing wants me to look, I'm starting to think that my gaze is poisonous or just really hurts because it seems like nothing appears for more than a moment before scurrying away like a really small city animal when you shoot at the ground at its feet. It's not just the bats or the electric photography-flashes, prone to dissapear I know like everything "powered", no, entire buildings sink through the floor after one confrontation with me. Hurts terribly but nothing too bizarre. But you know what is? The sun. It was night, it is. But the sun is there staring at me and now I know how everything feels, all these other things that fly away. I just want to hide under a giant rock or a flat piece of metal, some other things to that effect would do too but I won't bother you by listing them all out here.
I can't really hide from the sun so I'm just staring at it and I'm not really sure what it is. The end of times? Or can it even be called a sun? I'm thinking this is sort of like when I was 8 years old and I felt the strangeness for one of the first times. I see my mother but I'm not really sure who she is. I can't really make her out, not that there's anything wrong with my vision, which is 20/20 as always. Thankfully I was pulled out of this terrifying interstitial state when my mother, bless her dead soul which is floating near me now, revealed to me her bare breasts and drew me back to preoedipal desires so familiar no dementia or (perhaps) externally imposed alienation could draw me back to confusion.
But still here I am again, looking at the sun like I had at my mother, unsure of where I am or why a star out of every one in the sky shines so much brighter than the rest, which strikes me in this moment as being very unfair. As she pins me down with unkind refrigerator rays I feel her presense. it must be that way because this strange sun has a different anatomy I can feel than the normal "he" sun with his organs in normal places, organ-ized, like she was disorganized and certainly lacking something. No part of her body is in tact, in fact, and these massive gaping holes become ever more apparent and blotchy and it was revealed to me that the sun was graying and diseased on the inside. Now these black boils are surfacing and one or several burst and pus falls from the sky like an outpouring of religious zeal and fizzles like acid rain wherever it lands.
I stayed there watching until the whole sun exploded and night overcame her, and I worried I would never see him again. You can never know these things for sure. I'm content to see the dark because no one ever comes out. It's all be worth being away from all these people in their houses for one moment. They irritate so much I want to bang on their apartment doors and mix their vocal chords with tapes.
It's difficult to always be on the TV screen without knowing where the photographs are coming from but there's a constant stream of them wherever I hide or whoever I try to prostitute myself to, they always avoid these things, not me myself. There's always a target or hitbox left no matter how much of myself I gouge out, like my entire midsection so a sadistic expression of castration is the only thing left on the ground, then they'd just zoom too far in. No matter how much I take the tarp off the walls on the outside and see myself on camera I will never be recorded or even seen.
These religious impulses are considered by the TV people to be pathological. They love watching it, so I can't imagine why they ever wanted to eliminate the plague (the "black death") when I would think they'd rather than spread it like they do religions. All the entertainment must've been all too much. I think to a certain extent disease is what produces all television, not the sick ("madness-stricken") producers themselves. Who's even making this anymore? Flipping through the channels is a very strange experience:
This man is on the screen pointing at himself and saying "I" and then pointing at the camera which looks nothing at me, and saying "not-I" and repeating it so long as I watched until I shut him off and switched the channel and he surely ceased to exist without his not-I. Sad, I know. But killing is only the natural order of things. I thought my TV was broken for a second which didn't make much sense because they built them to be indestructable ages ago as a sentimental sort of thing and ran a program about it: a hundred thousand televisions playing differernt programs in garbled languages and nonsense tongues which would have been very annoying except that there was no one there, said the voiceover, which told the story of the final man to ever live leaving the TVs on to play over his corpse forever and never being watched. Sort of a power play. The screen is just darkness now and I was confused until I realized what I was watching: an extremely popular program that depicts a funeral from within the coffin. I laid lack and allowed myself to get absorbed by the darkness and the faint sound of mourning surrounding me, enveloping me, for me. Relaxing indeed, I think. I understand why people like entertainment.