Brushing my mince meaty molars by the window at noontime while questioning my major meaningless morals. The nightmare phase is the best phase. The phase of inspiration, the phase where this blog is given the attention it surely must deserve.
"It's all in your head," she always so surely asserts. What does she know, for she is headless and her eyes are her nipples, her belly button the hole through which she breathes and the 3 holes southward she uses to speak with, each louder as you descend to the last smelly one. Not that I would go sniffing about. I'm just assuming it is smelly because she has bad breath when she uses her loudest hole to speak and because she can be such an all-knowing self-righteous bitch sometimes.
She takes my small soft chubby hands in her unnaturally large rough man hands and she tells me it will all make sense sooner than I can imagine it being simple enough to sweep sneakily under the wall unit when no one's looking. Dark disturbing delusions, deliciously deranged and demonic deeds, and dangerously deep dreams don't dare to desert my dear self. I love it. Misery loves company but company loves misery too, she's just too shy to admit it enough to seek it openly.
There's a reason why the Greek geeks and the Lebanese lesbians from Lisbon got along famously with the Roman ramen lover from Yemen. Geeks and lesbians make for the perfect platonic friendship. Roman ramen lovers are hard to find in Rome, but in Yemen, all you need to do is whisper the word TRUTH at 7:36:07 PM precisely, at the Square for Triangular Pyramids, and they all show up, in hooded cloaks like the death eaters.
A patch from the ceiling is about to fall off. Through the gap I can easily peer at the millions of termites that peek back at me timidly while chewing on a door, now hardly door worthy, that we so coolly ditched for a more durable one, in That Room Above. And then my sister climbs up using that ladder that creaks at every step so noisily and she says, "Let me close the gap using that door," while she fearlessly stomps the helpless little souls. And suddenly she jumps back down eyes widely wild and shrieks for she saw from the corner of her eye, a little girl in a yellow frock run by the very edge of That Room Above. I push my sister into the bathroom and say, "you must stay here to be safe," and then using a stick we've had in this house for I don't really know what useful reason, I maneuver the door so that it closes the gap that will save us from That Room Above whose ceiling is like church windows, green and red glass rectangles through which daylight and moonlight seep through, making the termites look so cool, like from a movie like Ants, or was it The Ant Bully that was cooler? As the gap is closed, the sounds start again, the continuous almost-too-quiet-to-hear-but-once-you-can-you-can't-unhear wailing. But that constitutes the normalcy of life in this house and so it's all good.
And then I'm at a love mountain that looks like a Chinese temple. There's no looking back once you choose your partner. You go all the way up and are stuck in a booth for two for all of eternity. Atleast there are eagles for company, and misery of course, sweet addictive friend of all time. I am standing near the steps, gingerly fiddling with my hair when she creeps up behind me, my man hands possessing headless love, and when I look back with complete cluelessless she says, "go on, then" and because I remember I need to tell my sister it's safe to come out of the bathroom now I say, "but I just need more time." Then she looks down at her purple stilletoes with her nipple eyes and says, "it's now or never Kamna, how much longer?" and I'm glad she doesn't see my face, a sly smile at my lips, because then I walk past her, wordlessly, with not so much as a glance at her unnaturally hairy back. I head back to the house all because there's no fridge in that bathroom or else my sister could have sustained a life while I counted the stars with my Star Scanner 3000 and telescope, (a real bargain I would pre-order off ebay) while she would sleep sitting up, no head-lolling-to-the-side problems I would have which is why I would choose to never sleep and star gaze instead in that miserable eternal love booth from which I could never escape. And then on my long run home I see from the corner of my eye, the very same yellow frock clad little girl, but she's not running anymore and so I don't need to run anymore. I slow down to a comfortable pace and get my iPod out and listen to the playlist of songs that remind me of her and the sweet misery is back, and with it, the last of the tears I would shed for her. I walk alone, homeward bound, eyes on my indigo painted toenails for a good hour and then I am outside my house. The sun is dying and the playlist is done. I delete it, take off my headphones and tie it around my iPod round and round, and then unlock the new durable door, peek at the un door worthy Room Above blocker, notice the absence of all sound and then head to the bathroom door to find my sister, fast asleep on the floor of the bathroom, her right hand a pillow to her head. Then I wake her up and say "It's fixed, she's gone, both of them" and she says "okay man, let me sleep ya." And then I go to the room, dump my iPod in my drawer, lock the door, take all my clothes off, curl up on my side right in the middle of the bed and instantly drift off to the best sleep I will ever have.