'we make our eyes water every time we smile'

In a matter of moments you are in a different world depending on where you walk. People say the phrase ‘getting from A to B’ as a construct for getting from one place to another. Johnson thought that this was strange because B is significantly worse than A because it is only second best. Why do people want to travel from A to B. It should be B to A. A is at the top, the winner of the prize, the gold medal holder. Congratulations, you have won. They play A’s national anthem all the time and people at home hum along to the tune of it. B doesn’t have a chance, because it’s B. But that is how it goes, Johnson thought. B didn’t do anything that A hasn’t, it is just purely placed in a different setting. B’s standards of general life dramatically falls. This is the context of everything that has ever come to exist. This is the context of everything that you need to know. Samuel and Johnson were just two who were never meant to mean a single thing.

Samuel and Johnson carried walking on the gravel path out of nowhere into somewhere. This had been the plan all along, to just move along, to move out, to move out of everything that they used to know. Samuel had a brown wax jacket on that heavily smelled like borrowed and used smoke. The smell awakes a specific part of the brain that I do not the name of, to the memory of every drunken and half drunken and sometimes not drunken night in which he followed people to an outside area to smoke. Johnson felt alive and circulating and kept on pushing forward never wanting a minute wasted. These types of people seemed to know a lot, but in retrospect they didn’t really know a lot. It was a front, and for most people that is more than ok but for us we want the world. We want nothing more than to grasp something in our hands and call it our own. To have pride in what we possess. They walked with an elevated sense of triumph and these two men are leaders of whatever they want to be but they just want to get out of there. It is the same with astronauts. They’re floating through galaxies and nebulas and time zones “wow” but in reality, all they want to do is to get out of there. To crawl to the shore and be something more. Something more than you were supposed to be but tough luck here is your patience handed to you on a plate, signed, sealed, delivered, yours, truly, rejected. Escaping the countryside where people only knew what they knew since forever ago had never been as important as now.

I wonder how many people want to be physicists Johnson said shortly after. Many Samuel said. A man with a brown tattered corduroy blazer and trousers walked along with brown soleless shoes and an unshaven face. He wedged himself in between Samuel and Johnson even though they had not yet said a word to him the man reached for Samuel’s knapsack which was rounded and full. He took it and Samuel looked upwards to his face and Johnson looked even further upwards to the blue/white sky delay directly above his person. The man started to run whilst opening the knapsack but he stopped immediately at the half way mark. He opened it flat out and there was nothing. He mumbled some words and spat and left the knapsack to fester in the middle of the road. Samuel smiled and said maybe I should have become a physicist. Johnson said that Samuel would have been a good physicist and he would be able to cure everything from everyone.

Why didn’t you put anything in the knapsack Sam Johnson said. I thought that I would be able to fill it up along the way with things that I found and I put those things away Samuel said. What do you mean away, where are those things you put away Johnson said. I have put them away but not in the knapsack Samuel said.

They stand up and look towards a different direction directly south east to where they were sitting and intensity grew with their height. The gravel path seemed to go into a rural area. This is exactly what we trying to escape Samuel said. I do not want to go back Samuel said. I can not go back Samuel said and burst into tears before finishing the word ‘not’. The amass of hair on his left forearm were hit by the storm of self. Johnson pulled him by the wrist. The branches above made an artificial roof and it cut off the sky from their direct view. I am sick to death of places like these Johnson Samuel said. After a few minutes they found themselves on a hill possessed with green and familiarity. It was like they were home sweet home but still sickly and sweet more so than before, more so than ever. Samuel sat down and pulled blades of grass out of the mud with his right hand. The left hand wasn’t used because he didn’t want to damage his fake silver wedding ring. After being pulled out he put the grass back into their homes with a false sense of agricultural stockholm syndrome even though they are now dead. I’ve killed them Samuel said. I still think that you would be a good physicist, Sam Johnson said. They lay down on the hill and fell asleep for a few hours with nothing but alive and dead grass surrounding them as their only friends.

Morning 6am sharp Johnson and Samuel woke up at separate intervals. Samuel had stopped crying now mainly because he has forgotten everything after sleeping. Markings and imprints made way on to the lighter shade of white on his forearm from where he had slept on himself. Johnson wrote his name in the mud and hoped that he would be remembered. Samuel said that he felt strange going back to a place that resembled home. Johnson said that maybe Samuel was tired of home. Samuel agreed. With humid country daybreak they started to walk along another path that was north of where they slept that night. The path was water ridden with dew from early morning yearnings and their feet were safe in athletic white socks that were slightly yellow and a little more than slightly black. They talked about the left wing and right wing but decisions were of course unanimous and determined and they felt like they were growing as human beings. A bridge created shadows for split seconds and they thought they realised the properties of darkness. They looked at what people wrote on the bridges and Johnson thought that writing in accessible places is a significant form of remembrance  Johnson and Samuel talked about places that they wrote their names. Johnson said in the sand and the tide swept it away. Samuel said on a wall but it was knocked down a month later. A word was not spoken but they realised that they will never be remembered and how unfortunate that fact is for them and most people who carry a sense of self pride.

Johnson and Samuel walked on with Johnson taking the lead by a singular half step in rhythm with faux movements. Everything was white and green and they knew that for the near future everything would be nothing-more-nothing-less than ok and any disposition was no longer much of a self contained heavy weight. They felt as if they didn’t even need to pray that night and come all ye faithful. Johnson started speaking about home with past tense. I always knew that nothing would ever come of it, Sam, really, the land was dead and infertility was a swarm of locusts to tempt the strength, but it only tempted us to flee. We have ran til our feet caved with blisters and burns but we are in the same territory, Sam. We are far from home but everything is too recognisable, Johnson said. It rained and Samuel called it pathetic yet they carried on.  In a future which wasn’t all too near but not near enough to touch Johnson would be sitting under a roof with comfortable surroundings and warmed generosity around him. He would be thinking about by gone eras made that were just too much. He would remember the early wisdom and sentiments which curated the man. Johnson would glance towards an array of photographs with most in color and some not, and remember remembrance  He would leave at tick tock dead past midnight as soon as the clock strikes and write Samuel’s name into the sand until tides washed away both of them together til death do us part. If this doesn’t happen then the carnival of stars will awake and create forms and shapes and be called Samuel due to his undeniable presence  In the mean time Greenwich mean time they’re narrowly avoiding pneumonia slogging up to an abandoned house that was barely just walls which used to be a hotel motel in the countryside over looking the country hills for people who could afford to just look at the earth and feel satisfied. Most do not feel satisfied until they have taken the earth for themselves as a leaving present but everyone is rot rot rot rotting away. They felt like calling this home for a while because when you’re constantly moving to here and fro anywhere and everywhere is a home as long as there are a few smiles radiating. They made a small fire and put their hands towards the fire until their white skin turned pink. Until the blood rushed and screamed to be freed from the veins that held them captive. I am glad that we decided to find something better together said Samuel. There would be no other way said Johnson. No I mean really, I would be in a ditch if it wasn’t for you said Samuel. You mean trying to cover the ditch on the farm said Johnson. They laughed and fell quiet for minutes times a lot and the silence was perfect. They went outside and saw what constellations they could name. Johnson called a constellation Samuel. The Samuel Constellation had a dim star facing north and two stars slightly below on the left that shone brighter. Samuel called a constellation Johnson. The Johnson Constellation was the opposite but all the stars shone brighter. Samuel always knew that Johnson shone brighter. They fell asleep and knew every fact ever made.

In the morning they stood on an island of derelict walls and felt closer to their dissolved constellations. The fruits of the their imagination that wept into a lighter shade of blue. A projection of the ocean but up side down with no where to go. Samuel lit a cigarettes and felt weightless. Johnson passive smoked and felt nothing. We will never get away from home said Samuel. I think that we are trapped in this rut and we just have to be ok with it. We could keep on walking said Johnson. That was my idea in the first place. Our names could be real good names, Sam. Why are you so downhearted said Johnson. They didn’t look at each other in the eyes for a while until Johnson kept on pushing. If we stay in these environments we will be stuck in the sand and our names gone. Samuel said that enough is enough and for the moment they should just focus on surviving cause every second counts and now you’re here and now you’re not. Johnson went East and Samuel went West in search of food or something to sustain functioning innards. Samuel came across a batch of turkey squawking outside a pen being generally inhumane and unconscious  Samuel left his lighter on the wall so the turkey wouldn’t be able to be cooked. He took the turkey on the left which was carrying the largest amount of weight and snapped it’s neck. The beak was left hanging mid cry. Samuel shed a tear and used the left wing to wipe the very same tear. He unpicked single feathers until there was a mess reminiscent of an antique mahogany unloved rug on the strand upon strand of hay that just remained there, absent minded and incomplete. He ate the meat raw and sat down until his innards told him that he was stupid and backwards. The rest of the turkey watched from afar and thought that he wasn’t all there.

Johnson carried on East step in front of step foot in front of foot rinse and repeat off he goes. He turns his right wrist one hundred and eighty degrees so he can look at what time it is Mr Wolf. The wrist-watch is golden and ancient, ancient and lonesome, and the tick tick ticking of the hands hissed saying nothing of the true time. Back/Forth went the slim hand and the fat hand didn’t even bother to move. The fat hand reminded Johnson of Sam. The slim hand reminded Johnson of Johnson.

Never mind the time because time waits for no man thought Johnson. He carried on until he found a mixed bag of mushrooms unlike Sam his rationality got the best of him because hell it has to get the best of someone otherwise doom is right before us. He heard breathing patterns around him from things that did speak the same language as himself and someone in a higher place turned down the lights a little but Johnson thought that it was just a test it was just a test to himself to prove that he could honestly and believably do something.

Inside the cavern of broken walls that was just about holding together by pure luck and will was Samuel sitting in the corner half asleep half here half not. At that precise moment in time Johnson truly looked at Samuel eager eyed rabbit eyed taking into account what was delivered before him and he wasn’t quite sure if this was doom or if this was total normality and who do we ask when we want to stop the ride. Someone in the past said that the larger you are, the more troubled you are. Samuel’s face is described by Johnson as similar to a carved rock having been sanded down but still large enough to dent a hundred year tree. His bones were big and he had an air of melancholia. Samuel regularly called himself the saddest person on Earth. His shirt was white and just white no more than white no less than white because sometimes all you need is what is there, what is in front of you. His eroded blue trousers were held up by a belt that toiled around that stomach with the white shirt pushed in a little. Sometimes he wore glasses depending on what mood his eyes were in. He saw all this person only held up by skin in a way that was terrifying. You can take the country out of the man, but you can’t take the man out of the country thought Johnson. A person is attached to their home like two lovers held together by shoestring.

Johnson slapped Samuel’s face in various degrees of time and impact with the hard calloused side of his hand. Disgustingly ill and with too much time on his hands Johnson took the knapsack and tied it to his waist along side swaying hips in blue denim jeans. They don’t know where they’re going but they never have, all they know is that an emptiness awaits. Samuel’s being carried on Johnson’s back and we all know that will hurt in the morning with aching joints and muscles but it is all done unconditionally, of course. Arriving by a river Samuel is let down by Johnson and their faces are watered down with a fluid which hardly resembles water. Samuel sighs heavily with extended breadth but who knows if the sigh is due to sadness or relief within these circumstances. Samuel has returned to a color which a western human would possess, cold white with hair crawling ever so slightly out of the bottom reaches of his face and nothing could be done about it. Good Old Sam throws his metallic wrist watch into the river. We won’t be able to get rid of home will we John, Samuel said. I don’t think we were ever going to get rid of it completely. We are in a race that involves no stop or starts but instead we just have to win, Johnson said. I don’t think we’re going to win in the space of our lives Samuel said. Samuel’s white shirt was waved around with a human limb as a flagpole and it was so hilarious neither could breath by the end of the joke but roll up roll up you’re out of time the joke continues and so do us all until we neither have any breath to spare.

Sun is peaking on a y axis showing its ugly face and that is the ready set go start siren once again here we go once and for all. Samuel says Let’s leave the knapsack in the river. It will be a goodbye present to our shared thoughts and hopes and dreams, which were always unachievable. Johnson took the knapsack material and felt the fabric on his skin for enough moments til he said goodbye to the dream for once and for all. He handed it over to Samuel with the shakes and Ol’ Sam just took it in his stride so you can just tell that he has done this more than once, he’s done it a million times before and will have to do it a million times again. Lunging forward his body contorted he let the knapsack get away like an untamed dove whilst speaking soft rhythms under his breath just enough so only he could hear cause there’s a time and place where you share your lost hopes and this is neither the time nor place, but soon any way at the very least. Our dreams were always unreachable, the spring is where you are he said and they stood there as statues or concrete monuments til it was all out of sight and they just carried on. If we can’t get away from home then we’ll have to bring home here said Johnson.

Leaving the river walking with regimented march to the untamed West regret was looming here there and everywhere in the clouds and in the air but o nothing could be done about it. I honestly never want to dream again said Samuel. But why do you not want to dream said Johnson. Because when I dream I dream of something for me so perfect, for any one else, it must be mediocre. But the dreams I have build a spontaneous rigid world in which I’m completely comfortable in, where things are the way that they’re supposed to be and there is no ending. And then I wake up and there is an ending says Samuel. Johnson heavily thought about the implications of dreaming and had only just realised that there are implications of dreaming. You are placed in the ultimate setting or most perfect environment and you’re expected to wake up and cope with every day life after moments of utter beauty but this isn’t every day life is it John this is less than every day life. We’re living something which isn’t considered to be a life. The fact that we’re just breathing and moving constantly doesn’t mean that we’re alive. I want to feel alive and know that I’m alive instead of asking myself if this is how life is supposed to be. Picturesque environs are not saviors when there is a perpetual state of sadness running around in vicarious circles playing catch playing tag playing stuck in the mud but these two are just stuck in a rut, dang. Fixtures of green/yellow delays are barren lands when there is no home though the same patterns of hills mounds paths and rivers are the same everywhere. Samuel began to sweat from the very edge of a receding hairline which attacks generation upon generation but just shrug it off better late than never and as they walk the intensity from the heat of the sun diminishes as do their worries as the day is soon done. The river they followed like fools ends abruptly so they set up camp on the edge and haul the not quite so worldly possessions on the ground. John and Sam take off their shoes and socks and rise their trousers to their ankles and catch fish without rods but instead their hands with the sweetened oil and fresh quality upon their hands but hell they are not barbarians, this is what you’re supposed to do. John finds rocks Sam finds branches they create the fire like a mathematical equation with the last of Sam’s lighter fluid making it complete and then all it does is burn. They eat well with full ready stomachs for tonight, they keep themselves warm with their own limbs and bodily hair and remember they are not barbarians. Half night sky is ahead with dead stars from ten minutes ago parading themselves shameless and antique, Sam and John look for their very own constellations but they aren’t there this eve they aren’t there at all but it’s alright, their ribs hold their hearts together in one big whole piece. Goodnight they say at an early time and both hope they don’t dream, mutually passed out by their own will.

In small moments in time it’s perfectly ok to feel as if you’ll never be happy, but most of the time you’ll keep pushing and immersing yourself in things which have connotations with happiness, some succeed and some don’t, it’s just a game but it’s your choice. Chorus of swallows scream for the rising sun another day another life they say but no one believes that anymore do they. John nudges Sam’s shoulder and he chokes a little on his open mouth but he is instantaneous and awake. They tie items around their waist and place things on their shoulders and head out again. For most intervals they do not speak for humans rarely have to speak at all given moments. The need to process thought and opinion is important and when you’re trying to figure everything out once again it needs to happen whether you like it or not. An hour passed by and there was a small conversation about of how compasses were invented and by who and when et cetera but straight around the corner Johnson found a derelict farm yard barn that was wooden tarnished silver and swung open iron wrought doors. To the right was a wishing well, and well, they chucked a bronze coin each and wished silently but their eyes locked afterwards which was a form of sign language that could only have meant that they wished to never dream again, again. John looked forwards and Sam kept his eyes to the ground. The only thing inside the barn was a sparse collection of hay but hey this was their constant friend and their constant companion, you must have no doubt when there is something this permanent  John and Sam put down their belongings whilst sweeping midday residue off their foreheads carved beds out of hay and mud and began straight away not a minute lost to use their functioning brains to find out how to sustain and prosper. We should create some food stuffs and sell it ourselves at a market said Johnson. There are bigger places that sell more for cheaper said Samuel, we wouldn’t be able to live properly. We need animals to sustain ourselves said Johnson. I don’t know where to get animals from said Samuel. Neither do I said Johnson And then we would have to entrap it somewhere with wooden fences. We would have to just put our trust in it. Put our trust in an animal said Samuel. That is ridiculous Samuel said.

Headed off to a a field of grazing Johnson saw earlier they knew that they’d have to steal what they wanted because they owned nothing of importance apart from vital organs and cherished memories. Over the fence were cows roaming in pure unknowing and stupidity. Johnson and Samuel were in the grass with their bodies upon the soil whispering words of confidence to each other and that’s all they could do to prepare. They were on either side ready to push the cow into the direction of their new inhabited land when the farmer walked over with a shotgun and a mud riddled dog with his tongue trapped between his teeth. Get your hands off my stock he said and raised the gun towards their general direction. Truthfully sorry we are scavengers away from all we know trying to establish a form of betterness in our lives we were going to take your stock for good use really it was harmless Johnson said. The farmer out of sense and out of mind put down the shotgun and looked Johnson square in the eyes without hesitation. You would not possess the right material to keep the stock alive you know that he said. Johnson and Samuel thought of something to say but they couldn’t and that was that. The farmer  said follow me so they did expecting a gun shot between their eyes, the part in which he didn’t look at. He didn’t look there cause he was getting his aim ready. Once entering the building Johnson thought about turning to face the wall so he wouldn’t have to see the impact coming straight towards him. The farmer took bags and barrels of hay, fencing equipment, shearers food packages et cetera you name it it’ll just about be there in various packages and it stunned them in place, all three of them. The human form of absolute generosity said his name was Arthur and then followed with You have some tenacity you two chumps but you’ll survive if you keep on going that way. Arthur hauled it into the back of a pick up truck and told them to get in the back with the animal that spat and stained saliva like a lobotomised madman.

The wind is no longer existent as there were no clouds formed on this particular day and everything was fast paced movie like at the back of the truck with wheels skipping across stones the color of a broken litmus test and gravel and silence making a subtle impact at all times reflection was beautiful with the corn harvest in view. At the destination Arthur told them that their barn was built buy a man of wealth with phone numbers in every port and every destination with a good view but he never used it because he was always on business. When he died it began to rot away like everything else that has its time but there is still enough to be salvaged. Arthur said he’d bring a cow and a pair of lamb and that’ll be an alright start. As he left John and Sam put together half of a fence which was barbed wired with smears of blood at certain angles which were probably due to drunken incidents by drunken idiots. John and Sam put away packages of material in crevices and made a home made lock with a left over chain of metal that someone found no use for but another man’s trash is another man’s treasure and this is exactly how it goes. Laying down equipment that seemed like half a quarter of a living at best with no way to cage the animals in apart from Trust but that is a stupid idea and always was when trust is such a fragile thing. Arthur rolls back in with a cow two lamb a can of red paint a brush with brittle ends and stern words. Use this to give yourselves a name, for trade and all that. And make sure you put up that fence, no animal is backward enough to be trapped in one place forever. Arthur left without a goodbye but thankful they were to a great degree but without a handshake for a handshake is the lowest form of gratitude. John and Sam sat on top of the roof and and leaned forwards and backwards in various degrees to look at things with different perspectives. Arthur seemed generous Johnson said. We need more, what we have is not enough for the rest of our lives Samuel said. We will go to the market tomorrow act like wordsmiths for a certain amount of man made time to get what we need then flee, flee just like with every other situation we’ve been in.

And that was that.

At some point in the morning when the frost disappeared, angered by its own self importance, Samuel woke with a sense of dread his bones were heavily worn back hunched holding himself for comfort dear lord guide us. Through gaps in the iron wrought wall in the shape of a poorly written love letter he saw a sight which was simply a cow standing in the field brainless nothing more but nothing less and here we are we’ve done something right John. You were right John, weren’t you.  Samuel took his hands away from both sides and noticed the skin on skin that was building miniature mounds from labor but that’s ok toughen it up toughen your skin layer on layer til you’re thick skinned til you know enough til you have had enough til you’re just thick. Sam walked outside and kicked his feet around in the grass with a Marcel Marceau smile when the dew still placed on the blades falls off onto fragile skin. He picks off a scab on his arm and waits for the skin to heal. Johnson gets up with limbs stretched and popping out of sockets and starts to hum the tune of an old song that no one knows anymore. They locked up the barn that was still nameless with the metal chain but it was still accessible by all means but oh well they had a stride in their step ready to become the Artful and the Dodger with less knowledge and more weight but more burning passion and that’s all you need to get along.

They arrived following wooden named signs into a geriatric town with cobbled street and summer time serenades following every sharp turn in to roads that were washed out with sadness. Stalls held up by metal bars and cardboard boxes and tables with four legs or less held things which were organic and rotting so time is of the essence. A fruit seller had a skeletal frame with skin plastered around and tapered around the edges of unbroken bones but his wares were full, when you’re hungry and desperate you either accept your position or you do everything in your power to change that fact. John asked for a bag of apples that were bruised orange-red and as the skeleton put them into a plastic bag for health and safety and cleanliness to get us all close to godliness John said that he forgot coins to pay for it and he’ll be back in a second. Skeleton put the apples to the side harmlessly all Sam had to do was ask for directions and all John had to do was wait until the skeleton’s collection of intact vertebrae were turned away. Different directions they ran off down and they rejoiced at the corner where they saw the mausoleum on the hill. This same semi precise semi improvised method of haggard charmlessness gathered them a bounty, for the rest of their loot they just smiled and grabbed what they could. If someone starred them down they had to stare them straight back in the eyes because apparently that’s where the soul is, the most precious and sacrificial part, and no one wants a lost soul. They walked home with regenerated selves carrying themselves finding their lefts and rights back home although they couldn’t quite call it home yet but it’ll do for the time being whilst all’s not lost. That night they ate a banquet and washed their hands in the dirt, singing songs that they’ve improvised with full stomachs but that is just a daily process, to survive this process it must be done a thousand times more than you could ever comprehend. Sat inside a building which was essentially an enlarged tin can, they joked about the future and individual yet shared hopes for the future and cleaned the dirt under their nails. They flick through an old magazine they found along the way, reading the names of the people they’ll never be, looking at the beautiful faces of the people they will never be. A day does not go by without remembering this fact, dark is the night.

At the market when minutes walked past the mid day mark they were told by an older gentleman that they should get on the freight train and go to the town twenty minutes away. He said that’s where hopeful people mix with other hopeful people, and try to perform their hopes in real time. Jumping on the freight train before it accelerates into light speed movement and faces mold into caricatures smiles, and this is it. They jumped on, and as soon as it started moving they felt change. They had no time for other people, especially those who smile needlessly. They got back to work.

Summer fell into Winter without grace and without word, there was no Autumn and there won’t be any Spring. A weather reporter would try and make the best of the situation and advise good health and good sentiments but no one listens, no on remembers, no one really wants to know either. Sam and John couldn’t get the cow to produce as much as it could, it’s just a piece of meat with filled nothings in it’s brain. The lamb gave wool, there’s only little that can be done with that. I’m going to take the entire village’s worth of stock said Sam. That is not possible, you do not have anything to give said John. Everyone has something to give said Sam. Then what do you have, Sam? What do you have that is so precious and sacrificial  Sam had not a word to say and left without warning. He buttoned a cheap white cotton shirt and tucked in creases in to cheap white cotton trousers. He looked at a replica of a replica of home with a look that could only mean a temporary goodbye and left us all.

Secrets are whispered and shouted between the gaps in the cobbles, urging Sam to do and not do what he is about to do, what must be done what must be done. The devil on your shoulder should quit the day job, sometimes things just have to happen. Sam moved in mysterious ways and recounted past loves, past wants, even past dreams at certain points because now is the best time to be alive. Being sentimental never got anyone anywhere said Sam as he walked, freely moving unwisely unconstrained, barely alive. He got to the market on a Sunday morning and stood there waiting, crossing his heart, hoping to die. The sun was not out and it was not meant to be either, it was all a part of a predisposed plan that has a blueprint hidden away in a safe two thousand feet underground. A man with a brown tattered corduroy blazer and trousers walked along with brown soleless shoes and an unshaven face, awaiting the bargain. He had a red stitched knapsack in his hand. Sam greeted him and he said nothing. Nothing at times is what you want to say, it is the answer to the question which is obvious and honest. I’ve come to sell my most prized possession, but it is for a worthy cause. The Man said nothing, held out the knapsack with one hand, and a handshake in the other. Sam shook. Immediately The Man closed the knapsack and turned the opposite way to Sam. They were not meant to cross paths again, and that fact at least, is, written in stone. A loving relationship is near identical to a close bond friendship.

It was the morning of November the fourth, in the year of nineteen seventy two, fog and smoke clouds agreed to travel in packs, gangs, to fight away what they didn’t want, to say no to abnormality. Sam lit a cigarette and stood near the cow corpse, smelling of blight and unconsciousness  Sullen hills rolled onto each other like a perfectly manufactured piece of architecture, planned, mapped, years of precision and thought, but it wasn’t. It was just there. That’s all it was. Morning was supposed to be the beginning of a new day, but we’ve had to say our prayers early on this one. He frowned so much that his forehead was a map to another world away away away, he shut his eyes and felt the pupils nestle near the back of his head, and that’s how it’s supposed to be. Just there. Sam looked at his hands and the layers and layers of skin that was building up didn’t make him tougher, he’s had enough all of you, Sam’s had enough. Sam threw the cigarette with his lighter alight on top of the cow and flames would arise sooner or later. He carried his own weight back inside with heavy footing, pulled the shower curtain across with a single motion. He took the notebook from the left corner of his black cotton made in USA shirt and ripped out a page of yellow stained low quality paper. He wrote the name ‘John’ and pushed it under the cleanly godly sterile fabric. Sam unfolded a pack of razors used for shaving. He didn’t need to shave today, he shaved two days ago.  To be or not to be the person you wanted to be Samuel said. End of soliloquy  Close curtains. Game over. He had sold his soul in return for prosperity for his brother and the farm, the ultimate bargain, and the ultimate loss. Samuel was just someone who was never meant to mean a single thing.

After finding Sam Johnson did not cry, he did not smile though, either. He packed his things into a knapsack and walked home. Back home. It is where you go when things do not pan out as you hoped. Nothing panned out as he hoped. He left without witnessing the farm developing into a productive business. It was taken over by Arthur. 

 On the journey back home Johnson sat remaining forever half empty on a minimal black chair next to a wall with maps of guidance maps of knowledge, to tell you where you are, because we don’t know where we are, signposts have to tell us, but does that still make a home? Do not answer that question, it is rhetoric and heaven knows I’ll accept your language.

Around Johnson sat other people but only temporary people, people who wouldn’t be able to cope with boredom or monotony, even though monotony is constant and present within every circumstance. People who have to be engaging in things, things which deserve to be not done, things that are goodhearted and predictable, people who partake in these things are nil, thus these people are also generally sterile and cold in the warmest, most open armed of ways. Johnson was among living things living in harmony and he was disjointed from the clockwork rhythm staring at the silver sheen gloss on the floor. He imagines walking on that same sheen shine but thought patterns translate to interruption as they always are, now he’s on a bridge that’s being built as he moves across, grey concrete gravel molds from thin air as movements of feet regurgitates itself. Regurgitating in the same way life regurgitates, ceaseless and endless and continuous and there, here we are, this is all there is to it. Johnson snapped out of it with a slight head turn but he did nothing, but you can tell he is still alive by the light in his eyes. Lights that have flickered and burst, that is how you know someone is still alive, by a thread, or by a mile, but all in all, still alive. People are moving still in this self contained sphere, their minds stimulated by why, why, why, no questions asked, no questions answered. Just blurs, that is all. Unreal entities, just, blurs, really, that is it. Molds curated by a forgotten artist, forged with the color black, the color, invented, redefined, confused, not a color, but black, black as things forgotten. At some point at the sitting the clocks went backwards, moving away from what they could, the opposite direction. Johnson knew that there must always be a beginning, a middle, a end. A narrative shaped by events, characters, speech, motives, a setting, this is all there is to life, this is all there is you have to contend with, so life is a walk in the park, life is the bit on the side which you don’t have to give real thought to, life is just a product of a bigger plan.

When Johnson arrives back to a structure people call home, he took residency of a red maroon chair and faced the mirror. After a while what you’ll notice is that parts of you become unrecognisable. First it’s your bone structure. Then it’s your facial features. Then it’s your eyes. After the eyes have gone you’ve lost it, you’ve lost it all. In a game of cards, throw it away, it’ll be picked up alongside the trash in the morning. You can spend hours upon hours of just staring at your face but it isn’t advised. Because in the end, all you will think is, “who are you?” And then it hit him. Johnson was just someone who wasn’t meant to mean a single thing.

  1. iamthomjames reblogged this from wemakeoureyeswater
  2. belishabeacons reblogged this from wemakeoureyeswater
  3. gilesruffer reblogged this from wemakeoureyeswater and added:
    i recommend this.
  4. popserial reblogged this from wemakeoureyeswater
  5. altlitgossip reblogged this from wemakeoureyeswater and added:
    ‘we make our eyes water every time we smile,’ an ebook by thom james.
  6. wemakeoureyeswater posted this