All my windows covered with bees this morning. The alarm. It’s dark. No light. I hate this. It scares the shit out of me. What fucking now.

Straight to the bathroom and I crap like a goose. I blow loose gravy. Awful and foul. I retch. I shit blood and it’s all about new copper pennies and deep fermenting sewage. The ocean in there somehow, maybe because there’s pictures of fish on the paper towels I’m using to wipe my ass. I swear I just bought a case of toilet paper.

Nobody knows the trouble I see.

These bees know sweet, sticky blood. They get excited enough to dance.

One by one I thump the glass from inside and they fly away.  The light streams in. It feels natural.  Normal.  Like it’s supposed to work just like that. It makes no sense to me.

Well yeah. Too often things work that way and I’m not inclined to worry because I’ve solved the the problem at hand. But really, I’m getting tired of this shit. I don’t like waking up to a new conundrum every goddamn morning. I just want to be. I’d move to a city. A smaller city, far from this middle of nowhere shit. Austin or Portland or maybe Albuquerque.

I’m tired of the whistling wind and the chaos it brings.

I decide on a peanut butter and honey sandwich with banana slices. I put it together on wheat and butter the bread. I make it a ‘melt’ in a frying pan and eat it while gulping a grape soda. I feel good after I eat it. I use an elbow straw for the soda. I like the way the bread crunches against my gums. I think of the avacados and how I can rub them all over my mouth with my tongue.

I watch Oprah.

These other guys, the ones I share the house with, I don’t know them. I’m not even sure how many they are. Myrus and Paul I know, but there’s a few more that don’t have a bed. Blind shithouse crazy. The shit they leave lying around is insane.

Carcasses and parts. Makes me feel like I’m dead.

I just can’t do this anymore.

He brought my heart to me in a jar. It was Myrus but Paul stood behind him. Handed it to me suspended in a pink liquid. A big glass jar, size enough for a whole sheet of cookies. What happens when all is lost? You are what you eat. Myrus handed me the jar, he’d palmed it by it’s top. I slid the heavy glass lid aside and there was a scrape and a ring as I inhaled the smell of my own heart.

My name is motherfucking Felix.

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