Nitch Nitch Nitch-Noo

New. It was new, wasn't it? It came out over the sky, another day, another time, but it was new nevertheless. New in the sense that no one had remembered seeing it, other than the world. I figured that it would creep about on the floor of our kitchens at night, just out of reach, just out of sight, underneath the refrigerator where none of us ever cleaned. We were afraid of going there, to look at what we had been for all these years, afraid of the effort, afraid of looking at it and having to acknowledge it. So there it sat and would sit. What is wrong with humanity? To look out into the world for every fix for their interior problems? To avoid at all costs that things that made them feel as though they'd vomit up their heart, still beating. I was tired of it, everyone was, but day after day of straying away from it, it grew, larger, more sinister, more dreadful, until it had become part of us, had taken over. It crept along the ridges of the tile floor, moss, fungus, something we would never have seen coming, now upon us, now in our air, now in our lungs, heart, and mind.

Sitting, waiting, creeping. That wasn't what was new, it was the same old.

Fuck everybody. His words rushed to my mind first off, and I thought that I understood in a way, but I knew that my comprehension was different than his in the end. He was a cold winter and alcohol, and I was a hot summer night and a lit joint. We were two different spectrums completely, but I felt as though we were still part of the same thing. I looked down at my feet, toes in the sand, the sun was hot that day but the wind was cool and crisp because autumn was coming. I knew what that meant. Every night would be black skies and the street lights would look more orange than golden. I would be able to dress in clothes that suited me better. It was good.

It was good because I was already becoming the wind again. A smile, or a face, teeth and eyes and lips all in their different ways, likes your reflected in my eyes. That made me happy, you knew, that's all there was too it. Maybe it was enough. The floor of my apartment was white but covered over with blankets; I'd step on them at night when no one was around to see, sit on them and fall into the void, then recreate myself one piece at a time. It wasn't complete change, just control, creativity. I wanted to be something new unto myself. That was the idea was all.

It was the autumn that made me want to clean underneath the refrigerator. It took a day and, in the end, didn't matter and wasn't as bad as I thought. The thing is to not trick yourself into being afraid. It's life and life only.