pleixa-prose

[pleixa-prose]

cup

I always knew my roommate was weird. His trademark ‘weird thing’ he did was leave clean cups and glasses everywhere. He’d take them out of the cupboard and then never use them. On a weekend when the exams were over and summer break was just around the corner, he started growing mushrooms. No psychedelic kind, just tasty ones. Did you know there are magazines for the mushroom growing enthusiast? Well, there are and I saw dozens of them. He quit when we both decided the smell was getting bad. We later found out it was against regulations to begin with. 

[pleixa-prose]

Bedroom Stories// 04

It was the night of the biannual midsummer eye storm. Everything was being pulled by the fringes in the vortex or slewn against the wall. My pet maki made the best of it and sang sad little verses. I was trying to hold on to my portuguese language books,- I've been trying to learn it for character building and possible escape to Brazil if needed. I have two record players in my room and in my confusion I had put a record on, on both of them. The sounds clashed together but found harmony inside the vortex. One guitar solo came out the whirlwind and went for my bed sheets and ripped it right through the middle. My mother wouldn't help me, she said she felt like she was holding up the sky by her own. The mythos of her debacle would be dimming my own affair. I let go of the books and softly prayed for stars to cast some light my way. 

[pleixa-prose]

A blue stone talking, more foreign than others.

A spirit came from out of my coffee and through the course of a day, took me along on a hang glider. It taught me successful dice throwing, and we watched a young man paint his house and occasionally his clothes by accident. We watched young girls write very orderly in their textbooks, and saw so much talent. It introduced me to the spirit hiding in my old nose drops. We talked in broken spanish, about our favorite sculptures. They had a few they cherished, made by spirits that I didn't knew, but they showed me and on the internet they looked beautiful.

[pleixa-prose]

Red Marbled Cat

There was I again, hunched down in the streets, chasing the red marbled cat once more. The cries echoed through the night, one with many stars. Little puddles had formed in yesterdays shower, and remained to this day. A little breeze picked up and I was still no inch closer to finding that damned cat. The cat that glows in the dark, a red sheen, with three green eyes. It changes your luck. It makes you tingle when you meet it and the world goes a bit crazier, which means healthier, for a little while, at least for you. When the days tire me out, I'll find my way to the streets, chasing. There is nothing quite like it. You can end up in another country, being a different person, each time. I can't say that was what I needed, but what I needed was something that was not my life as it was. I wonder if it is the same cat every time? Is it even something from this dimension? Who cares. I think I saw it go up a tree. No, wait, it went inside that building. A bar. I hate when it does that, you need to get all casual looking but everyone can tell immediately, or maybe that's just me. I go inside, I walk over and take a seat at the bar's counter. A man sits next to me, puffing out a big cloud of smoke. I know exactly what to do. I breath it in and with it I try to breath in the entire world. Of course it doesn't work but that is not the point. I can now see the man is the red marbled cat. I offer it a drink. The cat drinks. I don't. My eyes become soft and my mind makes twisted sounds reverberate in my head. The chase was successful. I see an eye growing on my forehead through the bar's mirror. I smile pleasantly. Whatever was, is now not quite as it was, and I can finally move on again. 

[pleixa-prose]

saterday night

Purely bursting the bubble, the crystal matrix of our lives. Right now on the parking lot. Seventeen people are watching. There's a slight green flame coming from the middle of this congregation. Karl steps forward, he cries gently and with this sound he starts tearing apart the fabric that entailed that very world. People transcended into nothing more than ideas, thought of by higher powers, by space time itself.

[pleixa-prose]

Bedroom stories// 03

Usually after I have brushed my teeth I can still taste some of the blood. My gums bleed easily. This one night my mouth kept bleeding but I couldn't taste it anymore. It was just blood pouring from out of my lips, as if my mouth was a portal to another dimension, one with an ocean of blood and I was right in the middle of it. The blood would disappear right before it would hit the ground. I tried texting someone and it made the blood run faster, so I stopped typing because this fascinated me. I tried all kind of tricks with it but before I knew it I fell asleep. The next day I woke up with my head on the sofa and my butt, asleep, on the ground. Blood that had spilled on my shirt had dried and formed letters, it read. ' h ed ground f' It probably meant nothing.

[pleixa-prose]

interview

More or less there is something inside me pulling me back, not wanting me to touch the values that our species have collected. Doors open and close everyday yet the walking through them is something I dread. I'm exhausted of doing a checkup routine, communicating to family and friends on what side of a good/bad dichotomy my actions turned out. Giving them an analysis, to make sure what I do is conducive to the goals I previously declared. Sometimes I can't even walk down the street without biting the inside of my cheek. Nerves bubble up and I'm a sand castle falling apart in the tides. When walking I have a tic of brushing my hair back with my hand, to not seem like just a walking body, because for some reason that in and of itself isn't enough, enough to feel comfortable. I'm not selling myself very well am I? Not to this world and not to myself.

[pleixa-prose]

Leisure

The beach house was three hours away even while speeding. Quincy had been looking forward to making this drive. He had worked retail for three years and stole money from anywhere he could get it. He saved it all up and now he was gonna spend it and planning to crash hard. Nothing in life mattered to him, only some good -preferably seaside- views and simple fun like speeding on a highway in a convertible and having no one to talk to. He would have to make a stop since he needed some cigs. He called them that only when talking to himself, it amused him. He liked cheerful electronic music that has no vocals. I guess what he liked most was to pretend he was the last person on earth. That is what his leisure was like. Somehow he broke free from the need of connecting with other people. His life was defined by being alone with short intermezzos of actually acknowledging other people's existence for when he needed things. In other words, he was FREE. Perfectly content and devoid of silly ideas like self esteem or goals. He didn't struggle with the necessities that came with being alive. He had no investment whatsoever in the collective culture of the world.

[pleixa-prose]

Pilar Without A Shadow

Pilar came down to see if there would be anything to spark her interest in whatever that was going on. Big beer elephants or shifting realities, things like that. On sundays she was able to eschew more of the frivolities that went on in the world, and it was a sunday indeed. Even if the calendar said something else, it was a sunday in full spirit. Down the slope was the community centre and a big parking lot. Numerous vendors had set up shop and were paddling a large variety of fast food. An old teacher of Pilar came up to her but before the grey man could say anything, she cited a few incantations and moved on, leaving behind a drowsy body now fascinated by flower petals. Soon her hunger got the best of her and she bought three snacks all from different vendors. A cantaloupe pizza slice, garlic butter noodles, and fried meatballs on a stick. Impossible to finish it all, but she didn't worry about it either. She has a massive welt from an inheritance yet her only excessive partaking of it would be on food. Buying tastes rather than meals. She walked around the little stalls eating the things she could barely hold at the same time, growing boredom by the minute. She had eaten enough of the food and threw the leftovers away, ready to go home again. Suddenly she noticed, her shadow hadn't been following her, it usually was very disciplined and could not be swayed to leave her side by any first best dimensional anomaly. Though it had been know to be very inquisitive of important shifts in reality. Pilar could not be bothered by it though, by now her shadow had grown so much in strength that it could handle problems on its own. She felt more inclined to meet the new ghosts that would arrive today at her house. She lisped a few words to release the old teacher and cursed at herself for coming down here in the first place, before she made her way back up to her house.

[pleixa-prose]

Life inside the temple

It took me about three coughs to wake up. I emerged like a whale from the sheets, rising up to catch the sun through the roof window. When I tried to put my foot on the floor I brushed against a cup which held tea the day before. Pling. My eyes were half shut still and I felt like I still had the head of a lion, heavy and warm. I walked over to the metallic cupboard, that one holds all sorts of lights. I took out a nice light green sheen to spread around the neighborhood. Normally I carefully calculate what colour needs some spreading, but this morning I was winging it. Sometimes colours like those from an old analog screen, breath, and cast dust in my eyes and I just love them. So I use them. It's never perfect but that's the charm, it gives warmth.

[pleixa-prose]

Dead Silent

I had lit a single candle, put it on the floor and stared outside. I could only see one star in the night sky. I was worrying about what I wanted to do with my life, I was thinking of all the philosophical views and which one that could apply. A particular one came to mind but it is of no importance to you. What did matter is that single star I could see. As you know the light of a star is just like that of our very own sun. Its light travelled from so far a distance we can't actually fathom it. Words traveling from one person to another can sometimes seem so far, and their meaning change so much on their way over. I wanted to know if my words could suddenly arrive to you, clearing out all the other sounds as they do. You could be in your car listening to the radio and it would go dead silent. The hum of the motor dissipating. The traffic outside fading out. Maybe only a hint of wind through the trees nearby. Then suddenly, you'd hear me. Maybe the words are so old, that by then, I have already passed away and you're hearing into the past.

[pleixa-prose]

Bedroom stories// 02

I have just returned from the pyramids. I'm sitting on the bed in my bedroom, taking my socks off. Sand that was hiding in there starts spilling over the wooden floor. I make some tea, I have a little water heater so I don't have to go to the kitchen each time I want tea. I said 'the' pyramids, but what I meant was the pyramids that are near my village, not the big ones known from the tourist brochures. I inspect my desk. A bunch of old newspapers have started to gather around on it, the one from this day and the day before is missing. I start to hear little shuffling noises. It's the sand, rolling over the floor. It has started to move on its own and even seem to have multiplied. Patterns have started to emerge from the sand, which has now nearly covered my entire bedroom. Little pyramids rise up from the sand. I look closely. It are the pyramids from my village. I see myself walking there, but it's a repeating pattern. I see myself walking there a hundred times. As I'm watching from the sky I'm slurping my tea and feeling very content. The sand is warm on my feet, I like it. 

[pleixa-prose]

The Big Blue

We tried to bandage everything, but we had so many wounds. We ran out of bandages and then out of rags. Living near the sea, the waves crashing was a peaceful sound in our ears, yet, the salt crept in our wounds. Stung by the sea and by the people that rejected us. We never intended to live long, we expected to die here in our little sanctuary in Calais. Ripped apart by tides and locals. A world war was once very present here but now its only some fights to keep some of our spirits. The sun did good though. We seem to keep going, everyday waking a bit more, in this house where a lot of things were made of wood, more so than in other houses.

[pleixa-prose]

Hockey

Three days. I spend three days around this field filled with bunnies and electric moles. I've heard they used to play hockey here, not anymore. It has grass, do they play hockey on grass? Maybe they used to. I live in what is most likely the caretakers house. The layout is functional, just the way I like it, it means my thinking doesn't get interrupted here. Plus all the extra stuff that I do, goes down easily. Eating, drinking, sleeping, wandering around whilst talking to myself. The beams coming from the sun enter the house on the side of where the field is located. The kitchen is here as well. I can eat breakfast and look at the bunnies hopping in the still fresh light of daybreak. On the other side, the dark side,the north side if you will. I have a view on a track field, unused for a while as well now. Here crows gather and seem to not do much but make strange formations I rather witness than hopping bunnies. The crows fly low, right above the surface, as if they are surfing. I walk around the domain, and I leave some marks on all the different concrete structures of the place. To mark it my own. This is my fort now, my heaven. My thinking lives here and I'd rather you'd not disturb. It's three days so far, and I've done some excellent thinking. I've done some excellent witnessing as well. Life moves at just the right velocity here. I can run on the track field at the same speed that life is passing me by. I can keep track of it. I can calibrate my thinking this way. Maybe that's what the crows do as well. I've had no visitors so far. I've run out of icecream, I'll have to go get some icicles and soda pop. I pull the bow and shoot myself into a higher velocity, and into town.

[pleixa-prose]

bedroom stories// 01

For three nights now I have been visited by a sentient, floating Michael Jackson fan-site webpage. It came hovering above my bed. I tried to use my hand to make it go away, but my physical body did not constitute a mouse. I was unable to manipulate the ethereal rogue software. It stays there for a few hours and then dissipates, leaving a few light streaks in my eyes. I wonder what it wants. 

[pleixa-prose]

seawater sinkhole

My voice doesn't carry far. I tried calling her name, I tried yelling insults, yet it only reached myself. I went back into the house and looked at the hole in the floorboard and what seemed to be the sea inside of the hole. Something tore through the wood in front of the stairs, broke the white painted armrest, and sucked itself into the ground and made the sea come out. I tried to ignore it for the rest of the day, but around 8:20 pm, I dove right in. First it was the cold water, and then just blackness, all around me, and then just nothing. A hole within myself. I woke up in my bed without clothes. I felt well rested, which I hadn't been in a while since the relationship went sour. I was ready to face this day, I put on new clothes, went to work. It was easy. When I came home again I spend some time around the house doing nothing, and then I jumped in again. Into the water, and woke up again, weightless, no care in the world. It went on like this for a while. I kept buying new clothes, I could've just taken them off before I jumped, but it felt better this way. The effect was greater. I imagine the weight of the day would also permeate through the clothes. Better to wash it all away. So there were no downsides besides the constant need for new clothes and the salt residue on my skin from the seawater. After what I imagine was three months I only dipped in occasionally. The dive is dreamless and I like to dream. My body wasn't taking much weight up anymore. I read books and listened to music, and I felt as if everything was ageless. Morning after morning was all the same, but in a good way. I reckon it will be like this until I die. I don't mind. 

[pleixa-prose]

cereals are easy

I can be so angry at the birds around my house, they wake me up. I want to get up and beat them with an iron rod, but I know well enough I wouldn't catch them. I got up this morning and buried my hands in the fur of my dog. I sat there for a while, just trying my best not to think of something. Then I probably thought of something because I got up again for breakfast. ‘I cheated again.‘ I thought. Because I was eating cereal. There's nothing hard about cereal, it's the best if you had a night where you thought you had nothing to lose but in fact did lose it all. Or just when you're tired because some birds woke you up early. When I am awake I love those birds. They are clever and seem full of character. Character is something I cherish most in life. I can put anything on a scale of either having character or not having character and I can be perfectly happy with that.