It has been awhile since I have done a ten minute write. This one was pretty raw, I needed to force myself back into the practice of just writing for writings sake. I had no preconceived idea of what I was going to write or where it was going. Raymond Carver said, that was what it was all about, you put down one sentence and then you put down the other, you don’t think of where it is going. Granted I think in a formulated style of writing you think about it more, but that is why there is a formula. This story may seem really disjointed or out there but , like I said , I was just writing one sentence after the next. I haven’t even read it myself yet. I’ll read it right after I finish this sentence.
Kicking through the doorway there was a spiral of light it had reached onto the carpet like a straight line of dust. It was clearly visible this light and the cat had found the perfect spot of warmth in which to sleep. I was weary, my throat dry and my feet ached, it had been a long day. My fingers felt like they were about to bleed from all the cutting and weeding in the yards. Not my yards, their yards, yards’ of the people who live in the surrounding valley away from this dingy and dank apartment where I live. This cliche of the inner city. There is still a stench in the hallway from the man who had died a week ago. His smell will linger for a life time I think. And to think the whole time I had thought it was rotting vegetables from the asshole hippie kids that had been living upstairs. Every day they’d throw their “compost” out the window and into the dirt alley way in between the two buildings. That’s not compost you assholes, I would yell. Those fuckers and their all night wrestling matches. I bet the smell was outrageous for them, after all, they lived two doors down from the guy. Dan, my buddy, who lived across from the guy said, after a few days he just knew just knew the guy was dead. Imagine, dead and no one even notices you are missing. Poor guy had been melting, literary melting, for three weeks before anyone checked in on him, and if it wasn’t for the heat, he may have been in the room decomposing for longer. Dan said, he talked to the chick in the bio-gear and she had told him that the guy was so decomposed that they had to scrap him off the mattress. Brutal. I think that is going to probably happen to me too. No kids no spouse just me alone, parents are dead, shit, if I were to quit my job and just die no one would look for me, well maybe Dan for going out to get a beer or something, but I sure as hell am not that far away from an ending like that. Gives me the shivers, and honestly breaks my heart. I didn’t want to be that sad guy, but here I am man, and I don’t even know how I got here.
When I get home I like to slowly clean the dirt out from under my nails you know take a file and just scrap the dirt like I’m peeling the earth out from under the root of a tree. I find a deep satisfaction from this action. I’d say it has become my meditation and I think that at one time a half hour passed by with me cleaning the dirt out from my nails. I read somewhere that this deep concentration was something like zen. I do read.