Someone says baboons have musical prowess. Someone says humans are ridiculous. I am somewhere in between, in the space of doubt and self-recognition that could be called confusion – or perhaps maturation, depending on the circumstances of definition. I’m riding a ferris wheel in the middle of January and I’m surprised I’m not frozen to bits quite yet. I’m riding a ferris wheel and it feels like February, but January presses beyond me, into the person I haven’t yet become, into a silhouette dawning tomorrow, when February breezes by.

Sterile Sofa Zone

He loomed before me with calculated candor.

A movie star, maybe, or he wants to be. This is LA, after all. This is a skeazy hotel, after all. The white gleaming linoleum from the ‘70s matches his overcoat, white, Jacksonian. Maybe he’s Michael J. after all. I wouldn’t recognize any stars.

Forty-five degrees, now moving counter-clockwise – silver. I lie still. The silhouette with its trench coat is Elvis and energy, something my vision can’t fixate on. He keeps moving. I must be moving.

Scattered or Broken

My story begins on the 25th of April, 1992; it is not an exact account nor does it have a specific purpose. My aim is simply to tell - not to teach, preach, or bore. I am not simply a messenger. I was actually there. This actually happened to me. But, so as to preserve my fading pride and attempt to learn more about my own experience and therefore myself, I will do my best to remain at the sideline. I will speak as a messenger, though I am, in actuality, the star of the story.

Things Move

The Kavalarys almost never locked their windows. The one exception was Halloween. Tonight wasn't the eve of any hallow, but Michael was positive he felt a draft. In truth, his room was on the bottom floor, and every so often he'd feel movement that wasn't really coming from the outside - parents making trips to the bathroom, sisters indulging in midnight sweets, cats being cats - and after a few moments of paranoia he'd roll over and go back to sleep. The thing was, this wasn't movement. No one was awake or creeping around; the closet door was shut.