Friday, June 20, 2008

Purgatory Lane

Robert didn't believe in ghosts, but they were all over him. But he was good-natured about it. There were two types: the first type of ghost was indoors, and other type was outside. The ghosts indoors were clearly in Purgatory. The ghosts outside couldn't really be called ghosts, because they were most likely angels. In the hundreds.

Robert chuckled to himself as he stepped outside for a cigarette. It was well after midnight, probably getting close to 2, when he went out. He was amused because he had just done well at his writing on the keyboard. He loved it when the words flowed. When there was a chugging rhythm to it. When he thought in complete sentences, so the work was practically done before he finished typing. But most of all he loved the way that his muse nibbled on his ear, even though Robert couldn't see her. And he presumed it was a her, because if it were a guy, and if he were a ghost, which he would have to be, something supernatural, he would know enough about Robert and his sexual orientation, to know that he didn't stand a chance. Robert took some solace in this. There was nothing worse that for a homosexual man to talk to you, Robert thought, which ends up dragging the fag out in you, and you even start talking like one and prissing around, like I really could get used to this. Robert expected the beings sending him brainwaves to do the things that would fall in line with his fate, his destiny, the highly sophisticated matrix in which he believed he lived. That was why he was chuckling when he went outside.

Robert drew deeply from the cigarette, and let the smoke ease its way out of his mouth as the wind caught it and blew it back in his face. He was chuckling because he imagined the angels, which he perceived to be hovering over his home in the thousands, the hundreds of thousands, to be singing the Hallejulah Chorus from the Messiah as he walked outdoors because he writing was good, and he knew it. Hey, he said to himself, it must be good, and all the spirits wouldn't be trying to look over my shoulder to see what I was writing to help them develop a strategy to make the right decision and get out of Purgatory.