Experimentalist Writing Submission: Entry 020 / by Brandon Mitchell

"One, two, buckle my shoe. Three, four, should I stick with this premise that I buckle shoes?"  -- OBS

SO MANY THINGS are all over the place. Everything really. You can’t spend all or even any of your time dwelling on it; thinking about it and trying to make it make sense. That thing, whatever it was, is too far behind you. But it wasn’t always.
    See this is how it usually starts. There’s a phrase. Or a sentence if you’re lucky. It sounds good, but it doesn’t really make sense without any context. Then you keep listening. Words keep coming and. . .you give them the benefit of the doubt. Sure it’s confusing, but eventually you think the point will be made. But, it never happens. It doesn’t in the time needed to make a point, because we’re all busy. We’ve got shit to do. No one can sit around and literally pay attention to some random, unorganized monologue about what? A silly phrase?
    These things go on and on. Like the music in the background. That stuff is like. . .

. . .what is it? What am I really supposed to be hearing here? The lazy beats? The chord progression? The endless soloing? The effects? What?
    It’s things like this that get me to start questioning everything. Things that seem so far ahead of me and out of my reach. I race toward them as fast as I can. Recklessly even. And then all of a sudden, without any warning, they come to a complete stop. No signals. No lights. So fast that I can’t adjust my speed. I blow right past them and go so far that it’s pointless to even turn around. They’re long gone and in the other direction. I just move on to something new and tell myself to stop doing it. Stop dwelling on that madness because it really is everywhere. It’s all over the place.

IT WAS A good time. . .back when I had friends. How long it’s been? I can’t even remember how it’s done. I met this young kid and man he thought he had a whole bunch of shit figured out. He didn’t care about his job. He would show up “on time” and “work pretty hard”. All that shit in quotes. So, ten to fifteen minutes late was still on time. He was working and hey, that’s hard. But, most of the time he was just skating around town and eating off the food trucks with his friends. Time was flying and he was enjoying it   . I mean, he’d think ‘work makes sense but. . .it’s not as meaningful as hanging with these dudes. These guys mean something. They make a difference. They make a difference to me at least and that means something. I would do anything for them and I believe they would do exactly same for me.’
    I could see that in his eyes. In his heart. He didn’t have to tell me one of those stories. I could even almost remember for myself. I knew that feeling. I didn’t truly know it anymore, but one day. . .way back. . .I know I knew something like that. Aww God, how did I lose that?
    You see, I could get to the bottom of it. I’ve done it once before. I laid in bed and thought it through until my mind was in pain. My temples throbbing. My lungs vibrated and my heart stung. I just repeated the question over and over until I would answer myself inside my own mind. I did this for hours and wouldn’t let up. I kept trying to convince myself that I had the answer, but I would not be fooled. I knew it was too simple a solution. This one went back all the way. To my first loss. And my first big gain.