the end of the world
(part one)
(("night letters"))


"your mind constantly returns to a place that's not so fucking cold...
but on fire with war."

it's not out of the ordinary while i am laying in my bed at night with my eyes open or sitting in front of the computer in the office at the store or resting comfortably on the couch watching tv that my mind starts to wander.

in my bed at night, the nightdream starts with an intruder making his way up the stairs. my senses flash to alert status, eyes fully open now, staring at the fan and listening closely, hoping that the noise was just the cats frolicking about, keeping themselves busy until the sun comes up and it's time for them to go to sleep. it's not the cats. it's footsteps. the intruder pauses at the top of stairs, making his mind up as to which room he will enter first, sizing up the potential competition in each. he chooses. poorly. i am awake and out of my bed at this point. i am waiting for the biggest, baddest motherscratcher with the biggest and baddest gun on the planet to enter my room. i am not scared. i do not breathe heavily. i merely wait. as he enters, he is not so big, nor is he so bad. he is probably just desperate. but his desperation pointed him in the wrong direction on this night. he gently opens the door and glances around. i allow him to proceed through the darkness two steps further. i destroy his face with a baseball bat. game over.

i stir back into reality.

at the store, the daydreams are like a running loop. a memory that ceases to exist. i fade for a few seconds into monotony, it's product a haze. my eyes lose focus as if i were trying to make out the hidden image on a magic-eye picture. i remember running to the back room, picking up my pace when he tells me to. i remember being angry at the command. i've already seen his stature. i am not afraid of him. i am afraid of the gun that he wields. a gun i've only seen in pictures before. i don't yet even know what it's called. that will take a police officer watching the security tape with me. we make it to the back room and i turn off the alarm that, in all god's honest truth, i believe is the alarm that is screeching loudly enough for the surrounding neighborhood to hear and wonder what is going on. it's the wrong alarm. the masked man is no longer masked. i turn. i see his eyes. he, too, is desperate. but now, an anger boils within. he thinks i've tricked him. i haven't. i just made a mistake. he presses the gun to my head. i tell him it's the other alarm. he shouts at me to go turn it off. i listen to the gun once more. and i run. i see the image from the security tape in my head. he stays behind to open the back door. i run down towards what i see in front of me is an open door. but i don't run out. not this time. i notice he is not behind me. i hear him come out of the back room. i duck behind a floorstack. i hear him trotting down the aisle. he sees the open door as i did. as he nears my hiding place, i hear him sigh, "goddamit". he passes me. i am now in control. i tackle the smaller man from behind. wrestle away the gun. stand. point it at him...

i stir back to reality.

on my couch, the dream is much like the first. this time i am alone. watching sports. entirely content. i've just finished my rocky training montage. i feel good. the adrenaline is still in my veins. i've just taken my music out of my ears. the last song i played is the same last song i've played since march 10. it is propagandhi. it is "night letters". and i am wishing for a fight. whomever happens to be the last person i've thought ill about knocks on the door. they are wishing for the same. i open the door. i smile.

i stir back to reality.

the same reality where i may not be so brave or foolish. or i may. we would have to see. but it's the same reality that very often feels cold, overwhelming and alone even when i am surrounded with friends and family and many good things that should serve to take my mind away from places on fire with war.

others' reality may not be so lucky.

i don't like my daymares or my deathdreams any more now than i did several years ago when i didn't know how to control them, when they would cause me to panic and lose my breath. my head swimming and swirling around uncontrollably is not a feeling i would wish on anyone.

now, though, i've learned to refocus and funnel those negative thoughts into their own compartment, one to which i, only, have the key. i can get in when i want. i can get out when i want. "night letters" serves perfectly as the soundtrack to this one compartment of my life.

i am glad that i don't have to live there.

but i sure love this fucking song.