Heaven keeps a prisoner

I wasn’t ready when I died.

The first illusion death stole from me was that my body is designed to perceive the universe around me. This is incorrect. The primary function of your senses is to stop yourself from experiencing the universe, whose infinite information would otherwise overwhelm and madden you. Eyes that once simplified the world into finite wavelengths of color closed for the last time, and then I saw everything. Ears once deaf to cosmic music sung by the birth of stars, the communal heartbeat of the human race, and the haunting pop of each collapsing universe now concealed them no longer. (more…)

The New You

11:50 PM on New Year’s Eve. The raucous beat of the music is echoed by the pulse in my veins. Iridescent lights lance through the air all around me, and the teaming heat of pressed bodies forces me to swallow great lungfuls of heavy air thick with sweat and cheap perfume. I can’t be the only one who isn’t dancing, but anyone who notices me will immediately recognize that I don’t belong here. Smiles and sneers look the same to me, and all laughter is tainted with condescending jokes at my expense. (more…)

Something is knocking under the frozen lake

Knock. I’m at least fifteen feet from the frozen shore when I hear it. The ice feels as solid as concrete, so I take another step. The Winnibigoshish is like most of the Minnesota ice out lakes which will remain frozen until Spring. There’s no chance of breaking through. At least that’s what my girlfriend Amy keeps telling me. (more…)

Something else listens to the midnight prayers

Years ago when I was in jail, I used to pray every night. When you’re little and you pray, it’s because you want something from the world that you don’t know how to get. When you’re older, it’s because the world wants something from you that you don’t know how to give. The lights would go out at 11 PM and I would pray to be a better man, humiliating myself before the arbitrating silence of my thoughts, begging and pleading and even screaming when the thoughts became too loud to contain. (more…)

The storm is alive

It’s hard to type. My fingers are stiff and numb from the cold. My eyes are watering up, and I can feel the tears freezing on my skin. I don’t know how much longer my power is going to last this time, but I don’t think we will survive another blackout. When they find our bodies — maybe not until Spring when this cabin can be seen over the snow — they’ll know it was the storm that killed us. If I didn’t write this though, they’d never know it was a murder. (more…)