By: C. E. Hoffman
SOME people are not lonely tonite. In fact SOME people are having a grand old time. They’d never SAY it in such a way, however- grand times are never called grand by those who have them, not in THIS time, The Age of Whatevers.
I am not TRYING to distinguish the lonely people from the unlonely. In fact I would argue they are one in the same, the only crucial difference being some are having a grand old time and others are not. However. Any careful observation of any grand old timer may prove they are doing nothing but heaving heaps of bullshit from one plate of life to another. However. Life is a generous gift, and I would not like to waste it on cynicism.
I would much rather get to the train station, where an unlonely lonely person is having a lunchbreak with their thoughtshadow.
Every thought creates a shadow. This is why they take up so much space. It is better to boycott thoughts, if you can afford it. Daisies, for instance, gave up thoughts around the time humans learned to breathe. The daisy saw what thoughts were coming to and said, “Fuck this.” Daisies are quite prudent and wise that way. They still allow thoughts on special occasions, for example, inviting them to tea, but that’s it dammit, then the thoughts have to leave.
People are well behind this evolution. Some think so much they build life-size thoughtshadows that walk talk and pass their lunchbreaks with them.
This lonely unlonely person’s thoughtshadow always wore a charming cowboy hat embossed with floral stitches. The person could only know this from instinct, not observation, but who the hell needs to see any damn hat when you could FEEL the fuckin thing.
“How is your sandwich?” the person asked the thoughtshadow, or the thoughtshadow asked them- it’s difficult to tell with thoughtshadows.
The answer would have been, “Salty but bland, if that’s possible”, but said answer was interrupted by ANOTHER suicide on the train tracks, which didn’t bother this person, not because they were jaded or even heartless, but because their thoughtshadow could talk to departed souls –particularly the newly departed- and always assured its person the dead were just fine. Dandy, in fact. Dandier than daisies. It is after all our thoughts –and our shadows- which plague us, and once we are free from those, well, we are free to RELAX BABE, catch some Z’s, and, most likely, start all over again.
I wouldn’t dare say we MAKE UP our friends, or that our phones –and shadows- tend to replace them, only that making UP friends runs about the same tab as making them, period. The friendliest women maddest men and giddiest genderfluidpersons can make merry with the air of an empty room, even, potentially, laugh with it, yet I know as truly as my own tye-dyed fizzy flesh that these friendly women, giddy genderfluids and mad men can smile so sweet sincere and deep at the exquisite nothingness which comprises Every Thing and still know that fierce firestorm addled ache of a skull expanding in apparent attempt to fill the altogether absence of connection. Yes. Even with these juicy cells jumping in liberated delirium, even with the faith of every forefather on your side, every damn ball in your court every drop of ocean kissing you goodnite, any one soul may look over the side,
and know what it is to hit bottom.