Jon Ureña's Blog, page 50
November 13, 2021
Guitar practice (13-11-2021)
I was recalled to work a couple of days ago. I still feel off. I couldn't focus on writing the next part of my ongoing novel, so I played the guitar instead. Below are the links for the entire session, that I uploaded to YouTube.
I finally managed to record a version of Joanna Newsom's 'Kingfisher', which is one of my favorites to play, particularly the second half of the song.
Guitar practice (13-11-2021), Pt. 1
Guitar practice (13-11-2021), Pt. 2
'Hotel California' by Eagles
(I uploaded HC separately, because it tends to get copyright struck although I'm the one playing it.)
I finally managed to record a version of Joanna Newsom's 'Kingfisher', which is one of my favorites to play, particularly the second half of the song.
Guitar practice (13-11-2021), Pt. 1
Guitar practice (13-11-2021), Pt. 2
'Hotel California' by Eagles
(I uploaded HC separately, because it tends to get copyright struck although I'm the one playing it.)
November 12, 2021
We're Fucked, Pt. 16 (Fiction)
Ramsés' scalp shines over his forehead, where his hair has thinned down to a patchy layer of bristles, as he reviews on his screen the React dashboard I've delivered. My boss squeezes his lower lip and nods repeatedly.
"I see, so the summary lists the infringements of the loaded tachograph data, and the tooltips show the rules and regulations associated with each penalty applied. The tooltips are nested, too. A nice touch."
"I made it so they disappear when the user moves the cursor out of the frame," I add wearily. "If I forced them to click some part of the interface to close those tooltips, they are prone to get confused."
Ramsés narrows his eyes at me as he purses his lips. At least for the length of this meeting, my work is worth paying for.
"I'll play around with it for a while and then send it to the client for review, but I think this is done. Good job, Leire."
I hadn't bothered to sit down; the scarf coiled around my neck, as well as my tired eyes, should dissuade most people from wanting me close, so I get to stand a few feet behind the guest chair. Still, the cigarette smell from Ramsés' breath lingers in the air.
Unless the client complains about minutiae that won't take me long to change, I will get to resolve this ticket when I return to my workstation. As usual, instead of any sense of accomplishment or pride, I'm only rewarded with a relief similar to pulling out a wood splinter from under my nail, and I'm sure that I'll receive a Service Manager notification with another assigned ticket by the end of the day.
I was about to turn around and leave my boss' office when he points at his own neck as if he were the one wearing the scarf.
"Nothing contagious, I'm guessing," he says.
"I doubt it. Just a simple cold. I got hit by cold gusts as I walked back home, and I had grown accustomed to the climatized interior of my car. Because, as I said, I can't use that old Renault of mine any longer."
Despite my weak voice, Ramsés must have interpreted in my words a rebuke of his previous suggestion that I had made up my car's demise to arrive late on purpose, which as far as I'm concerned it only offered an insight into the devious workings of this man's mind. Ramsés smirks and tilts his head.
"Maybe you have chosen to commute by train because you need to keep the excuse going, until likely next week when your car gets fixed, whether or not it was broken in the first place."
I snap my head back as a grimace contorts my features, but I hurry to blow my nose before the opportunist snot runs down further down my face. Ramsés guffaws, which startles me, and he waves a hand dismissively.
"I'm just busting your balls, Leire. Good job with this dashboard, and come see me when you can show me anything solid of that Python contract, alright?"
I fake a smile and leave my boss' office. As soon as I'm out of sight, my jaw clenches shut and I can't lift my gaze from the worn carpet. How come whenever I speak with this guy, I end up wishing I could shove the business end of a shotgun in my mouth and pull the trigger? To be fair, I fantasize about self-termination several times on any given day, but Ramsés knows how to push the buttons that could easily lead to a fatal result. I wish he understood how much pain he causes me just by existing.
As I pass behind Jacqueline to sit at my workstation, I sense that she raises her head seeking my gaze.
"Everything alright?" she asks.
My chair creaks as I plop my ass in it. I fiddle with my notebook and pen to avoid turning my head towards Jacqueline. How long can I keep this up? I feel so pathetic and childish. I should face her and assure her that she won't use me like a toy to bolster her ego. But my back hurts as if I pulled a muscle in my sleep, and I feel the mounting anxiety tingling at my fingertips.
It's only a quarter past ten. I focus on the blinking cursor on Visual Studio Code, that awaits my input. I should lose myself in the pending tickets to forget about my delusions and weird obsessions, but I keep noticing every time Jacqueline shifts her weight in her chair, sighs or clears her throat. Has she pondered about our conversation? What does Jacqueline think about me after I skedaddled from her Audi because I was too weak to face that I had been caught fantasizing about her? Does she intend to mock me because I'm desperate for her to love me? Throughout Jacqueline's life, she has likely obtained most of what she wished. She would never need someone like me. She's definitely not interested in helping somebody overcome their despair through orgasmic release.
I can't bear sharing this office with Jacqueline for more months, or years, so I will have to look for another job. Maybe they'll hire me at one of those big corporations in which rows of anonymous programmers crammed into a cramped office maintain a decades-old legacy system, possibly written in COBOL or BASIC. Back in the day I interviewed for Ibermática, and I recall the HR employee telling me that they handled Kutxa's banking service, as if I should be impressed. I dreamed of getting hired to implement cutting-edge neural networks, or maybe become a part of any local team that developed games using C++, but that dream faded away once I realized that nobody wants an unhinged loner as an employee who might send emails about fearing that she would stab herself with a fork due to stress. Ibermática did offer me a position, but I refused; I figured that if I worked at that corporation, I would get reduced to a nameless, deranged woman in her early twenties that for at least eight hours a day sat between fat slobs who hated their lives so much that they contemplated ending themselves via stabbing or hanging. Somehow I ended up becoming a slob who hates her life, but I remain skinny because I can't cook for shit.
If I got lucky for once, I would get hired by some company that would tell me to sit at an isolated desk, facing a wall. I would only interact with my boss, who would hand over the design documents that I would get paid to implement. I would never register any other coworker's face, so nobody would know me deeply enough to realize that I'm a perverted lunatic obsessed with masturbating as a means of overcoming my despair about my insignificance as a human being trapped within a brain filled with suicidal thoughts.
However, I know how working at any company would end: a random coworker, someone whose face I might not recognize, would catch me crying either in the bathroom or in the hallways, or I would suffer a breakdown that would involve me running out of the office while screaming that I want to die. What well-adjusted member of the workforce would want to deal with someone who might hurt themselves or others? At the most, a kindhearted boss would suggest that I see a psychiatrist, as if those people helped instead of just stealing my hard-earned money while using me as a guinea pig for their drugs. Eventually I would either get fired or they wouldn't renew my contract.
During a pause in which I rub my eyelids and take a deep breath, my shoulders droop, and a foul sensation spreads through my gut. I feel like I've done nothing but suffer because of a curse placed upon me by the gods of the underworld during my birth, that I've only survived so far because I must amuse some sadistic demon from another dimension.
***
Eleven o'clock comes and goes. I've been aching for a coffee boost, but I suspect that Jacqueline expects me to offer meekly to buy her one, like I did yesterday. I intended for her to notice that I wouldn't debase myself any longer, but neither of my coworkers have mentioned coffee. At ten past eleven I've had enough, so I spring to my feet and I stride to the entrance of our office.
I buy a cappuccino from the vending machine. I consider returning to the office and drinking it at my workstation, but I want a break from my coworkers, as well as from human beings in general, so I go outside into the sunlit streets. The day is bright despite a few thick clouds, but the cold turns my breath white when it escapes my lips.
I walk absentmindedly towards a nearby electrical box adjoined to a row of garbage bins. I end up stumbling, and nearly spilling my coffee, because I was about to stomp on a black bunny. No, not a bunny. As the dark creature hops and wobbles around on six legs, I realize that similar entities are hanging out near the garbage bins like kittens wandering close to where their mother left them. One such entity approaches my left sneaker. As it leans in, three holes dilate in a frontal blob, as if it were sniffing me. I hold my breath. I wouldn't be surprised if half of the creature opened wide in a gaping mouth and chomped on my foot. Although I'm looking down wide-eyed at the creature, it remains blurry enough that I can't make out the texture of its skin, as if it could blend into shadows when needed.
The creature was attempting to climb on top of my sneaker when the front door of the office building closes noisily. I find myself staring at Jacqueline, who is heading towards me while she nurses a warm cup of coffee with both hands. She's wearing a velvet cardigan, smoke grey and with a slight sheen, over a low-cut, knee-length drape dress that seems made of satin. Her cleavage is deep enough that it displays the bridge of her bra, but I suppose that all that appetizing fatty tissue shields her against the cold. However, she is warming her long legs with black, translucent winter tights. She gifts me pink smile.
My neck trembles. I want to tear my gaze away, but with my coworker so close, I'd seem childish and weak. My heart has betrayed me as well by fluttering. I can't deny to myself how much I want this woman, although it can only hurt me.
After she reaches me, she greets me warmly and exposes her white teeth again. A few strands of her gleaming, raven black hair fall across her forehead, covering her right eye with shadow. The sunlight accentuates her crow's feet. I guess that at her age I won't be able to disguise them either.
"You must want that cold to develop into pneumonia, huh?" Jacqueline says amiably.
I consider remaining silent, like back in high school when I pretended to be a mute, or I guess retarded enough, so those hormone-addled savages would leave me the fuck alone. I doubt I have progressed much since then. I sip my warm cappuccino as I squint.
"I have been always been drawn to self-destruction. But my snot is already drying up."
The white steam of her breath wafts in my face. It smells minty and fresh. I imagine her sliding a breath mint from her wet tongue to mine.
Jacqueline's gaze warms my cheek, and when I dare hold it, she narrows her eyes affectionately.
"You know it's okay, right?" she asks quietly.
I gulp, then hang my head low. The creature that might have intended to bite off my foot has wobbled away towards the curb. On its way, it stops to avoid colliding with another of its kind that is headed for a trash bin. A few tentacle-like feelers stretch out of the mass of the first entity and wiggle as if to check for danger, but then it ventures forward.
I want to point the creatures out to Jacqueline, but I don't know what would be worse for my mental health: another confirmation that my brain somehow hallucinates these abominations, or the realization that the people around me do see the creatures, but pay them as much attention as they would to doves. I want to sit down on the sidewalk and hug my knees.
"Don't you think... that the world has gotten strange lately?" I ask weakly while I take a deep breath.
Jacqueline lifts her face to the cold breeze, then she drinks half of her coffee.
"For sure. It's never been more bizarre. It's the good kind of weird, though. In many aspects, I've never been happier than nowadays."
She smiles at me with a pearly white grin that reminds me too much of a vampire. I can't tell what she means, and I feel too unhinged for cryptic talk.
"Well, that's good for you, Jacqueline. But... what are we supposed to believe in anymore, when the most unlikely stuff suddenly becomes real?"
She chuckles. I avoid her gaze by looking straight ahead, but before I know it she's standing in front, facing me. My eyes twitch. I can't step back, because I was almost leaning against the wall.
"Your eyes are like saucers," Jacqueline whispers. "So big, and round, and full of wonder."
If Jacqueline stepped forward, her nose would brush mine. Her white, warm breath tickles my cheeks.
"I-I think that's panic."
"You should look up, and not just stare blindly, but really look. Up high, to the sky. Look beyond everything. What's there, in the far distance, in the middle of the universe, is something incredible."
"What the hell are you talking about...?"
"You shouldn't feel ashamed because you have a crush on me," Jacqueline adds in a reassuring tone.
She tilts her pretty chin at me with an air of mock seriousness and a knowing smirk. She must be aware that my heart is beating faster, and I wouldn't be surprised if some sweat dribbled down my temples.
"Y-yeah...? I don't have any control about whether or not I feel ashamed, nor can I control my infatuations." I pause, because my throat is dry and squeaky. "All that's left for me is to try and cope with reality as best as possible."
I have admitted that I'm infatuated with Jacqueline, and I can't take it back. My eyes risk getting watery. I want to run away from this business park, all the way down to the Lugaritz station, maybe to take a train to some city I have never stepped on and where nobody would think to look for me.
Jacqueline touches my free hand gently. My heart thumps and a warm sensation starts spreading throughout my body, but it feels invasive, as if the person who had cheated on me tried to get my sympathy. I pry my gaze away from her cobalt blue eyes and look down at the pavement instead. A few pieces of gum are stuck between the cracks of concrete slabs.
"For some people, getting touched is commonplace," I say in a thin voice, "but for me it feels like a violation of my personal boundaries, and it does dangerous things. Don't touch me if you don't mean it."
She strokes the length of my fingers, caressing the sensitive areas while her eyes twinkle with mischief.
"I can touch you then," Jacqueline whispers.
This woman must have woken up today extra confident and relaxed due to the hard fucking that the tennis player gave her, and that deflates me; I wish Jacqueline belonged to me. She likely couldn't care less about how she affects me when she flirts.
She tilts her coffee cup to gulp the rest of her latte, then she strokes my hand one last time before she lets go. She heads to the entrance of the building while her raven black hair swings with her steps.
I stand there as the October air cools the warmth that Jacqueline had imprinted on my skin. The aberrations I had mistaken for bunnies keep meandering between the garbage bins and the asphalt of the parking lot. They seem to enjoy their freedom to roam.
Jacqueline might have only used me to pump up her ego, but a fleeting moment of bliss can sustain me for the rest of the day in a similar way that abusing my clit does, even if it means fuck all.
"I see, so the summary lists the infringements of the loaded tachograph data, and the tooltips show the rules and regulations associated with each penalty applied. The tooltips are nested, too. A nice touch."
"I made it so they disappear when the user moves the cursor out of the frame," I add wearily. "If I forced them to click some part of the interface to close those tooltips, they are prone to get confused."
Ramsés narrows his eyes at me as he purses his lips. At least for the length of this meeting, my work is worth paying for.
"I'll play around with it for a while and then send it to the client for review, but I think this is done. Good job, Leire."
I hadn't bothered to sit down; the scarf coiled around my neck, as well as my tired eyes, should dissuade most people from wanting me close, so I get to stand a few feet behind the guest chair. Still, the cigarette smell from Ramsés' breath lingers in the air.
Unless the client complains about minutiae that won't take me long to change, I will get to resolve this ticket when I return to my workstation. As usual, instead of any sense of accomplishment or pride, I'm only rewarded with a relief similar to pulling out a wood splinter from under my nail, and I'm sure that I'll receive a Service Manager notification with another assigned ticket by the end of the day.
I was about to turn around and leave my boss' office when he points at his own neck as if he were the one wearing the scarf.
"Nothing contagious, I'm guessing," he says.
"I doubt it. Just a simple cold. I got hit by cold gusts as I walked back home, and I had grown accustomed to the climatized interior of my car. Because, as I said, I can't use that old Renault of mine any longer."
Despite my weak voice, Ramsés must have interpreted in my words a rebuke of his previous suggestion that I had made up my car's demise to arrive late on purpose, which as far as I'm concerned it only offered an insight into the devious workings of this man's mind. Ramsés smirks and tilts his head.
"Maybe you have chosen to commute by train because you need to keep the excuse going, until likely next week when your car gets fixed, whether or not it was broken in the first place."
I snap my head back as a grimace contorts my features, but I hurry to blow my nose before the opportunist snot runs down further down my face. Ramsés guffaws, which startles me, and he waves a hand dismissively.
"I'm just busting your balls, Leire. Good job with this dashboard, and come see me when you can show me anything solid of that Python contract, alright?"
I fake a smile and leave my boss' office. As soon as I'm out of sight, my jaw clenches shut and I can't lift my gaze from the worn carpet. How come whenever I speak with this guy, I end up wishing I could shove the business end of a shotgun in my mouth and pull the trigger? To be fair, I fantasize about self-termination several times on any given day, but Ramsés knows how to push the buttons that could easily lead to a fatal result. I wish he understood how much pain he causes me just by existing.
As I pass behind Jacqueline to sit at my workstation, I sense that she raises her head seeking my gaze.
"Everything alright?" she asks.
My chair creaks as I plop my ass in it. I fiddle with my notebook and pen to avoid turning my head towards Jacqueline. How long can I keep this up? I feel so pathetic and childish. I should face her and assure her that she won't use me like a toy to bolster her ego. But my back hurts as if I pulled a muscle in my sleep, and I feel the mounting anxiety tingling at my fingertips.
It's only a quarter past ten. I focus on the blinking cursor on Visual Studio Code, that awaits my input. I should lose myself in the pending tickets to forget about my delusions and weird obsessions, but I keep noticing every time Jacqueline shifts her weight in her chair, sighs or clears her throat. Has she pondered about our conversation? What does Jacqueline think about me after I skedaddled from her Audi because I was too weak to face that I had been caught fantasizing about her? Does she intend to mock me because I'm desperate for her to love me? Throughout Jacqueline's life, she has likely obtained most of what she wished. She would never need someone like me. She's definitely not interested in helping somebody overcome their despair through orgasmic release.
I can't bear sharing this office with Jacqueline for more months, or years, so I will have to look for another job. Maybe they'll hire me at one of those big corporations in which rows of anonymous programmers crammed into a cramped office maintain a decades-old legacy system, possibly written in COBOL or BASIC. Back in the day I interviewed for Ibermática, and I recall the HR employee telling me that they handled Kutxa's banking service, as if I should be impressed. I dreamed of getting hired to implement cutting-edge neural networks, or maybe become a part of any local team that developed games using C++, but that dream faded away once I realized that nobody wants an unhinged loner as an employee who might send emails about fearing that she would stab herself with a fork due to stress. Ibermática did offer me a position, but I refused; I figured that if I worked at that corporation, I would get reduced to a nameless, deranged woman in her early twenties that for at least eight hours a day sat between fat slobs who hated their lives so much that they contemplated ending themselves via stabbing or hanging. Somehow I ended up becoming a slob who hates her life, but I remain skinny because I can't cook for shit.
If I got lucky for once, I would get hired by some company that would tell me to sit at an isolated desk, facing a wall. I would only interact with my boss, who would hand over the design documents that I would get paid to implement. I would never register any other coworker's face, so nobody would know me deeply enough to realize that I'm a perverted lunatic obsessed with masturbating as a means of overcoming my despair about my insignificance as a human being trapped within a brain filled with suicidal thoughts.
However, I know how working at any company would end: a random coworker, someone whose face I might not recognize, would catch me crying either in the bathroom or in the hallways, or I would suffer a breakdown that would involve me running out of the office while screaming that I want to die. What well-adjusted member of the workforce would want to deal with someone who might hurt themselves or others? At the most, a kindhearted boss would suggest that I see a psychiatrist, as if those people helped instead of just stealing my hard-earned money while using me as a guinea pig for their drugs. Eventually I would either get fired or they wouldn't renew my contract.
During a pause in which I rub my eyelids and take a deep breath, my shoulders droop, and a foul sensation spreads through my gut. I feel like I've done nothing but suffer because of a curse placed upon me by the gods of the underworld during my birth, that I've only survived so far because I must amuse some sadistic demon from another dimension.
***
Eleven o'clock comes and goes. I've been aching for a coffee boost, but I suspect that Jacqueline expects me to offer meekly to buy her one, like I did yesterday. I intended for her to notice that I wouldn't debase myself any longer, but neither of my coworkers have mentioned coffee. At ten past eleven I've had enough, so I spring to my feet and I stride to the entrance of our office.
I buy a cappuccino from the vending machine. I consider returning to the office and drinking it at my workstation, but I want a break from my coworkers, as well as from human beings in general, so I go outside into the sunlit streets. The day is bright despite a few thick clouds, but the cold turns my breath white when it escapes my lips.
I walk absentmindedly towards a nearby electrical box adjoined to a row of garbage bins. I end up stumbling, and nearly spilling my coffee, because I was about to stomp on a black bunny. No, not a bunny. As the dark creature hops and wobbles around on six legs, I realize that similar entities are hanging out near the garbage bins like kittens wandering close to where their mother left them. One such entity approaches my left sneaker. As it leans in, three holes dilate in a frontal blob, as if it were sniffing me. I hold my breath. I wouldn't be surprised if half of the creature opened wide in a gaping mouth and chomped on my foot. Although I'm looking down wide-eyed at the creature, it remains blurry enough that I can't make out the texture of its skin, as if it could blend into shadows when needed.
The creature was attempting to climb on top of my sneaker when the front door of the office building closes noisily. I find myself staring at Jacqueline, who is heading towards me while she nurses a warm cup of coffee with both hands. She's wearing a velvet cardigan, smoke grey and with a slight sheen, over a low-cut, knee-length drape dress that seems made of satin. Her cleavage is deep enough that it displays the bridge of her bra, but I suppose that all that appetizing fatty tissue shields her against the cold. However, she is warming her long legs with black, translucent winter tights. She gifts me pink smile.
My neck trembles. I want to tear my gaze away, but with my coworker so close, I'd seem childish and weak. My heart has betrayed me as well by fluttering. I can't deny to myself how much I want this woman, although it can only hurt me.
After she reaches me, she greets me warmly and exposes her white teeth again. A few strands of her gleaming, raven black hair fall across her forehead, covering her right eye with shadow. The sunlight accentuates her crow's feet. I guess that at her age I won't be able to disguise them either.
"You must want that cold to develop into pneumonia, huh?" Jacqueline says amiably.
I consider remaining silent, like back in high school when I pretended to be a mute, or I guess retarded enough, so those hormone-addled savages would leave me the fuck alone. I doubt I have progressed much since then. I sip my warm cappuccino as I squint.
"I have been always been drawn to self-destruction. But my snot is already drying up."
The white steam of her breath wafts in my face. It smells minty and fresh. I imagine her sliding a breath mint from her wet tongue to mine.
Jacqueline's gaze warms my cheek, and when I dare hold it, she narrows her eyes affectionately.
"You know it's okay, right?" she asks quietly.
I gulp, then hang my head low. The creature that might have intended to bite off my foot has wobbled away towards the curb. On its way, it stops to avoid colliding with another of its kind that is headed for a trash bin. A few tentacle-like feelers stretch out of the mass of the first entity and wiggle as if to check for danger, but then it ventures forward.
I want to point the creatures out to Jacqueline, but I don't know what would be worse for my mental health: another confirmation that my brain somehow hallucinates these abominations, or the realization that the people around me do see the creatures, but pay them as much attention as they would to doves. I want to sit down on the sidewalk and hug my knees.
"Don't you think... that the world has gotten strange lately?" I ask weakly while I take a deep breath.
Jacqueline lifts her face to the cold breeze, then she drinks half of her coffee.
"For sure. It's never been more bizarre. It's the good kind of weird, though. In many aspects, I've never been happier than nowadays."
She smiles at me with a pearly white grin that reminds me too much of a vampire. I can't tell what she means, and I feel too unhinged for cryptic talk.
"Well, that's good for you, Jacqueline. But... what are we supposed to believe in anymore, when the most unlikely stuff suddenly becomes real?"
She chuckles. I avoid her gaze by looking straight ahead, but before I know it she's standing in front, facing me. My eyes twitch. I can't step back, because I was almost leaning against the wall.
"Your eyes are like saucers," Jacqueline whispers. "So big, and round, and full of wonder."
If Jacqueline stepped forward, her nose would brush mine. Her white, warm breath tickles my cheeks.
"I-I think that's panic."
"You should look up, and not just stare blindly, but really look. Up high, to the sky. Look beyond everything. What's there, in the far distance, in the middle of the universe, is something incredible."
"What the hell are you talking about...?"
"You shouldn't feel ashamed because you have a crush on me," Jacqueline adds in a reassuring tone.
She tilts her pretty chin at me with an air of mock seriousness and a knowing smirk. She must be aware that my heart is beating faster, and I wouldn't be surprised if some sweat dribbled down my temples.
"Y-yeah...? I don't have any control about whether or not I feel ashamed, nor can I control my infatuations." I pause, because my throat is dry and squeaky. "All that's left for me is to try and cope with reality as best as possible."
I have admitted that I'm infatuated with Jacqueline, and I can't take it back. My eyes risk getting watery. I want to run away from this business park, all the way down to the Lugaritz station, maybe to take a train to some city I have never stepped on and where nobody would think to look for me.
Jacqueline touches my free hand gently. My heart thumps and a warm sensation starts spreading throughout my body, but it feels invasive, as if the person who had cheated on me tried to get my sympathy. I pry my gaze away from her cobalt blue eyes and look down at the pavement instead. A few pieces of gum are stuck between the cracks of concrete slabs.
"For some people, getting touched is commonplace," I say in a thin voice, "but for me it feels like a violation of my personal boundaries, and it does dangerous things. Don't touch me if you don't mean it."
She strokes the length of my fingers, caressing the sensitive areas while her eyes twinkle with mischief.
"I can touch you then," Jacqueline whispers.
This woman must have woken up today extra confident and relaxed due to the hard fucking that the tennis player gave her, and that deflates me; I wish Jacqueline belonged to me. She likely couldn't care less about how she affects me when she flirts.
She tilts her coffee cup to gulp the rest of her latte, then she strokes my hand one last time before she lets go. She heads to the entrance of the building while her raven black hair swings with her steps.
I stand there as the October air cools the warmth that Jacqueline had imprinted on my skin. The aberrations I had mistaken for bunnies keep meandering between the garbage bins and the asphalt of the parking lot. They seem to enjoy their freedom to roam.
Jacqueline might have only used me to pump up her ego, but a fleeting moment of bliss can sustain me for the rest of the day in a similar way that abusing my clit does, even if it means fuck all.
November 11, 2021
We're Fucked, Pt. 15 (Fiction)
Link to this part on my personal site, where it looks better
Note from the author: I've been recalled to work. Today I endured through the usual first day of every contract: I had only managed to sleep for about an hour, so I have spent a whole workday fighting against my drowsiness while navigating through the interactions with numerous coworkers who seemingly believe I must be doing great now that I'm back at the office. My IBS has acted up worse than usual; my gut has churned and burned for the entire morning, forcing me to sneak away to the bathroom like twelve times. I wish I could transfer my mind to a robot body, because this rotten corpse I inhabit has long reached its expiration date.
In any case, I have most of this novel planned out, and I intend to continue writing it until I finish, but I suspect that the periodicity of new entries will suffer, and possibly the quality of the texts as well. But I'm assuming that anyone is actually reading this stuff, that the few likes I get aren't just people wanting to steer attention to their own sites. In any case, I need to write to escape from the waking nightmares.
---
Jacqueline's licorice black mouth smiles at me as she stands with her back against a cliff, on a background of clouds that drift like cotton balls. Her gleaming hair flows gently down past her bare shoulders, and her breasts overflow from the cups of her sleeveless, lace nightgown. I can't look away from her cobalt blue eyes as she steps closer and wraps her hands around my back, squeezing our chests together tightly. Her scent fills my nostrils: a mix of flowers and citrus and a hint of manly muskiness that she exudes from between her legs.
When her fingers dig into my back with a fierce grip between tender affection and painful pressure, it shoots an electric shock throughout my nervous system. I shudder. Her pouty lips brush against mine softly, but then she presses hard as she cups the back of my head and forces open my mouth with hers. Her tongue slips out of her wet mouth to share her saliva, and it tastes like lemon juice and sugar syrup.
Jacqueline pulls me towards her so we tumble backwards off the cliff. We fall together into a freezing abyss lined with razor-sharp rocks and jagged, unforgiving spikes made of crystal glass. Jacqueline protects me in her firm embrace, a cocoon which shields me from the spikes that lacerate her flesh, cutting through skin and muscle tissue, as we plunge deeper and deeper.
When we crash at the bottom, the impact sends huge chunks of dirt and rock flying everywhere. A landslide of rubble and debris buries us alive beneath tons of sand and soil and mud and gravel. An opaque darkness has engulfed me. My screams echo inside my head, but Jacqueline keeps holding me tightly as my lungs fill up with silt and grit, choking me slowly to death.
I wake up with a start. My face is drenched in sweat, my heart pounds like a steam engine in overdrive. As I catch my breath, I stare wide-eyed at the darkened ceiling of my bedroom. I roll over towards my nightstand to check my phone. Four in the morning, two hours before my alarm blares. Although my window is closed and I have rolled down the blinds, I hear the ruckus of a drunken fight coming from a nearby street, as well as a dog that barks incessantly.
I sit on the toilet to pee while I rub my face with a towel. At least it's Friday, so I can look forward to lazing around until Monday comes and I start anew.
***
The sunrise has tinted the numerous clouds tangerine orange as I approach the parking lot of our two-story office building. My legs tingle from the laborious exercise that trudging all the way up to this business park represents for my neglected body, and every five minutes I have been blowing my runny nose. I've caught a cold, I guess because I only warmed myself with a hoodie when I trekked back home in a windy October day, but at least this nasty cold allows me to justify why a scarf hides my neck. Jacqueline would notice the line of four puncture wounds, and I intend to avoid my coworker for the foreseeable future.
The office waits empty for me, as it has always done when I arrive fifteen minutes before the workday starts. I only hear a muffled buzzing of electricity in the walls and cars passing by outside. After I sit at the long, porcelain white table, I switch on my computer and I think how much more comfortably, and productively, I would work if I didn't have to share my space with other human beings. If most people felt as anxious as I do in the presence of others, we would likely work remotely and communicate only through email, which would deprive me of the opportunity to gaze upon some delicious pair of large breasts that would drag me down a spiral of lust and obsession.
As I blow my nose with my left hand and open Outlook with the other, Spike announces his arrival with an explosion of fetid air and an abrupt clatter of hooves. I glimpse at the reflection of his bulging, black eyes in my monitor. Drool is dribbling down his chin and hangs off his jawline with gravity and weighty significance.
"Good morning, you walking disaster," I say in a hyponasal voice due to the blockage.
"Are you doing okay, Leire?"
I look over my shoulder. The horse is standing close enough that his breath, as pleasant as the effluvia emanating from rotting organic material in a landfill, warms my face. I sneeze. Although I have warmed up to this beast, I should remember that his ugliness is an infection that can contaminate healthy tissues like cancer cells, and no amount of medication would be able to relieve that pain.
"Is that why you decided to visit me so early in the morning? To check on me?"
Spike nods. An expression of deep concern passes across the horse's grotesque features.
"I can't help but worry about your health after what happened yesterday."
"My brain feels like a balloon with a hole punched in it, but I will pull through, probably. Thank you in any case."
"Good. I won't insist anymore today, I think... You should take care of yourself and get better soon, then maybe we'll go see a movie together, play a board game, or something."
"That might as well happen."
Spike turns towards the entrance on his hind legs, as carefully as if he were operating heavy machinery. His grey tail was swishing when the horse vanishes along with its stink into another dimension, whatever else is out there waiting to swallow us all whole if we don't stay sane. I find myself smiling. The rotten recess of my brain that generates this abomination must care enough to want me to remain alive and functional despite everything. I could have sworn that at this point every cell in my body would be begging for the oblivion of death.
Jordi and Jacqueline telegraph their arrival by filling the office with their prattle, too loud for such an early hour. I straighten my back, although my shoulders get narrower by themselves as if I were about to walk in the rain. I should remember that I don't get paid to interact with them. I will focus on programming through my tickets while avoiding any distraction.
Jordi is wearing another black and white outfit, as if every day he expected to be interviewed for a job as an assistant.
"That's one bulky scarf," he says while he sits down. "Ah, you caught a cold, it seems."
Our friendly intern always tries his best. I can't fault him for interacting with me although I'd prefer to be left alone. I force myself to hold his gaze and smile wanly.
"Yeah, I was used to how cozy it felt inside my car, at least when it refrained from trying to murder me like a rabid dog and instead just sat still and behaved itself."
Jordi returns my smile as he takes off his glasses and cleans them with a handkerchief before putting them back on his thin face. His eyes are as red as fresh blood and glow with an inner fire despite being surrounded with a pallid mask of skin and flesh.
I can tell that Jacqueline has swiveled her chair towards me, because her gaze is piercing the back of my head, but I pretend that I have received an email that requires my full attention.
"Good morning, Leire," Jacqueline says with her slight French accent.
Her cadence had relayed that she understands I'm avoiding her. Jacqueline should remain for me a shapely blob at the edge of my vision, even if I sacrifice gazing upon those motherly breasts ever again, so I won't face her smirk and tilt of her chin up in acknowledgement of the fact that she's making progress with breaking in and gaining control of some part of my soul that she can use against me later. I already knew that I'm defenseless as a child. I must steer clear of predators.
Even the most gorgeous bodies contain the seeds of decay and rot hidden beneath layers of glamour and youthfulness, like maggots burrowing under their flesh to emerge at nightfall from the inevitable corpse those people are destined to become. Everyone is at the most a few decades away from a gruesome end as a pile of bones and excrement, and any notion that loses sight of that fact is a whisper of self-delusion.
"Yes, hi," I reply in a thin voice, then I blow my nose.
Note from the author: I've been recalled to work. Today I endured through the usual first day of every contract: I had only managed to sleep for about an hour, so I have spent a whole workday fighting against my drowsiness while navigating through the interactions with numerous coworkers who seemingly believe I must be doing great now that I'm back at the office. My IBS has acted up worse than usual; my gut has churned and burned for the entire morning, forcing me to sneak away to the bathroom like twelve times. I wish I could transfer my mind to a robot body, because this rotten corpse I inhabit has long reached its expiration date.
In any case, I have most of this novel planned out, and I intend to continue writing it until I finish, but I suspect that the periodicity of new entries will suffer, and possibly the quality of the texts as well. But I'm assuming that anyone is actually reading this stuff, that the few likes I get aren't just people wanting to steer attention to their own sites. In any case, I need to write to escape from the waking nightmares.
---
Jacqueline's licorice black mouth smiles at me as she stands with her back against a cliff, on a background of clouds that drift like cotton balls. Her gleaming hair flows gently down past her bare shoulders, and her breasts overflow from the cups of her sleeveless, lace nightgown. I can't look away from her cobalt blue eyes as she steps closer and wraps her hands around my back, squeezing our chests together tightly. Her scent fills my nostrils: a mix of flowers and citrus and a hint of manly muskiness that she exudes from between her legs.
When her fingers dig into my back with a fierce grip between tender affection and painful pressure, it shoots an electric shock throughout my nervous system. I shudder. Her pouty lips brush against mine softly, but then she presses hard as she cups the back of my head and forces open my mouth with hers. Her tongue slips out of her wet mouth to share her saliva, and it tastes like lemon juice and sugar syrup.
Jacqueline pulls me towards her so we tumble backwards off the cliff. We fall together into a freezing abyss lined with razor-sharp rocks and jagged, unforgiving spikes made of crystal glass. Jacqueline protects me in her firm embrace, a cocoon which shields me from the spikes that lacerate her flesh, cutting through skin and muscle tissue, as we plunge deeper and deeper.
When we crash at the bottom, the impact sends huge chunks of dirt and rock flying everywhere. A landslide of rubble and debris buries us alive beneath tons of sand and soil and mud and gravel. An opaque darkness has engulfed me. My screams echo inside my head, but Jacqueline keeps holding me tightly as my lungs fill up with silt and grit, choking me slowly to death.
I wake up with a start. My face is drenched in sweat, my heart pounds like a steam engine in overdrive. As I catch my breath, I stare wide-eyed at the darkened ceiling of my bedroom. I roll over towards my nightstand to check my phone. Four in the morning, two hours before my alarm blares. Although my window is closed and I have rolled down the blinds, I hear the ruckus of a drunken fight coming from a nearby street, as well as a dog that barks incessantly.
I sit on the toilet to pee while I rub my face with a towel. At least it's Friday, so I can look forward to lazing around until Monday comes and I start anew.
***
The sunrise has tinted the numerous clouds tangerine orange as I approach the parking lot of our two-story office building. My legs tingle from the laborious exercise that trudging all the way up to this business park represents for my neglected body, and every five minutes I have been blowing my runny nose. I've caught a cold, I guess because I only warmed myself with a hoodie when I trekked back home in a windy October day, but at least this nasty cold allows me to justify why a scarf hides my neck. Jacqueline would notice the line of four puncture wounds, and I intend to avoid my coworker for the foreseeable future.
The office waits empty for me, as it has always done when I arrive fifteen minutes before the workday starts. I only hear a muffled buzzing of electricity in the walls and cars passing by outside. After I sit at the long, porcelain white table, I switch on my computer and I think how much more comfortably, and productively, I would work if I didn't have to share my space with other human beings. If most people felt as anxious as I do in the presence of others, we would likely work remotely and communicate only through email, which would deprive me of the opportunity to gaze upon some delicious pair of large breasts that would drag me down a spiral of lust and obsession.
As I blow my nose with my left hand and open Outlook with the other, Spike announces his arrival with an explosion of fetid air and an abrupt clatter of hooves. I glimpse at the reflection of his bulging, black eyes in my monitor. Drool is dribbling down his chin and hangs off his jawline with gravity and weighty significance.
"Good morning, you walking disaster," I say in a hyponasal voice due to the blockage.
"Are you doing okay, Leire?"
I look over my shoulder. The horse is standing close enough that his breath, as pleasant as the effluvia emanating from rotting organic material in a landfill, warms my face. I sneeze. Although I have warmed up to this beast, I should remember that his ugliness is an infection that can contaminate healthy tissues like cancer cells, and no amount of medication would be able to relieve that pain.
"Is that why you decided to visit me so early in the morning? To check on me?"
Spike nods. An expression of deep concern passes across the horse's grotesque features.
"I can't help but worry about your health after what happened yesterday."
"My brain feels like a balloon with a hole punched in it, but I will pull through, probably. Thank you in any case."
"Good. I won't insist anymore today, I think... You should take care of yourself and get better soon, then maybe we'll go see a movie together, play a board game, or something."
"That might as well happen."
Spike turns towards the entrance on his hind legs, as carefully as if he were operating heavy machinery. His grey tail was swishing when the horse vanishes along with its stink into another dimension, whatever else is out there waiting to swallow us all whole if we don't stay sane. I find myself smiling. The rotten recess of my brain that generates this abomination must care enough to want me to remain alive and functional despite everything. I could have sworn that at this point every cell in my body would be begging for the oblivion of death.
Jordi and Jacqueline telegraph their arrival by filling the office with their prattle, too loud for such an early hour. I straighten my back, although my shoulders get narrower by themselves as if I were about to walk in the rain. I should remember that I don't get paid to interact with them. I will focus on programming through my tickets while avoiding any distraction.
Jordi is wearing another black and white outfit, as if every day he expected to be interviewed for a job as an assistant.
"That's one bulky scarf," he says while he sits down. "Ah, you caught a cold, it seems."
Our friendly intern always tries his best. I can't fault him for interacting with me although I'd prefer to be left alone. I force myself to hold his gaze and smile wanly.
"Yeah, I was used to how cozy it felt inside my car, at least when it refrained from trying to murder me like a rabid dog and instead just sat still and behaved itself."
Jordi returns my smile as he takes off his glasses and cleans them with a handkerchief before putting them back on his thin face. His eyes are as red as fresh blood and glow with an inner fire despite being surrounded with a pallid mask of skin and flesh.
I can tell that Jacqueline has swiveled her chair towards me, because her gaze is piercing the back of my head, but I pretend that I have received an email that requires my full attention.
"Good morning, Leire," Jacqueline says with her slight French accent.
Her cadence had relayed that she understands I'm avoiding her. Jacqueline should remain for me a shapely blob at the edge of my vision, even if I sacrifice gazing upon those motherly breasts ever again, so I won't face her smirk and tilt of her chin up in acknowledgement of the fact that she's making progress with breaking in and gaining control of some part of my soul that she can use against me later. I already knew that I'm defenseless as a child. I must steer clear of predators.
Even the most gorgeous bodies contain the seeds of decay and rot hidden beneath layers of glamour and youthfulness, like maggots burrowing under their flesh to emerge at nightfall from the inevitable corpse those people are destined to become. Everyone is at the most a few decades away from a gruesome end as a pile of bones and excrement, and any notion that loses sight of that fact is a whisper of self-delusion.
"Yes, hi," I reply in a thin voice, then I blow my nose.
November 8, 2021
Revised: 'The Princess of the Gutter'
Back when I was revising my latest full novel (first in English), I rearranged all my poetry into three books, because I intended to upload them to online retailers as ebooks eventually.
I have been going through each of the poems contained in the first of those books, to revise them, update their punctuation and expand them if seemingly necessary. This time I had to handle my poem 'The Princess of the Gutter', about my experiences failing to keep jobs and ending up hanging out at a center for adults with disabilities.
I had uploaded this poem in a worse state than I expected, so it has required a significant revision. However, I only expanded it by a couple of sentences.
Link to the updated poem: The Princess of the Gutter
I have been going through each of the poems contained in the first of those books, to revise them, update their punctuation and expand them if seemingly necessary. This time I had to handle my poem 'The Princess of the Gutter', about my experiences failing to keep jobs and ending up hanging out at a center for adults with disabilities.
I had uploaded this poem in a worse state than I expected, so it has required a significant revision. However, I only expanded it by a couple of sentences.
Link to the updated poem: The Princess of the Gutter
November 7, 2021
We're Fucked, Pt. 14 (Fiction)
Link to this part on my personal page, where it looks better
---
The cold of October seeps through the fabric of my hoodie and penetrates the pores of my skin as the breeze blows my hair around my face. The smell of wet leaves and damp earth permeates the air, and a chilly darkness is settling over the city. I keep sniffling and fidgeting. I wish I could rock back and forth as if possessed, but I'm sitting on a hard bench between two women burdened with shopping bags, and I'm surrounded by a throng of people that wait to board the train to Irún. I feel like everyone is staring at me.
I never wanted to hear about Jacqueline's sexual escapades. Didn't I tell her as much, back when they dragged me to that packed restaurant for lunch? She only intended to hurt me, like everyone else does. That woman is a beautiful, ruthless predator without any qualms about devouring anyone around her to preserve and increase her power and status. She feasts upon their flesh and bones while slurping down their blood, then she pisses them out into empty wine bottles that she uses to decorate her apartment. If she ends up with nothing but dust and ashes, she'll move back to France and start again.
How could I remain so naïve, when everything had conspired against me and everyone was trying to destroy me for reasons beyond comprehension, until they finally succeeded in poisoning my mind to make room for something new inside me, something foreign, malevolent, and hungry for human souls? Still, throughout the years I became obsessed with a few unlucky people, although I knew deep down that none of them suited me, or would want anything to do with a mentally unstable woman that constantly makes a fool of herself and has lost the ability to distinguish between fantasy and reality.
I hold my head in my hands and I keep my eyes closed until I hear the train's clacking wheels as it pulls into our platform. I jump up. As soon as some passengers exit, I hurry inside and find an empty seat in a group of four. I press my thighs together to avoid any contact with the middle-aged guy sitting to my left, whose right knee is jiggling up and down as he stares at his phone screen in a trance. When the doors of the carriage swing shut, a wave of heat suffuses the air inside.
I focus on the passing scenery as I swat any thought of Jacqueline away from my mind, or of my future prospects as a burned-out programmer who is barely sane. I find myself overlooking the large sports center of Fanderia, with its two football fields and tennis courts. Thankfully nobody is playing tennis in this cold night; otherwise, I'd have to jump down there and wring their necks.
I shouldn't give my brain the opportunity to lose itself in daydreams. From now on I'll always bring my ebook reader along. I haven't read a novel in years. I used to love reading when I was younger, but once I started working as a programmer, other people's fantasies began feeling too far removed from the reality of computer bugs and deadlines. Perhaps focusing on the troubles of made-up people will help me overcome my despair, or at least alleviate some of my boredom.
I get off the train at the central station in Irún. I climb the stairs and emerge into the Colón promenade, that teems with pedestrians that hurry home after work, or return from shopping trips. I walk along the bridge and gaze down at the rail yard that continues into France among gravel and weeds. The gusts keep making my hood flap around. My fingers are stiffening, my nose running.
Once I cross the tiny San Miguel plaza and reach the nearby market, at the end of the street appears the shitty, working-class apartment building where I live. As I drag my feet towards it, I gaze at the available view of Mount Jaizkibel, arched like a horse's back and featuring two stripes of deforested land that reach to the top, to prevent fires from spreading.
I walk up to my apartment and I hurry to unlock the door as if I was being followed. After I enter my cramped nest and I push the door closed with my back, I sigh as I stare at the egg nog yellow wall of the hallway. This place never felt like a home, but its walls shield me from the outside world, allowing my body to finally give up for the day. White noise is running through my legs as a drowsiness threatens to overwhelm me.
After I pee, I put on my flannel pajamas and a tracksuit jacket for the cold, then I shuffle to the living room, where I plop down on the sofa. My gaze falls upon the pile of board games that occupies the gap in the birch wood cabinet where the previous tenants, an elderly couple judging by the paintings they left behind, likely set up the television. Terraforming Mars, Renegade, Core Worlds, Fire in the Lake. Half of those boxes remain wrapped in plastic. Part of the joy of buying board games, and that sometimes I miss more than playing them, involved waiting for the delivery person to ring my doorbell. Unfortunately, some ended up calling me during the workday, because they didn't bother to read the delivery instructions.
I wish I retained enough energy to lose myself in the mechanics of one of those games, but I would be evading my homework. I need to download a couple of books about Python's updated features so I can cease looking up code snippets on Google for every function, to develop that nasty contract that my boss secured. Still, does anybody pay me for the extra research? I doubt I deserve to rest, but I need it desperately.
My back slides down the cushions until the armrest holds my head. I yawn loudly. A wave of exhaustion is engulfing my mind, threatening to pull me under its dark waters. Surely I can close my eyes for a moment. Once I open then again, I will make my bed, mop the floors, wash the pile of dirty dishes in the sink, clean the bathroom...
I open my eyes. Where am I? My saliva tastes foul, and stale drool has sticked to my chin. Slowly, I sit upright and reach for my phone, that I placed on the coffee table. It's half past eight.
I wipe my mouth with a crumpled tissue. I'm dizzy and disoriented as if half of my brain remains asleep. I want to lie back down and sleep away my sorrows and worries, but I should fill my stomach with some food, if only because I won't recover otherwise.
Once I stand up and I stagger around, I smell a hint of horse manure and old urine. The wind has picked up and is rattling the windows. I hold my breath to avoid inhaling any horse-related particles. My ears perk up. I'm getting used to this eerie sense that someone disgusting is staring at me out of nowhere.
"Is that you, Spike?" I ask in a raspy voice.
A noxious stench envelops me, like that of a corpse that's been left to rot in a swamp for weeks.
"You were looking for me?" the horse asks.
I turn around and flinch, as I find myself looking up at the imposing frame of a towering horse standing on its hind legs. That pair of retracted, atrophied forelegs detracts from the terror of his appearance. Under the yellow light of the living room, Spike's elongated head is a mass of scars, and his mane is matted with thick, oily clumps of hair that resemble a tangle of filthy pubic hairs. He's already dripping drool from his muzzle onto the hardwood floor. His belly hangs between his legs like a pregnant woman's.
I wish I owned a bathtub, so I could fill it with warm water and scrub myself clean of this horrid stench of rotten flesh.
"Spike, your body odor reminds me that one of these days I'll have to take out the trash," I say. "What do you want with me?"
When this fucker draws his lips back to speak, he shows me his sharp, jagged teeth, like filed piano keys that have been smeared with butter. His throat emits an awful noise that makes my skin crawl, as if his vocal cords were made of iron bars that scrape against each other.
"I keep telling you, Leire. I need you to listen to something important."
I sigh. Spike's long, grey tail lolls over his hooves like an empty fur coat or a hairy, hollow penis in place of the one that this horse monster lacks.
"Again with that nonsense? Well, that's your problem. I'm going to prepare dinner."
As I walk to the kitchen, a clack of hooves follows me. Flies are crawling over the dirty dishes and cups that have filled the sink, and a sour, pungent smell is coming out of the trash bin. My shoulders droop. The effort to clean the kitchen alone would drain me dry.
"Your apartment is a disaster zone," Spike says in a low rumble.
His words sting. My hand was hovering over the handle of the fridge, but I stop to glare at him over my shoulder.
"If it bothers you that much, clean it yourself! And you are one to talk!"
"Ever heard of the broken windows theory?" Spike asks.
"I doubt it, but don't worry. Although there must be plenty of viruses and bacteria floating in the air, most of them are small enough to be filtered by the particles in the atmosphere and dispersed into the wind before they can reach our lungs or bloodstreams."
"Many must have landed on the rotting organic material, and they are multiplying rapidly now that they can feed on that stuff."
What the hell is this horse talking about? Why is he always making up weird shit? I shake my head as I look at the mostly empty shelves of my fridge, where some moldy vegetables and yogurt lurk in their containers. I had intended to prepare some bacon and eggs, but I guess I ran out of eggs at some point, and the remaining bacon smells rancid and spoiled. I need to buy more food soon and get rid of all this junk in my cupboards and freezer, but merely envisioning the trip tires me. Oh well. Thankfully, the slices of serrano ham don't stink.
As the ham sizzles in the pan, I feel Spike judging me with those bulging, black eyes, so I run water on my dirty dishes and I scrub them until they shine again. The flies buzz angrily around me.
"Is His Eminence happy now?" I ask mockingly as I turn around to face Spike. "Hey, don't lean your haunches against my dining table! If I find a shit smear anywhere in my house, I'll fucking bash you!"
Spike lifts his snout sharply, as if I caught him lost in thought.
"Sorry."
A fly lands on my nose. I shudder, then I swat at it repeatedly.
"Stop apologizing over and over. It makes you look weak."
I carry my plate with fried slices of ham, as well as a glass of milk, to the living room, and I settle down on the sofa. I poke into a slice with the fork, but as I lift it towards my mouth, I find myself staring at Spike, who observes me casually from a few feet away. I must have gotten used enough to his horrid horse stench for me to think about shoving food into my mouth.
"Do you have to stare at me like that while I'm eating, Spike?!" I snap at the horse monster, who is still drooling. "Check out all those board games sitting in piles of dust! They are aching for someone to set them up, which can take up to half an hour, or even more in the case of Anachrony!"
"I would enjoy playing board games with you, but I can't hold the pieces," he laments.
I frown at the horse monster as I chew the salty and fatty meat. He continues to gape at me with a creepy stare from that pair of dead fish eyes. His thick tongue flutters and flaps like a horse's bridle strap while he drools onto the hardwood floor.
Spike is so creepy and repulsive that only a pervert could find his presence appealing or welcoming, and yet a perverse part of me would like to feel his tongue licking at my nipples and his teeth nibbling at my pussy lips. At this hour, Jacqueline must already be lying on her back while a cock with a glans shaped like a tennis ball penetrates her roughly. Those large breasts are bouncing and jiggling as she moans and begs. The tennis guy finishes by blowing his load all over my ham slices.
I should have imagined that one day I might become another victim of such depravity. I will never be able to escape this sickening world. I lower my tainted plate onto the coffee table, then I lean back until I rest on the cushions.
"What's with the thousand-yard stare?" Spike asks.
My mouth hangs open for a few seconds, until a fly lands on my lower lip. It takes off before I can smack it away.
"Do you know about my secret fetish for older women?" I say in a faraway voice. "Particularly for big-breasted, seductive, French-speaking, childless, horny women. It's only natural for me to want to fuck them, since they're the kindest, most nurturing, sweet, loving, sensual, and caring people that exist on this planet, and they deserve to be fucked hard, over and over again, until they die from a massive orgasm."
"I know all about your obsession with Jacqueline, yes," Spike says. "You may be aiming a bit too high."
I'm appalled, but I remember that a hallucination would naturally have access to my memories and thoughts.
"Well, can you blame me? She's tall and shapely, has a lovely smile. When she walks, those large breasts bounce and sway in a very erotic manner. Even a horse should detect the aura of sexuality and charm that radiates from her body."
"You fell for her because she held you in her arms like she would a child, though."
I hunch over, digging into my knees with my elbows, and I claw at my face as I grit my teeth. I hear a fly's wings beating furiously while it circles my head. I need my screams to echo throughout this cramped apartment. I can't bear it anymore, this constant, relentless pressure to get everything done, to achieve something beyond what I am capable of, and to keep my job in order to survive. Tomorrow I'll have to trudge my way up to my mortifying office and face Jacqueline's piercing gaze. She stared at me as she revealed that she knew I wanted her to love me.
I'm a freak. It's impossible for me to continue living this miserable existence when all I can think about is death and destruction. I keep complaining about Spike's body odor, but it's far better than the putrefying stench coming from inside my own head.
I take a deep breath, then I scoot closer to the edge of the sofa.
"Go ahead, Spike," I say hoarsely. "You've been trying hard to get me to listen to some garbage. I'm all ears. Speak whatever words come to mind, and let's see if they make any sense at all to me."
Spike perks up. Even his pitch black eyes seem brighter now that he has a captive audience.
"Wonderful! Then listen, Leire. I used to work at the same... Wait, what are you doing?!"
The tines break through the skin of my neck as I push the fork further into my flesh. A cold shiver runs down my spine, but the endorphins flood my brain, making the intensifying pain more tolerable, if not pleasant. A warm trickle of blood oozes out and slides towards my collarbone.
Spike stumbles towards me. He must intend to unleash a torrent of insane horse thoughts into my mind, but I prevent it by shooting him a menacing glare.
"Stay the fuck away," I whisper. "I'm killing a rotten bitch."
Blood is pooling at the base of my throat while tears form in the corners of my eyes. I can't believe how much relief comes with a simple act as committing suicide. All the bad things in life can be left behind forever. There will be no more nightmares and delusions and hallucinations and depression and anxiety and loneliness and the excruciating feeling of being trapped in the center of an infinite maze I can't possibly escape and the fact that my only friend is an evil horse monster who wants to eat me alive.
My vision is getting blurry as I concentrate on the fork buried in my neck. My fingers feel numb with frostbite.
"No, you are not," Spike says sternly. "I'd say this is a cry for help. You are in dire straits and reaching out for salvation, and maybe, just maybe, for love."
My lips twitch. I taste the snot that runs down my nose.
"W-well, can you help me?!"
Spike's atrophied forelegs flail around like a pair of broken twigs.
"Help you? I came to you because I needed your help!" he shouts, his voice cracking like an adolescent boy's. "What do you want me to do?"
I groan as my nostrils flare. I pull out the fork and throw it at the floor. It leaves a splash of blood.
"Fucking useless. Not even a crippled horse cares. You are just like everyone else. They're always looking for an excuse to discard me, but that's even preferable to allowing them to get close, because those people are the most likely to betray and abuse me. This is why the best course of action is simply to cease existing altogether, let the rest of the universe continue in harmony instead of having its existence threatened by my presence."
Spike crouches to bring his horrifying horse face closer to mine, although he seems about to topple over from his awkward posture. A few veins bulge on his forehead and neck as if they could burst and send a spray of hot liquid all over my body.
"You should have been destroyed millions of years ago by a nuclear warhead," I mutter, "you fucking pervert."
"Press that tissue against the holes in your neck, will you? They look like the bites from a couple of tiny vampires."
I lean back against the cushions as I obey this equine stalker's orders. The burning in my neck feels as if a bunch of bees had stung me. How pathetic am I that I tried to kill myself in such a lazy, inauthentic way? I thought I was better than this. Whatever. I'm too exhausted to move anymore.
Hot tears roll down my cheeks as if someone was pouring hot wax onto my face. I close my eyes, but I keep hearing Spike's raspy breathing, and by this point his fetid stench has permeated my body. I want Jacqueline to love me, although she's a woman who is only interested in men, although I thought I was only interested in men. I need someone to care for me and protect me from falling apart.
"I-I guess I'm glad that you want to keep me company, Spike," I slur as my chest spasms. "I know you've got nothing going for yourself. You're ugly and deformed and smell bad. But at least you're not an asshole like all these other damn humans are. So thank you for wanting to stay with me. I should reward you with some sugar cubes."
Spike looks so sad. Maybe he really does feel sorry for me.
"Why would I want sugar cubes of all things?"
I chuckle.
"Spike, you stink of geriatric dementia. Maybe I'm offering you sugar cubes because you can't eat anything else with those rotten teeth of yours. Although I can also tell that you are dying of thirst because of all the fluids that keep leaking from the hole where your horsecock used to be." The pain in my neck is starting to subside, replaced by a dull headache that makes it hard for me to think straight. I take a deep breath through clenched jaws before I continue our conversation. "My brain has linked the notion of sugar cubes to the existence of horses. Who knows if that's relevant. But have you forgotten again that you are a horse? To be fair, you are as withered and emaciated as a scarecrow, and you stink so bad that anyone would think you are a carcass rotting away in some ditch."
Spike snorts loudly, then he shakes his head. I try to focus on his eyes as they stare into mine, but his gaze is lost in a distant place far beyond reality.
"We are both deformed horses. You are a female deformed horse and I am a male deformed horse. Our bodies are twisted and misshapen because our mothers ate strange things while pregnant with us. They didn't care about their children, they didn't want them. We are cursed to exist as broken creatures, doomed to suffer abuse and neglect from everyone who encounters us, including ourselves. But we can still dream of being normal and beautiful some day."
I lie down sideways, facing the cushions, and I close my eyes tight. If only my heart could beat fast enough to keep the blood flowing in my veins, but alas, it's a dead weight that drags me down to a place far below the surface of the earth, somewhere in the bowels of the planet where the magma burns and boils. If only I could give up on my mind completely, accept that the entire world is a nightmare, a horror movie that I'm forced to witness every single day. That'd be the only way I could survive this despair that's consuming me like a cancerous tumor. I want to curl up into a ball and never move again.
---
The cold of October seeps through the fabric of my hoodie and penetrates the pores of my skin as the breeze blows my hair around my face. The smell of wet leaves and damp earth permeates the air, and a chilly darkness is settling over the city. I keep sniffling and fidgeting. I wish I could rock back and forth as if possessed, but I'm sitting on a hard bench between two women burdened with shopping bags, and I'm surrounded by a throng of people that wait to board the train to Irún. I feel like everyone is staring at me.
I never wanted to hear about Jacqueline's sexual escapades. Didn't I tell her as much, back when they dragged me to that packed restaurant for lunch? She only intended to hurt me, like everyone else does. That woman is a beautiful, ruthless predator without any qualms about devouring anyone around her to preserve and increase her power and status. She feasts upon their flesh and bones while slurping down their blood, then she pisses them out into empty wine bottles that she uses to decorate her apartment. If she ends up with nothing but dust and ashes, she'll move back to France and start again.
How could I remain so naïve, when everything had conspired against me and everyone was trying to destroy me for reasons beyond comprehension, until they finally succeeded in poisoning my mind to make room for something new inside me, something foreign, malevolent, and hungry for human souls? Still, throughout the years I became obsessed with a few unlucky people, although I knew deep down that none of them suited me, or would want anything to do with a mentally unstable woman that constantly makes a fool of herself and has lost the ability to distinguish between fantasy and reality.
I hold my head in my hands and I keep my eyes closed until I hear the train's clacking wheels as it pulls into our platform. I jump up. As soon as some passengers exit, I hurry inside and find an empty seat in a group of four. I press my thighs together to avoid any contact with the middle-aged guy sitting to my left, whose right knee is jiggling up and down as he stares at his phone screen in a trance. When the doors of the carriage swing shut, a wave of heat suffuses the air inside.
I focus on the passing scenery as I swat any thought of Jacqueline away from my mind, or of my future prospects as a burned-out programmer who is barely sane. I find myself overlooking the large sports center of Fanderia, with its two football fields and tennis courts. Thankfully nobody is playing tennis in this cold night; otherwise, I'd have to jump down there and wring their necks.
I shouldn't give my brain the opportunity to lose itself in daydreams. From now on I'll always bring my ebook reader along. I haven't read a novel in years. I used to love reading when I was younger, but once I started working as a programmer, other people's fantasies began feeling too far removed from the reality of computer bugs and deadlines. Perhaps focusing on the troubles of made-up people will help me overcome my despair, or at least alleviate some of my boredom.
I get off the train at the central station in Irún. I climb the stairs and emerge into the Colón promenade, that teems with pedestrians that hurry home after work, or return from shopping trips. I walk along the bridge and gaze down at the rail yard that continues into France among gravel and weeds. The gusts keep making my hood flap around. My fingers are stiffening, my nose running.
Once I cross the tiny San Miguel plaza and reach the nearby market, at the end of the street appears the shitty, working-class apartment building where I live. As I drag my feet towards it, I gaze at the available view of Mount Jaizkibel, arched like a horse's back and featuring two stripes of deforested land that reach to the top, to prevent fires from spreading.
I walk up to my apartment and I hurry to unlock the door as if I was being followed. After I enter my cramped nest and I push the door closed with my back, I sigh as I stare at the egg nog yellow wall of the hallway. This place never felt like a home, but its walls shield me from the outside world, allowing my body to finally give up for the day. White noise is running through my legs as a drowsiness threatens to overwhelm me.
After I pee, I put on my flannel pajamas and a tracksuit jacket for the cold, then I shuffle to the living room, where I plop down on the sofa. My gaze falls upon the pile of board games that occupies the gap in the birch wood cabinet where the previous tenants, an elderly couple judging by the paintings they left behind, likely set up the television. Terraforming Mars, Renegade, Core Worlds, Fire in the Lake. Half of those boxes remain wrapped in plastic. Part of the joy of buying board games, and that sometimes I miss more than playing them, involved waiting for the delivery person to ring my doorbell. Unfortunately, some ended up calling me during the workday, because they didn't bother to read the delivery instructions.
I wish I retained enough energy to lose myself in the mechanics of one of those games, but I would be evading my homework. I need to download a couple of books about Python's updated features so I can cease looking up code snippets on Google for every function, to develop that nasty contract that my boss secured. Still, does anybody pay me for the extra research? I doubt I deserve to rest, but I need it desperately.
My back slides down the cushions until the armrest holds my head. I yawn loudly. A wave of exhaustion is engulfing my mind, threatening to pull me under its dark waters. Surely I can close my eyes for a moment. Once I open then again, I will make my bed, mop the floors, wash the pile of dirty dishes in the sink, clean the bathroom...
I open my eyes. Where am I? My saliva tastes foul, and stale drool has sticked to my chin. Slowly, I sit upright and reach for my phone, that I placed on the coffee table. It's half past eight.
I wipe my mouth with a crumpled tissue. I'm dizzy and disoriented as if half of my brain remains asleep. I want to lie back down and sleep away my sorrows and worries, but I should fill my stomach with some food, if only because I won't recover otherwise.
Once I stand up and I stagger around, I smell a hint of horse manure and old urine. The wind has picked up and is rattling the windows. I hold my breath to avoid inhaling any horse-related particles. My ears perk up. I'm getting used to this eerie sense that someone disgusting is staring at me out of nowhere.
"Is that you, Spike?" I ask in a raspy voice.
A noxious stench envelops me, like that of a corpse that's been left to rot in a swamp for weeks.
"You were looking for me?" the horse asks.
I turn around and flinch, as I find myself looking up at the imposing frame of a towering horse standing on its hind legs. That pair of retracted, atrophied forelegs detracts from the terror of his appearance. Under the yellow light of the living room, Spike's elongated head is a mass of scars, and his mane is matted with thick, oily clumps of hair that resemble a tangle of filthy pubic hairs. He's already dripping drool from his muzzle onto the hardwood floor. His belly hangs between his legs like a pregnant woman's.
I wish I owned a bathtub, so I could fill it with warm water and scrub myself clean of this horrid stench of rotten flesh.
"Spike, your body odor reminds me that one of these days I'll have to take out the trash," I say. "What do you want with me?"
When this fucker draws his lips back to speak, he shows me his sharp, jagged teeth, like filed piano keys that have been smeared with butter. His throat emits an awful noise that makes my skin crawl, as if his vocal cords were made of iron bars that scrape against each other.
"I keep telling you, Leire. I need you to listen to something important."
I sigh. Spike's long, grey tail lolls over his hooves like an empty fur coat or a hairy, hollow penis in place of the one that this horse monster lacks.
"Again with that nonsense? Well, that's your problem. I'm going to prepare dinner."
As I walk to the kitchen, a clack of hooves follows me. Flies are crawling over the dirty dishes and cups that have filled the sink, and a sour, pungent smell is coming out of the trash bin. My shoulders droop. The effort to clean the kitchen alone would drain me dry.
"Your apartment is a disaster zone," Spike says in a low rumble.
His words sting. My hand was hovering over the handle of the fridge, but I stop to glare at him over my shoulder.
"If it bothers you that much, clean it yourself! And you are one to talk!"
"Ever heard of the broken windows theory?" Spike asks.
"I doubt it, but don't worry. Although there must be plenty of viruses and bacteria floating in the air, most of them are small enough to be filtered by the particles in the atmosphere and dispersed into the wind before they can reach our lungs or bloodstreams."
"Many must have landed on the rotting organic material, and they are multiplying rapidly now that they can feed on that stuff."
What the hell is this horse talking about? Why is he always making up weird shit? I shake my head as I look at the mostly empty shelves of my fridge, where some moldy vegetables and yogurt lurk in their containers. I had intended to prepare some bacon and eggs, but I guess I ran out of eggs at some point, and the remaining bacon smells rancid and spoiled. I need to buy more food soon and get rid of all this junk in my cupboards and freezer, but merely envisioning the trip tires me. Oh well. Thankfully, the slices of serrano ham don't stink.
As the ham sizzles in the pan, I feel Spike judging me with those bulging, black eyes, so I run water on my dirty dishes and I scrub them until they shine again. The flies buzz angrily around me.
"Is His Eminence happy now?" I ask mockingly as I turn around to face Spike. "Hey, don't lean your haunches against my dining table! If I find a shit smear anywhere in my house, I'll fucking bash you!"
Spike lifts his snout sharply, as if I caught him lost in thought.
"Sorry."
A fly lands on my nose. I shudder, then I swat at it repeatedly.
"Stop apologizing over and over. It makes you look weak."
I carry my plate with fried slices of ham, as well as a glass of milk, to the living room, and I settle down on the sofa. I poke into a slice with the fork, but as I lift it towards my mouth, I find myself staring at Spike, who observes me casually from a few feet away. I must have gotten used enough to his horrid horse stench for me to think about shoving food into my mouth.
"Do you have to stare at me like that while I'm eating, Spike?!" I snap at the horse monster, who is still drooling. "Check out all those board games sitting in piles of dust! They are aching for someone to set them up, which can take up to half an hour, or even more in the case of Anachrony!"
"I would enjoy playing board games with you, but I can't hold the pieces," he laments.
I frown at the horse monster as I chew the salty and fatty meat. He continues to gape at me with a creepy stare from that pair of dead fish eyes. His thick tongue flutters and flaps like a horse's bridle strap while he drools onto the hardwood floor.
Spike is so creepy and repulsive that only a pervert could find his presence appealing or welcoming, and yet a perverse part of me would like to feel his tongue licking at my nipples and his teeth nibbling at my pussy lips. At this hour, Jacqueline must already be lying on her back while a cock with a glans shaped like a tennis ball penetrates her roughly. Those large breasts are bouncing and jiggling as she moans and begs. The tennis guy finishes by blowing his load all over my ham slices.
I should have imagined that one day I might become another victim of such depravity. I will never be able to escape this sickening world. I lower my tainted plate onto the coffee table, then I lean back until I rest on the cushions.
"What's with the thousand-yard stare?" Spike asks.
My mouth hangs open for a few seconds, until a fly lands on my lower lip. It takes off before I can smack it away.
"Do you know about my secret fetish for older women?" I say in a faraway voice. "Particularly for big-breasted, seductive, French-speaking, childless, horny women. It's only natural for me to want to fuck them, since they're the kindest, most nurturing, sweet, loving, sensual, and caring people that exist on this planet, and they deserve to be fucked hard, over and over again, until they die from a massive orgasm."
"I know all about your obsession with Jacqueline, yes," Spike says. "You may be aiming a bit too high."
I'm appalled, but I remember that a hallucination would naturally have access to my memories and thoughts.
"Well, can you blame me? She's tall and shapely, has a lovely smile. When she walks, those large breasts bounce and sway in a very erotic manner. Even a horse should detect the aura of sexuality and charm that radiates from her body."
"You fell for her because she held you in her arms like she would a child, though."
I hunch over, digging into my knees with my elbows, and I claw at my face as I grit my teeth. I hear a fly's wings beating furiously while it circles my head. I need my screams to echo throughout this cramped apartment. I can't bear it anymore, this constant, relentless pressure to get everything done, to achieve something beyond what I am capable of, and to keep my job in order to survive. Tomorrow I'll have to trudge my way up to my mortifying office and face Jacqueline's piercing gaze. She stared at me as she revealed that she knew I wanted her to love me.
I'm a freak. It's impossible for me to continue living this miserable existence when all I can think about is death and destruction. I keep complaining about Spike's body odor, but it's far better than the putrefying stench coming from inside my own head.
I take a deep breath, then I scoot closer to the edge of the sofa.
"Go ahead, Spike," I say hoarsely. "You've been trying hard to get me to listen to some garbage. I'm all ears. Speak whatever words come to mind, and let's see if they make any sense at all to me."
Spike perks up. Even his pitch black eyes seem brighter now that he has a captive audience.
"Wonderful! Then listen, Leire. I used to work at the same... Wait, what are you doing?!"
The tines break through the skin of my neck as I push the fork further into my flesh. A cold shiver runs down my spine, but the endorphins flood my brain, making the intensifying pain more tolerable, if not pleasant. A warm trickle of blood oozes out and slides towards my collarbone.
Spike stumbles towards me. He must intend to unleash a torrent of insane horse thoughts into my mind, but I prevent it by shooting him a menacing glare.
"Stay the fuck away," I whisper. "I'm killing a rotten bitch."
Blood is pooling at the base of my throat while tears form in the corners of my eyes. I can't believe how much relief comes with a simple act as committing suicide. All the bad things in life can be left behind forever. There will be no more nightmares and delusions and hallucinations and depression and anxiety and loneliness and the excruciating feeling of being trapped in the center of an infinite maze I can't possibly escape and the fact that my only friend is an evil horse monster who wants to eat me alive.
My vision is getting blurry as I concentrate on the fork buried in my neck. My fingers feel numb with frostbite.
"No, you are not," Spike says sternly. "I'd say this is a cry for help. You are in dire straits and reaching out for salvation, and maybe, just maybe, for love."
My lips twitch. I taste the snot that runs down my nose.
"W-well, can you help me?!"
Spike's atrophied forelegs flail around like a pair of broken twigs.
"Help you? I came to you because I needed your help!" he shouts, his voice cracking like an adolescent boy's. "What do you want me to do?"
I groan as my nostrils flare. I pull out the fork and throw it at the floor. It leaves a splash of blood.
"Fucking useless. Not even a crippled horse cares. You are just like everyone else. They're always looking for an excuse to discard me, but that's even preferable to allowing them to get close, because those people are the most likely to betray and abuse me. This is why the best course of action is simply to cease existing altogether, let the rest of the universe continue in harmony instead of having its existence threatened by my presence."
Spike crouches to bring his horrifying horse face closer to mine, although he seems about to topple over from his awkward posture. A few veins bulge on his forehead and neck as if they could burst and send a spray of hot liquid all over my body.
"You should have been destroyed millions of years ago by a nuclear warhead," I mutter, "you fucking pervert."
"Press that tissue against the holes in your neck, will you? They look like the bites from a couple of tiny vampires."
I lean back against the cushions as I obey this equine stalker's orders. The burning in my neck feels as if a bunch of bees had stung me. How pathetic am I that I tried to kill myself in such a lazy, inauthentic way? I thought I was better than this. Whatever. I'm too exhausted to move anymore.
Hot tears roll down my cheeks as if someone was pouring hot wax onto my face. I close my eyes, but I keep hearing Spike's raspy breathing, and by this point his fetid stench has permeated my body. I want Jacqueline to love me, although she's a woman who is only interested in men, although I thought I was only interested in men. I need someone to care for me and protect me from falling apart.
"I-I guess I'm glad that you want to keep me company, Spike," I slur as my chest spasms. "I know you've got nothing going for yourself. You're ugly and deformed and smell bad. But at least you're not an asshole like all these other damn humans are. So thank you for wanting to stay with me. I should reward you with some sugar cubes."
Spike looks so sad. Maybe he really does feel sorry for me.
"Why would I want sugar cubes of all things?"
I chuckle.
"Spike, you stink of geriatric dementia. Maybe I'm offering you sugar cubes because you can't eat anything else with those rotten teeth of yours. Although I can also tell that you are dying of thirst because of all the fluids that keep leaking from the hole where your horsecock used to be." The pain in my neck is starting to subside, replaced by a dull headache that makes it hard for me to think straight. I take a deep breath through clenched jaws before I continue our conversation. "My brain has linked the notion of sugar cubes to the existence of horses. Who knows if that's relevant. But have you forgotten again that you are a horse? To be fair, you are as withered and emaciated as a scarecrow, and you stink so bad that anyone would think you are a carcass rotting away in some ditch."
Spike snorts loudly, then he shakes his head. I try to focus on his eyes as they stare into mine, but his gaze is lost in a distant place far beyond reality.
"We are both deformed horses. You are a female deformed horse and I am a male deformed horse. Our bodies are twisted and misshapen because our mothers ate strange things while pregnant with us. They didn't care about their children, they didn't want them. We are cursed to exist as broken creatures, doomed to suffer abuse and neglect from everyone who encounters us, including ourselves. But we can still dream of being normal and beautiful some day."
I lie down sideways, facing the cushions, and I close my eyes tight. If only my heart could beat fast enough to keep the blood flowing in my veins, but alas, it's a dead weight that drags me down to a place far below the surface of the earth, somewhere in the bowels of the planet where the magma burns and boils. If only I could give up on my mind completely, accept that the entire world is a nightmare, a horror movie that I'm forced to witness every single day. That'd be the only way I could survive this despair that's consuming me like a cancerous tumor. I want to curl up into a ball and never move again.
Guitar practice (07-11-2021)
I had a blast playing the guitar today, and more importantly, I figured out why my previous recording ended up with artifacts. I don't think I had ever mixed a session better than today.
These songs are better listened to with headphones, now without artifacts that will scratch your eardrums. That's assuming that whoever you are, you would want to listen that closely to me playing the guitar and singing.
The whole session is about 47 minutes long.
Link: Guitar practice (07-11-2021)
YouTube is being a little bitch, and it cut everything that came after 40:00 in today's session. The rest in in the following link: Guitar practice (07-11-2021) EXTRA
These songs are better listened to with headphones, now without artifacts that will scratch your eardrums. That's assuming that whoever you are, you would want to listen that closely to me playing the guitar and singing.
The whole session is about 47 minutes long.
Link: Guitar practice (07-11-2021)
YouTube is being a little bitch, and it cut everything that came after 40:00 in today's session. The rest in in the following link: Guitar practice (07-11-2021) EXTRA
November 5, 2021
We're Fucked, Pt. 13 (Fiction)
Link to this part on my site, where it looks better
---
Our boss left fifteen minutes ago, and the most magical moment for my coworkers has come: they finally get to escape from our mind-numbing routine. Jacqueline's computer has shut off when she slings her purse over her shoulder and looks down at me. I remain slumped in my chair, with my fingers poised over the keyboard.
"You are going to punish yourself by working overtime," she guesses.
Through this workday I've struggled with my unraveling mind, and I only performed half as well as I used to. I should finish enough of the work that has piled up, so tomorrow I can return with a clear conscience and a renewed will to work hard, to be a decent human being, to stop eating poorly, to have a meaningful life. But I stand up from my seat and stretch my neck.
"Fuck it. I'm going home."
"Fuck it, huh?" Jacqueline repeats as she smirks.
Once the three of us exit our office building together, I take a deep breath of cold air that feels like a glass of water in a parched stomach. The weight of the fatigue has settled over my shoulders, and my spine aches dully. Jacqueline and Jordi walk a bit further as I find myself staring at the slope that starts next to the opposite sidewalk, and that is occupied by vegetation that has grown profusely. I feel that the large clump of unkempt, moss green bushes is mocking me, the fool who will try to find an empty seat in a packed train so it will carry me to my dreary nest in my maggoty hometown.
Jacqueline has stopped next to her Audi, and she observes me as if to figure out why I'm spaced out. The setting sun is tinting her hair a rosy gold, casting shadows across her mature features. She's surrounded by a soothing aura of light fitting for such an ethereal, nurturing woman.
"You look like an angel," I blurt out.
Her face brightens up with a smile and a blush. I freeze. I look around to locate Jordi and bid him goodbye, mainly to detract weight from the dreamy voice with which I had complimented my female coworker, but the man has already disappeared.
Jacqueline steps closer. She has narrowed both her eyes and her shoulders as she buttons up her cardigan, giving her a cozy look.
"You are gonna have to walk all the way down to the Lugaritz station, right?"
"Well, yes."
"I'll drive you to Amara if you want. Not any further, though. I want to get home too."
I yearn to be inside Jacqueline, preferably headfirst, but sharing a confined space that belongs to her is an enticing start.
"I feel like I don't have the right to ask you that," I say controlling my tone, "but if you offer it, I can only thank you."
"Great. No need to be that formal, Leire. And hey, check this out."
She points at her fog grey Audi A4 Avant and presses a button on her key fob. A row of inclined bulbs lights up over the headlights, giving the car a futuristic touch. But I am used to my old, murderous car that I abandoned, so most vehicles would feel like a vast improvement.
"I'm thoroughly impressed," I say.
Jacqueline giggles as she opens the driver's door, then she gestures with a tilt of her head towards the passenger's side. Before she regrets having invited me in, I hurry to the opposite door and I crouch into the car. Once both doors are closed, Jacqueline and I adjust our seatbelts. I slide my work bag onto my lap and I lean back against the foam pads of my seat. A strange warmth spreads throughout my body as if a swarm of bees was buzzing around inside me, making my heart flutter with excitement and anxiety.
The interior smells of leather and plastic, with just a hint of perfume. The metallic-looking dashboard is lighted with blue and yellow lines and curves, and it features a touch screen for plenty of the driver's touching needs. I bet it provides a GPS system. I've always wanted to own a vehicle with one, but I never felt like I could afford it. How much did Jacqueline pay for this fancy ride, anyway?
As Jacqueline maneuvers out of the parking lot, I discover that a different screen behind the steering wheel displays the GPS system, and that a HUD on the windshield features a digital speedometer and a fuel gauge. How much did cars improve as I was sleepwalking my life away?
Jacqueline is circling the roundabout at the entrance of the business park when a feeling sinks in: I wish I was stuck in a time loop in which I did nothing else than sit on the passenger seat as this woman drove me around. Only I would know that we would never reach our destination.
We are speeding down the slope that this morning I had to trudge my way up.
"How about some music, huh?" Jacqueline asks.
After she presses a couple of buttons on the touch screen, the multimedia system plays one of those upbeat, popular songs that the radio station insists on replaying week after week, I guess because some executives are bribing them.
"I didn't have enough with listening to your preferred music at the office," I say jokingly, "so now these songs will have further opportunity to burrow into my brain."
Jacqueline laughs. The streets are darkening quick. Two mothers push their strollers as they leave the nearby playground.
"What, you don't like my music?"
"It's not fair to call it yours unless you've composed it or learned how to play it on an instrument. But anyway, do I really seem like the kind of person who would enjoy these rhythms, or lyrics?"
"I don't like to prejudge. But you never stated that you hate the music I put on the radio."
"Why, to start an argument? I could tolerate it enough, the same way a prisoner gets used to regular torture sessions."
"I did buy this car, you know, so I'll keep playing my music."
"Hey, I will endure it, but I assure you, it's the mindless joy of people who were driven crazy by a bad case of Stockholm Syndrome."
Jacqueline taps me on the arm with the back of her hand.
"What kind of music do you listen to at your leisure, then?"
I scratch my nape, embarrassed.
"Usually sad songs about how depressing and disappointing life is, I guess."
Jacqueline fixes her gaze on my face, but I pretend that I find the white, tower-like apartment buildings interesting.
"It's such a shame that you aren't happy," she says.
"I do feel full of shame. But... why would I be happy?" I ask sullenly. "I mean, realistically. When I think about what's out there that could produce such a fabled state in me, I can't come up with anything."
We leave behind the Lugaritz station as Jacqueline's car ascends the adjoined, sloped road. A young woman walking her dog stands aside on the narrow sidewalk so a cyclist can pass by.
"There's sex," Jacqueline says casually.
"Sure," I concede. "As long as you come across the right person. Otherwise you just add to the hill of humiliating memories."
"Also good music and movies, and maybe a few drinks every once in a while to loosen things up and get to know someone better. Or just a nice dinner with friends. Not to mention a big, soft bed to fall asleep in. Traveling too, depending on the destination. But we are making idle talk, aren't we?"
I seek Jacqueline's gaze to figure out what she meant. She glances meaningfully at me, then she focuses on the road again. We are passing through an isolated road that connects the outskirts with downtown Donostia. A wall of tall trees on both sides of the road has blackened our surroundings further, except for the hazy orange cones coming from streetlights.
"What I mean," Jacqueline adds, "is that we both know that some people are born with a smaller capacity for happiness than others due to their genes and similar accidents of fate. The truly cursed could own a mansion in a tropical island and spend their days lounging in the sun, but they'd still be miserable."
I wouldn't have expected those sentences to come out of my coworker's mouth. I lean against the headrest as a sad smile plays across my lips.
"That'd be me. I've always known it, so I stew in my own misery by my lonesome."
"Does that mean that we should give up and accept that our lives are destined for misery and unhappiness? Companionship and maybe love should help, at least a little."
"If I told myself fantastical stories that I'd love to believe, I may end up getting married, raising a bunch of kids and enduring all the noise and mess and chaos that comes with them. I'd be feeding and cleaning up and disciplining and worrying and fighting and making up. Finally I'd have to decide whether to stay or to break up, but after you push out a couple of kids, unless the other person fucks you over, would you want to become a single mom?"
"I would have welcomed being any kind of mom."
"I don't know, Jacqueline," I swallow a hot lump in my throat as an aching feeling settles in my guts. "I don't want to bother you with my opinions, anyway. You are inconvenienced enough by having to drive me around."
She had turned her face towards her window. We are passing through a winding tunnel with grimy, graffitied walls. Her hair, drawn back in a ponytail, glistens like polished ebony wood under candlelight.
I have bothered Jacqueline, that much I can tell. I'm used to rambling to myself, usually out loud, as long as nobody can hear me. I can't contain the flood of words once someone gives me permission to speak, and I always end up freaking them out although they thought they wanted my input, so I'll have to restrain myself.
We have exited the tunnel into one of those serene neighborhoods in the outskirts where the well-off settle in their nests, away from the hubbub of their fellow humans. The curved front of a tortilla brown apartment building peeps out from behind a rustic wall and a slope covered with motley trees. We have reentered Donostia, which means that my destination gets closer, and soon enough Jacqueline will tell me to get out of her car.
"I will get used to walking everywhere and taking the train to cover the distances that would kill me otherwise," I say anxiously, "including ascending the slope to our business park. From tomorrow I'll make the trip in the opposite direction so I can take the train at Lugaritz."
Jacqueline sighs, then she brushes a thin strand of raven black hair behind her ear.
"Why? How long will it take them to repair your car?"
"Uh... Nobody will reanimate it, because it's totaled."
"Totaled?!"
I witness Jacqueline's shocked expression for the first time, but she's forced to focus on the road again, because a long, downward slope heads straight into downtown Donostia. I read in her wide open eyes a silent question: "What did you do?" I can't blame her. For years I yearned to crash my Renault Laguna into a wall at full speed, but then I wouldn't have gotten to sit in Jacqueline's car, so close that she'd only have to reach out to slide her warm fingertips down my thighs.
I wave a hand dismissively.
"My car was a piece of shit anyway."
"Well, will the insurance pay for it?"
"It might if I had it," I admit sheepishly.
Jacqueline admonishes me with a look that makes me feel like a misbehaving girl who could hardly wait to make it up to mommy.
"Leire..."
I shift my weight in my seat as I swallow a nervous lump in my throat. A warm flush had burst in my abdomen, and it's threatening to flow down to my groin.
"What can I say?" I ask in a raspy voice. "I'm merely a helpless child in many respects."
Jacqueline reaches across the center console and takes hold of my left hand with her right one. Her skin is soft and smooth, with delicate veins that show through. At the end of her slender fingers, her nails are painted red with clear polish. Goosebumps rise on my covered arms as I face the concern in her blue eyes, that air of maternal affection. I need to take off my panties and fuck myself.
Jacqueline returns her right hand to the steering wheel.
"That's your personality, but you are far more capable than you give yourself credit."
My heart is beating faster, and I'm getting light-headed.
"I-I might also become a zombie before long, due to a mysterious disease of which nobody has heard but that it's slowly killing me with a variety of symptoms, such as nausea and vomiting and diarrhea and uncontrollable fits of hysterical laughter and a burning sensation that feels like someone is stabbing me with a red hot poker from within my chest cavity up to my brain."
"Sweetie, that doesn't sound like you should strain yourself walking down to the Lugaritz station five days a week. I'll keep driving you to Amara. I'm following my usual route anyway, and I enjoy talking to you."
"Thank you. I don't recall anyone ever saying that to me."
A view of bunched up houses has filled most of the horizon in front of us, as far as the vegetation allows me to see. I dreaded reaching the Amara station because I doubted Jacqueline would offer me a ride again, and I wouldn't muster up the courage to ask her. Was she joking, though? She can't possibly enjoy spending time with me.
"I'm also worried about anyone walking around after sunset," Jacqueline adds somberly, "with all the shit that's going on."
"You mean the rapid disintegration of this country, along with most of Europe?"
"I'm talking about the missing people, and the murders."
I blink repeatedly in confusion, which makes her chuckle.
"C'mon, don't tell me you didn't know!" Jacqueline says.
"I refuse to follow the news. I already struggle to contain my nausea."
She shakes her head and smiles at my reticence.
"Gist of it is, entire clans have been found massacred, and many other people have gone missing. I'm sure the police are pissed, because they look incompetent these days," Jacqueline states matter-of-factly as we pick up speed by noise barriers plastered with stickers of trees and birds of prey, I guess to prevent stupid birds from cracking their skulls by flying headfirst into the barriers.
I suspect that this delicious woman is taking advantage of my innocence, but I'll play along like a good little victim while she gets what she wants out of me.
"That sounds like a veritable murder spree. I would be fine though, as I doubt I belong to any clan, and I avoid trekking through the woods because I'm terrified of sasquatches. But you are right, I'm defenseless. You better let me park my ass on your passenger seat five days a week. I'll pay for your diesel, or whatever sludge this Audi slugs."
"Just pay me with your company, sweetie."
"Oh, you are gonna make me cry."
The car leaves behind a futuristic building with a facade made out of pastel-colored panels, as well a pristine white Zenit hotel. I recognize the tower of a church because I saw it from the train this morning, so in a short while I'll have to extricate myself from Jacqueline.
"So, what do you do in the afternoons?" she asks.
"Oh, you know. Sometimes I imagine myself sitting at my coffee table and opening one of the board games that have gathered dust on my shelves, particularly those whose rules I've never learned."
"You are into board games, then? You play them alone?"
I sigh. I suspect that I should lie, but a suicidal instinct urges me to offer Jacqueline a peek into the abyss that my life has become. Maybe she can save me. Or maybe she can simply amuse herself until I totally lose it, jump off some roof and plunge to my death.
"I used to, years ago. Ever since I work as a programmer, by the time I get home I'm always so exhausted that I just lie around, usually on the couch or in bed, and browse the internet idly. Some days I pass out shortly after I allow myself to relax, and when I wake up, I cobble together some dinner, eat it as I watch YouTube videos, then I brush my teeth, masturbate and struggle to fall asleep."
Jacqueline chuckles as she turns the steering wheel to circle one of the central roundabouts of the city, that features an appropriately wasteful fountain. My blood has frozen. Why do I allow myself to speak? Why do I feel that I should share private information, only to want to punch myself in the face an instant after I have revealed it?
"W-why, how do you spend your afternoons?" I ask in a thin voice.
Jacqueline purses her lips as she looks up.
"For example, I'm meeting someone in a couple of hours."
"As in... a person?"
She covers her mouth as she laughs softly.
"Yes, Leire, a human being. What else would it be?"
"I don't know," I say wearily. "A horse, maybe."
"A horse, huh? Are you a fan of horses?"
I shake my head.
"I fucking despise them. They are ugly and disgusting and they stink to the point that they shouldn't exist on Earth anymore."
A terrible suspicion makes my ears prick up. I check through the rearview mirror if an animal that might resemble an equine is attached to the backseat of the car, but it seems I'm safe for now.
"Okay..." Jacqueline says dubitatively. "So yeah, I usually go out."
A droning noise is increasing in my ears as I feel my spine stiffening. A bus delays us, as well as the cars that were following us, because it needs to wait for another bus to drive out of a stop. I try to distract myself by looking out of the window, but we are close a four star hotel and to a couple dozen of strangers that are either sitting at the outside tables of a bar, or walking purposefully along the darkened sidewalk.
"I guess he's an attractive guy," I say in a monotone, "this person you are meeting tonight."
"Uh-huh. He's twenty four and works as an accountant at a law firm. He also has the body that befits someone rising in the ranks of semi-professional tennis."
She's driving through an intersection that passes by a decades-old palm tree. I recognize that wall that separates the sidewalk from the train tracks.
Jacqueline enjoys sex with many lovers who are willing to satisfy every one of her whims and fantasies. She's a sexpot who knows exactly what she's doing with that delectable body of hers. I bet that all of those men are well-adjusted and presentable, like the ones featured in the promotional videos that run in a loop on the screens of the train. I already knew this, so why do I feel this upsurge of anger that threatens to overwhelm my fragile sanity? Jacqueline hadn't deceived me; if anything, she went out of her way to console me. She didn't need to offer me a ride. Still, I've made the mistake of closing my eyes, and my mind is playing a vivid video of a tennis player ramming Jacqueline as she moans and begs him to fuck her harder. My mood has plummeted into somberness as if the sky had grown dark with clouds of doom.
Who would want to have anything to do with me? I don't. Why would anyone ever find me attractive when all they can see when they look at my pale, skinny self is a freakish creature covered in thick layers of filth, who suffers from mental illnesses and social ineptitude, with no future prospects, no hope, all alone in this cold world, with a defective reality masking a shattered soul?
"Here we are. Look! We have a free parking spot and everything," Jacqueline says as she pulls into a space reserved for taxis, in front of the Amara station. When she turns her head to bid me goodbye, her smile falls. "Are you crying?"
My throat has constricted. My heart pounds against the walls of my chest cavity, that feels like it's caving in on itself due to an accumulation of pain that won't let go of me no matter how much time passes.
"Just a couple of tears," I mumble.
I'm tightening my right fist, because I don't want to reach for the handle of the door with a trembling hand. Jacqueline cups my chin and turns my head towards her. I'm forced to stare into her cobalt blue eyes as she studies me inquisitively.
"You have a crush on me," Jacqueline says calmly.
I keep myself from blinking as I fumble with the handle of my door. Once I set my feet on the asphalt, I nearly trip.
"I-I have to take this train."
The thud of the door closing silences my coworker, who was moving her lips. I hurry into the crowded station.
---
Our boss left fifteen minutes ago, and the most magical moment for my coworkers has come: they finally get to escape from our mind-numbing routine. Jacqueline's computer has shut off when she slings her purse over her shoulder and looks down at me. I remain slumped in my chair, with my fingers poised over the keyboard.
"You are going to punish yourself by working overtime," she guesses.
Through this workday I've struggled with my unraveling mind, and I only performed half as well as I used to. I should finish enough of the work that has piled up, so tomorrow I can return with a clear conscience and a renewed will to work hard, to be a decent human being, to stop eating poorly, to have a meaningful life. But I stand up from my seat and stretch my neck.
"Fuck it. I'm going home."
"Fuck it, huh?" Jacqueline repeats as she smirks.
Once the three of us exit our office building together, I take a deep breath of cold air that feels like a glass of water in a parched stomach. The weight of the fatigue has settled over my shoulders, and my spine aches dully. Jacqueline and Jordi walk a bit further as I find myself staring at the slope that starts next to the opposite sidewalk, and that is occupied by vegetation that has grown profusely. I feel that the large clump of unkempt, moss green bushes is mocking me, the fool who will try to find an empty seat in a packed train so it will carry me to my dreary nest in my maggoty hometown.
Jacqueline has stopped next to her Audi, and she observes me as if to figure out why I'm spaced out. The setting sun is tinting her hair a rosy gold, casting shadows across her mature features. She's surrounded by a soothing aura of light fitting for such an ethereal, nurturing woman.
"You look like an angel," I blurt out.
Her face brightens up with a smile and a blush. I freeze. I look around to locate Jordi and bid him goodbye, mainly to detract weight from the dreamy voice with which I had complimented my female coworker, but the man has already disappeared.
Jacqueline steps closer. She has narrowed both her eyes and her shoulders as she buttons up her cardigan, giving her a cozy look.
"You are gonna have to walk all the way down to the Lugaritz station, right?"
"Well, yes."
"I'll drive you to Amara if you want. Not any further, though. I want to get home too."
I yearn to be inside Jacqueline, preferably headfirst, but sharing a confined space that belongs to her is an enticing start.
"I feel like I don't have the right to ask you that," I say controlling my tone, "but if you offer it, I can only thank you."
"Great. No need to be that formal, Leire. And hey, check this out."
She points at her fog grey Audi A4 Avant and presses a button on her key fob. A row of inclined bulbs lights up over the headlights, giving the car a futuristic touch. But I am used to my old, murderous car that I abandoned, so most vehicles would feel like a vast improvement.
"I'm thoroughly impressed," I say.
Jacqueline giggles as she opens the driver's door, then she gestures with a tilt of her head towards the passenger's side. Before she regrets having invited me in, I hurry to the opposite door and I crouch into the car. Once both doors are closed, Jacqueline and I adjust our seatbelts. I slide my work bag onto my lap and I lean back against the foam pads of my seat. A strange warmth spreads throughout my body as if a swarm of bees was buzzing around inside me, making my heart flutter with excitement and anxiety.
The interior smells of leather and plastic, with just a hint of perfume. The metallic-looking dashboard is lighted with blue and yellow lines and curves, and it features a touch screen for plenty of the driver's touching needs. I bet it provides a GPS system. I've always wanted to own a vehicle with one, but I never felt like I could afford it. How much did Jacqueline pay for this fancy ride, anyway?
As Jacqueline maneuvers out of the parking lot, I discover that a different screen behind the steering wheel displays the GPS system, and that a HUD on the windshield features a digital speedometer and a fuel gauge. How much did cars improve as I was sleepwalking my life away?
Jacqueline is circling the roundabout at the entrance of the business park when a feeling sinks in: I wish I was stuck in a time loop in which I did nothing else than sit on the passenger seat as this woman drove me around. Only I would know that we would never reach our destination.
We are speeding down the slope that this morning I had to trudge my way up.
"How about some music, huh?" Jacqueline asks.
After she presses a couple of buttons on the touch screen, the multimedia system plays one of those upbeat, popular songs that the radio station insists on replaying week after week, I guess because some executives are bribing them.
"I didn't have enough with listening to your preferred music at the office," I say jokingly, "so now these songs will have further opportunity to burrow into my brain."
Jacqueline laughs. The streets are darkening quick. Two mothers push their strollers as they leave the nearby playground.
"What, you don't like my music?"
"It's not fair to call it yours unless you've composed it or learned how to play it on an instrument. But anyway, do I really seem like the kind of person who would enjoy these rhythms, or lyrics?"
"I don't like to prejudge. But you never stated that you hate the music I put on the radio."
"Why, to start an argument? I could tolerate it enough, the same way a prisoner gets used to regular torture sessions."
"I did buy this car, you know, so I'll keep playing my music."
"Hey, I will endure it, but I assure you, it's the mindless joy of people who were driven crazy by a bad case of Stockholm Syndrome."
Jacqueline taps me on the arm with the back of her hand.
"What kind of music do you listen to at your leisure, then?"
I scratch my nape, embarrassed.
"Usually sad songs about how depressing and disappointing life is, I guess."
Jacqueline fixes her gaze on my face, but I pretend that I find the white, tower-like apartment buildings interesting.
"It's such a shame that you aren't happy," she says.
"I do feel full of shame. But... why would I be happy?" I ask sullenly. "I mean, realistically. When I think about what's out there that could produce such a fabled state in me, I can't come up with anything."
We leave behind the Lugaritz station as Jacqueline's car ascends the adjoined, sloped road. A young woman walking her dog stands aside on the narrow sidewalk so a cyclist can pass by.
"There's sex," Jacqueline says casually.
"Sure," I concede. "As long as you come across the right person. Otherwise you just add to the hill of humiliating memories."
"Also good music and movies, and maybe a few drinks every once in a while to loosen things up and get to know someone better. Or just a nice dinner with friends. Not to mention a big, soft bed to fall asleep in. Traveling too, depending on the destination. But we are making idle talk, aren't we?"
I seek Jacqueline's gaze to figure out what she meant. She glances meaningfully at me, then she focuses on the road again. We are passing through an isolated road that connects the outskirts with downtown Donostia. A wall of tall trees on both sides of the road has blackened our surroundings further, except for the hazy orange cones coming from streetlights.
"What I mean," Jacqueline adds, "is that we both know that some people are born with a smaller capacity for happiness than others due to their genes and similar accidents of fate. The truly cursed could own a mansion in a tropical island and spend their days lounging in the sun, but they'd still be miserable."
I wouldn't have expected those sentences to come out of my coworker's mouth. I lean against the headrest as a sad smile plays across my lips.
"That'd be me. I've always known it, so I stew in my own misery by my lonesome."
"Does that mean that we should give up and accept that our lives are destined for misery and unhappiness? Companionship and maybe love should help, at least a little."
"If I told myself fantastical stories that I'd love to believe, I may end up getting married, raising a bunch of kids and enduring all the noise and mess and chaos that comes with them. I'd be feeding and cleaning up and disciplining and worrying and fighting and making up. Finally I'd have to decide whether to stay or to break up, but after you push out a couple of kids, unless the other person fucks you over, would you want to become a single mom?"
"I would have welcomed being any kind of mom."
"I don't know, Jacqueline," I swallow a hot lump in my throat as an aching feeling settles in my guts. "I don't want to bother you with my opinions, anyway. You are inconvenienced enough by having to drive me around."
She had turned her face towards her window. We are passing through a winding tunnel with grimy, graffitied walls. Her hair, drawn back in a ponytail, glistens like polished ebony wood under candlelight.
I have bothered Jacqueline, that much I can tell. I'm used to rambling to myself, usually out loud, as long as nobody can hear me. I can't contain the flood of words once someone gives me permission to speak, and I always end up freaking them out although they thought they wanted my input, so I'll have to restrain myself.
We have exited the tunnel into one of those serene neighborhoods in the outskirts where the well-off settle in their nests, away from the hubbub of their fellow humans. The curved front of a tortilla brown apartment building peeps out from behind a rustic wall and a slope covered with motley trees. We have reentered Donostia, which means that my destination gets closer, and soon enough Jacqueline will tell me to get out of her car.
"I will get used to walking everywhere and taking the train to cover the distances that would kill me otherwise," I say anxiously, "including ascending the slope to our business park. From tomorrow I'll make the trip in the opposite direction so I can take the train at Lugaritz."
Jacqueline sighs, then she brushes a thin strand of raven black hair behind her ear.
"Why? How long will it take them to repair your car?"
"Uh... Nobody will reanimate it, because it's totaled."
"Totaled?!"
I witness Jacqueline's shocked expression for the first time, but she's forced to focus on the road again, because a long, downward slope heads straight into downtown Donostia. I read in her wide open eyes a silent question: "What did you do?" I can't blame her. For years I yearned to crash my Renault Laguna into a wall at full speed, but then I wouldn't have gotten to sit in Jacqueline's car, so close that she'd only have to reach out to slide her warm fingertips down my thighs.
I wave a hand dismissively.
"My car was a piece of shit anyway."
"Well, will the insurance pay for it?"
"It might if I had it," I admit sheepishly.
Jacqueline admonishes me with a look that makes me feel like a misbehaving girl who could hardly wait to make it up to mommy.
"Leire..."
I shift my weight in my seat as I swallow a nervous lump in my throat. A warm flush had burst in my abdomen, and it's threatening to flow down to my groin.
"What can I say?" I ask in a raspy voice. "I'm merely a helpless child in many respects."
Jacqueline reaches across the center console and takes hold of my left hand with her right one. Her skin is soft and smooth, with delicate veins that show through. At the end of her slender fingers, her nails are painted red with clear polish. Goosebumps rise on my covered arms as I face the concern in her blue eyes, that air of maternal affection. I need to take off my panties and fuck myself.
Jacqueline returns her right hand to the steering wheel.
"That's your personality, but you are far more capable than you give yourself credit."
My heart is beating faster, and I'm getting light-headed.
"I-I might also become a zombie before long, due to a mysterious disease of which nobody has heard but that it's slowly killing me with a variety of symptoms, such as nausea and vomiting and diarrhea and uncontrollable fits of hysterical laughter and a burning sensation that feels like someone is stabbing me with a red hot poker from within my chest cavity up to my brain."
"Sweetie, that doesn't sound like you should strain yourself walking down to the Lugaritz station five days a week. I'll keep driving you to Amara. I'm following my usual route anyway, and I enjoy talking to you."
"Thank you. I don't recall anyone ever saying that to me."
A view of bunched up houses has filled most of the horizon in front of us, as far as the vegetation allows me to see. I dreaded reaching the Amara station because I doubted Jacqueline would offer me a ride again, and I wouldn't muster up the courage to ask her. Was she joking, though? She can't possibly enjoy spending time with me.
"I'm also worried about anyone walking around after sunset," Jacqueline adds somberly, "with all the shit that's going on."
"You mean the rapid disintegration of this country, along with most of Europe?"
"I'm talking about the missing people, and the murders."
I blink repeatedly in confusion, which makes her chuckle.
"C'mon, don't tell me you didn't know!" Jacqueline says.
"I refuse to follow the news. I already struggle to contain my nausea."
She shakes her head and smiles at my reticence.
"Gist of it is, entire clans have been found massacred, and many other people have gone missing. I'm sure the police are pissed, because they look incompetent these days," Jacqueline states matter-of-factly as we pick up speed by noise barriers plastered with stickers of trees and birds of prey, I guess to prevent stupid birds from cracking their skulls by flying headfirst into the barriers.
I suspect that this delicious woman is taking advantage of my innocence, but I'll play along like a good little victim while she gets what she wants out of me.
"That sounds like a veritable murder spree. I would be fine though, as I doubt I belong to any clan, and I avoid trekking through the woods because I'm terrified of sasquatches. But you are right, I'm defenseless. You better let me park my ass on your passenger seat five days a week. I'll pay for your diesel, or whatever sludge this Audi slugs."
"Just pay me with your company, sweetie."
"Oh, you are gonna make me cry."
The car leaves behind a futuristic building with a facade made out of pastel-colored panels, as well a pristine white Zenit hotel. I recognize the tower of a church because I saw it from the train this morning, so in a short while I'll have to extricate myself from Jacqueline.
"So, what do you do in the afternoons?" she asks.
"Oh, you know. Sometimes I imagine myself sitting at my coffee table and opening one of the board games that have gathered dust on my shelves, particularly those whose rules I've never learned."
"You are into board games, then? You play them alone?"
I sigh. I suspect that I should lie, but a suicidal instinct urges me to offer Jacqueline a peek into the abyss that my life has become. Maybe she can save me. Or maybe she can simply amuse herself until I totally lose it, jump off some roof and plunge to my death.
"I used to, years ago. Ever since I work as a programmer, by the time I get home I'm always so exhausted that I just lie around, usually on the couch or in bed, and browse the internet idly. Some days I pass out shortly after I allow myself to relax, and when I wake up, I cobble together some dinner, eat it as I watch YouTube videos, then I brush my teeth, masturbate and struggle to fall asleep."
Jacqueline chuckles as she turns the steering wheel to circle one of the central roundabouts of the city, that features an appropriately wasteful fountain. My blood has frozen. Why do I allow myself to speak? Why do I feel that I should share private information, only to want to punch myself in the face an instant after I have revealed it?
"W-why, how do you spend your afternoons?" I ask in a thin voice.
Jacqueline purses her lips as she looks up.
"For example, I'm meeting someone in a couple of hours."
"As in... a person?"
She covers her mouth as she laughs softly.
"Yes, Leire, a human being. What else would it be?"
"I don't know," I say wearily. "A horse, maybe."
"A horse, huh? Are you a fan of horses?"
I shake my head.
"I fucking despise them. They are ugly and disgusting and they stink to the point that they shouldn't exist on Earth anymore."
A terrible suspicion makes my ears prick up. I check through the rearview mirror if an animal that might resemble an equine is attached to the backseat of the car, but it seems I'm safe for now.
"Okay..." Jacqueline says dubitatively. "So yeah, I usually go out."
A droning noise is increasing in my ears as I feel my spine stiffening. A bus delays us, as well as the cars that were following us, because it needs to wait for another bus to drive out of a stop. I try to distract myself by looking out of the window, but we are close a four star hotel and to a couple dozen of strangers that are either sitting at the outside tables of a bar, or walking purposefully along the darkened sidewalk.
"I guess he's an attractive guy," I say in a monotone, "this person you are meeting tonight."
"Uh-huh. He's twenty four and works as an accountant at a law firm. He also has the body that befits someone rising in the ranks of semi-professional tennis."
She's driving through an intersection that passes by a decades-old palm tree. I recognize that wall that separates the sidewalk from the train tracks.
Jacqueline enjoys sex with many lovers who are willing to satisfy every one of her whims and fantasies. She's a sexpot who knows exactly what she's doing with that delectable body of hers. I bet that all of those men are well-adjusted and presentable, like the ones featured in the promotional videos that run in a loop on the screens of the train. I already knew this, so why do I feel this upsurge of anger that threatens to overwhelm my fragile sanity? Jacqueline hadn't deceived me; if anything, she went out of her way to console me. She didn't need to offer me a ride. Still, I've made the mistake of closing my eyes, and my mind is playing a vivid video of a tennis player ramming Jacqueline as she moans and begs him to fuck her harder. My mood has plummeted into somberness as if the sky had grown dark with clouds of doom.
Who would want to have anything to do with me? I don't. Why would anyone ever find me attractive when all they can see when they look at my pale, skinny self is a freakish creature covered in thick layers of filth, who suffers from mental illnesses and social ineptitude, with no future prospects, no hope, all alone in this cold world, with a defective reality masking a shattered soul?
"Here we are. Look! We have a free parking spot and everything," Jacqueline says as she pulls into a space reserved for taxis, in front of the Amara station. When she turns her head to bid me goodbye, her smile falls. "Are you crying?"
My throat has constricted. My heart pounds against the walls of my chest cavity, that feels like it's caving in on itself due to an accumulation of pain that won't let go of me no matter how much time passes.
"Just a couple of tears," I mumble.
I'm tightening my right fist, because I don't want to reach for the handle of the door with a trembling hand. Jacqueline cups my chin and turns my head towards her. I'm forced to stare into her cobalt blue eyes as she studies me inquisitively.
"You have a crush on me," Jacqueline says calmly.
I keep myself from blinking as I fumble with the handle of my door. Once I set my feet on the asphalt, I nearly trip.
"I-I have to take this train."
The thud of the door closing silences my coworker, who was moving her lips. I hurry into the crowded station.
November 4, 2021
We're Fucked, Pt. 12 (Fiction)
Link to this part on my personal page, where it looks better
---
At eleven o'clock, I lift my sweaty hand from my mouse and I get up from my chair. I gulp, then turn to Jacqueline. Her perfume is a floral scent with a hint of spice and citrus that reminds me of a garden full of flowers and fruit trees. I hadn't intended to ogle at her now, but I'm in a vantage position to peer down the cleavage of her skater dress. That pink lace bra barely holds together the generous mounds of titflesh that are pushing against the cups of the garment. The day I'll end up standing on tiptoes and with a noose tightened around my neck while my heart pounds away violently, urged by my survival instincts to find reasons to keep living, the word 'breasts' will flash in my mind in capital bold letters. Tits are the symbol of power that I crave to possess, the source of strength that gives life when everything else fails. Their presence will ward off evil spirits that lurk outside of our shelters looking for a chance to invade them. If I let go of breasts, what would I have left to hold onto except for a life of loneliness and despair?
"Uh... Jacqueline," I say weakly, "I'm going to get a coffee. Do you want one too?"
She was absorbed in browsing external hard disks on Amazon, and when she gazes up at me and processes my offer, she seems pleasantly intrigued, because I had never offered to get her anything. Jacqueline rubs her lower lip with a fingertip as one corner of her mouth raises in a smile. Her eyes, two pools of blue ice floating above a mountain lake, sparkle while she looks at me from under her lashes. I wonder if she can sense the heat rising off my skin.
"Sure, sweetie," she answers softly with her voice dripping honey. "A latte."
As I turn to walk away, Jacqueline reaches for the sleeve of my sweater and pulls me back with a gentle tug.
"Leire, maybe Jordi wants a coffee as well?" she suggests with a coy little grin.
I blush crimson. I pivot towards my male coworker, whose existence I had forgotten until a couple of seconds ago. Our intern draws upon his deep reserves of patience and forbearance to deal with my awkward self.
"It's alright, Leire. I'm still running on the coffee I drank a couple of hours ago."
A few minutes later I'm warming my right hand with a steaming cappuccino while I witness how Jacqueline's pouty lips close around the rim of the plastic cup that I lovingly brought to her. When she opens her eyes, her pupils were turned my way. A jolt of electricity runs through my body. Jacqueline gives me a big smile, which accentuates her dimples. I fail to withstand her gaze as my heart beats fast, so I pretend that my work requires my undivided attention, which, to be fair, it does, as I'm struggling to program through my tasks. However, I want to watch Jacqueline surreptitiously through my peripheral vision. She keeps sipping the hot liquid that is slowly seeping into her tummy, making its way through the crevices of her fleshy anatomy. I should have drooled into her coffee.
That was a knowing smile Jacqueline threw my way, so she realizes how wet she can make me. I must be blushing in her presence like a little girl caught with a handful of candy bar wrappers. But someone stalked by a sentient horse can't be sure of anything, except that I need to relieve the burning sensation in my crotch.
I'm working on a failing unit test when I realize that my coworkers are stretching their legs, eager to breathe the cold October air instead of the stale atmosphere of this office that reeks of sweat and bad coffee. Somehow I have reached the lunch break without losing my mind.
I take a deep breath as my coworkers chat. A pair of feminine hands grabs my shoulders and rubs them briskly, in circular motions. The hair on my nape rises.
"Are you coming with us?" Jacqueline asks me from behind.
I'm about to shiver in pleasure at the touch of her fingers gliding across the flesh of my neck and shoulder blades through my sweater and shirt.
"I-I'd love you witness you two getting tipsier as you prattle about sex, but unfortunately I have to catch up on work."
I don't retain her answer. While my coworkers walk towards the entrance of our office, I try to admire Jacqueline's butt in the reflection of my monitor, but the tail of her cardigan hides her posterior. Once they're gone, I sigh heavily. Although I attempt to resume my task, waves of lust keep running down my spine. I'm both aroused and ashamed, as if I had just been caught diddling myself.
I slip away to the bathroom. Inside, I check that all the stalls are empty. I'm refreshing my face with cold water when a shadow falls over me, and I end up staring at Spike's bulging eyes in the smudged mirror. His huge, elongated head is blocking the fluorescent light. My eyes are drawn to the oval of pink flesh underneath the flaps of skin that cover the horse's groin. His stench reaches me, overwhelming my nostrils.
This piece of shit horse opens his drooling mouth to speak, but I interrupt him eagerly.
"It's the ladies bathroom, Spike. Then again, whoever castrated you also gave you a vagina, huh?"
I fail to push out a mocking chuckle. If anything, I fear that my eyes may overflow with tears. I have to remain strong, but I just want to cry and scream at the same time.
"Sorry for bothering you," Spike says.
"You couldn't be any further from sorry, freakshow. You're a hideous horsemanoid creature, a disgusting pile of bones and filth who eats human corpses and craps out garbage. Just shut your deformed muzzle before some random person walks in here. Why do you keep disappearing suddenly, anyway?"
Spike lifts his snout, which causes a long strand of drool to fall onto the tiles. His bulging forehead crinkles.
"It takes a sustained effort to maintain a stable reality and hold on to the illusion of a coherent world."
"Is that what happens when you devour people alive?"
I guess his explanation made sense. If I were a horse, it'd be impossible to get a good night's sleep. I'd dream of being chased or torn apart by wolves or other predators, or even worse, by an angry mob that screamed "Horsemeat! Horsemeat!" as they beat me to death with clubs or rakes. So understandably, horses prefer to stay hidden whenever possible. It's easier to live alone than to be constantly tormented by terrifying visions.
In any case, a wave of nausea is rising in my throat, and my temples are throbbing. I clutch at the sink as I swallow my foul-tasting saliva.
"You should take a shower every once in a while, you know?" I mutter.
"Everything is getting too confusing. Leire, you need to listen, because I'm trying to tell you something important."
I turn off the tap and rub my damp hands against each other. I hear footsteps approaching from the hallway.
"Well, you are doing a terrible job at it, and I couldn't possibly care about anything a stinky equine would want to tell me. I won't give you the opportunity for any of your cells to inject their genetic material into mine, if horses could be said to possess any form of DNA whatsoever. I won't let you eat my brain either, so there's no point talking to me, okay, Spike?"
A woman enters the restroom, but I lower my head and sneak away while the intruder opens a stall. I hurry towards my office as I hear Spike complaining in a high-pitched voice like a honking goose. He must be losing it from the irritation of having been left alone with his stench and vengeful thoughts.
---
At eleven o'clock, I lift my sweaty hand from my mouse and I get up from my chair. I gulp, then turn to Jacqueline. Her perfume is a floral scent with a hint of spice and citrus that reminds me of a garden full of flowers and fruit trees. I hadn't intended to ogle at her now, but I'm in a vantage position to peer down the cleavage of her skater dress. That pink lace bra barely holds together the generous mounds of titflesh that are pushing against the cups of the garment. The day I'll end up standing on tiptoes and with a noose tightened around my neck while my heart pounds away violently, urged by my survival instincts to find reasons to keep living, the word 'breasts' will flash in my mind in capital bold letters. Tits are the symbol of power that I crave to possess, the source of strength that gives life when everything else fails. Their presence will ward off evil spirits that lurk outside of our shelters looking for a chance to invade them. If I let go of breasts, what would I have left to hold onto except for a life of loneliness and despair?
"Uh... Jacqueline," I say weakly, "I'm going to get a coffee. Do you want one too?"
She was absorbed in browsing external hard disks on Amazon, and when she gazes up at me and processes my offer, she seems pleasantly intrigued, because I had never offered to get her anything. Jacqueline rubs her lower lip with a fingertip as one corner of her mouth raises in a smile. Her eyes, two pools of blue ice floating above a mountain lake, sparkle while she looks at me from under her lashes. I wonder if she can sense the heat rising off my skin.
"Sure, sweetie," she answers softly with her voice dripping honey. "A latte."
As I turn to walk away, Jacqueline reaches for the sleeve of my sweater and pulls me back with a gentle tug.
"Leire, maybe Jordi wants a coffee as well?" she suggests with a coy little grin.
I blush crimson. I pivot towards my male coworker, whose existence I had forgotten until a couple of seconds ago. Our intern draws upon his deep reserves of patience and forbearance to deal with my awkward self.
"It's alright, Leire. I'm still running on the coffee I drank a couple of hours ago."
A few minutes later I'm warming my right hand with a steaming cappuccino while I witness how Jacqueline's pouty lips close around the rim of the plastic cup that I lovingly brought to her. When she opens her eyes, her pupils were turned my way. A jolt of electricity runs through my body. Jacqueline gives me a big smile, which accentuates her dimples. I fail to withstand her gaze as my heart beats fast, so I pretend that my work requires my undivided attention, which, to be fair, it does, as I'm struggling to program through my tasks. However, I want to watch Jacqueline surreptitiously through my peripheral vision. She keeps sipping the hot liquid that is slowly seeping into her tummy, making its way through the crevices of her fleshy anatomy. I should have drooled into her coffee.
That was a knowing smile Jacqueline threw my way, so she realizes how wet she can make me. I must be blushing in her presence like a little girl caught with a handful of candy bar wrappers. But someone stalked by a sentient horse can't be sure of anything, except that I need to relieve the burning sensation in my crotch.
I'm working on a failing unit test when I realize that my coworkers are stretching their legs, eager to breathe the cold October air instead of the stale atmosphere of this office that reeks of sweat and bad coffee. Somehow I have reached the lunch break without losing my mind.
I take a deep breath as my coworkers chat. A pair of feminine hands grabs my shoulders and rubs them briskly, in circular motions. The hair on my nape rises.
"Are you coming with us?" Jacqueline asks me from behind.
I'm about to shiver in pleasure at the touch of her fingers gliding across the flesh of my neck and shoulder blades through my sweater and shirt.
"I-I'd love you witness you two getting tipsier as you prattle about sex, but unfortunately I have to catch up on work."
I don't retain her answer. While my coworkers walk towards the entrance of our office, I try to admire Jacqueline's butt in the reflection of my monitor, but the tail of her cardigan hides her posterior. Once they're gone, I sigh heavily. Although I attempt to resume my task, waves of lust keep running down my spine. I'm both aroused and ashamed, as if I had just been caught diddling myself.
I slip away to the bathroom. Inside, I check that all the stalls are empty. I'm refreshing my face with cold water when a shadow falls over me, and I end up staring at Spike's bulging eyes in the smudged mirror. His huge, elongated head is blocking the fluorescent light. My eyes are drawn to the oval of pink flesh underneath the flaps of skin that cover the horse's groin. His stench reaches me, overwhelming my nostrils.
This piece of shit horse opens his drooling mouth to speak, but I interrupt him eagerly.
"It's the ladies bathroom, Spike. Then again, whoever castrated you also gave you a vagina, huh?"
I fail to push out a mocking chuckle. If anything, I fear that my eyes may overflow with tears. I have to remain strong, but I just want to cry and scream at the same time.
"Sorry for bothering you," Spike says.
"You couldn't be any further from sorry, freakshow. You're a hideous horsemanoid creature, a disgusting pile of bones and filth who eats human corpses and craps out garbage. Just shut your deformed muzzle before some random person walks in here. Why do you keep disappearing suddenly, anyway?"
Spike lifts his snout, which causes a long strand of drool to fall onto the tiles. His bulging forehead crinkles.
"It takes a sustained effort to maintain a stable reality and hold on to the illusion of a coherent world."
"Is that what happens when you devour people alive?"
I guess his explanation made sense. If I were a horse, it'd be impossible to get a good night's sleep. I'd dream of being chased or torn apart by wolves or other predators, or even worse, by an angry mob that screamed "Horsemeat! Horsemeat!" as they beat me to death with clubs or rakes. So understandably, horses prefer to stay hidden whenever possible. It's easier to live alone than to be constantly tormented by terrifying visions.
In any case, a wave of nausea is rising in my throat, and my temples are throbbing. I clutch at the sink as I swallow my foul-tasting saliva.
"You should take a shower every once in a while, you know?" I mutter.
"Everything is getting too confusing. Leire, you need to listen, because I'm trying to tell you something important."
I turn off the tap and rub my damp hands against each other. I hear footsteps approaching from the hallway.
"Well, you are doing a terrible job at it, and I couldn't possibly care about anything a stinky equine would want to tell me. I won't give you the opportunity for any of your cells to inject their genetic material into mine, if horses could be said to possess any form of DNA whatsoever. I won't let you eat my brain either, so there's no point talking to me, okay, Spike?"
A woman enters the restroom, but I lower my head and sneak away while the intruder opens a stall. I hurry towards my office as I hear Spike complaining in a high-pitched voice like a honking goose. He must be losing it from the irritation of having been left alone with his stench and vengeful thoughts.
November 3, 2021
Guitar practice (03-11-2021)
I hadn't recorded myself playing the guitar in quite a while. Today was cold outside, and I didn't want to go out during a storm, so I stayed home and recorded this session. From now on I plan to upload the entire sessions as single YouTube videos.
Something went wrong when mixing the tracks, which hadn't happened to me before somehow, and some songs feature scratching. Unfortunately I had already deleted the originals, so nothing can be done. I had to remove one song because the scratching was too notorious. I hope it isn't that irritating.
In any case, it's me playing my guitar for around forty minutes. Warning: I also sing.
Link to the session: Guitar practice (03-11-2021)
Something went wrong when mixing the tracks, which hadn't happened to me before somehow, and some songs feature scratching. Unfortunately I had already deleted the originals, so nothing can be done. I had to remove one song because the scratching was too notorious. I hope it isn't that irritating.
In any case, it's me playing my guitar for around forty minutes. Warning: I also sing.
Link to the session: Guitar practice (03-11-2021)
xVASynth recites 'The Cleaning Crew'
I forced the fantastic, AI-based xVASynth to recite my minor poem 'The Cleaning Crew' with three different voices. I thought it came out quite well.
Link to the YouTube video.
Link to the original poem.
Link to the YouTube video.
Link to the original poem.
