The Unnoticeables

by Robert Brockway

“Sticks and stones may break my bones, but I won’t stick you unless you get me stoned,” I whispered to her.

I wanted to worship at the musky pyramid temple of Camel cigarettes. I wanted to drop to my knees and inhale nothing but smoke until I burned up inside and flaked away like old paper.

Me and Randall gave it synchronized middle fingers and forgot all about fighting, to become a united front of Fuck You, Guy in Car.

I breathed storm clouds; I shot black soot like a dragon; I exhaled the entire Los Angeles motherfucking skyline.

First, when you put up an apathetic, angry shell for long enough, the behaviors you thought were mostly an act start to become your reality. In other words: If you train yourself to respond like a dickhead in most situations, you find yourself responding like a dickhead in most situations.

You don’t need nicknames to remember a black punk. They’re like unicorns.

Same with black goths

“I can’t drink it any faster!” Matt protested, unsticking his hands from our artfully disgusting kitchen floor. “Try putting more of the liquid in you at a greater speed,” Randall suggested. “That’s not fuckin’ helpful!” Matt yelled. “Try swallowing larger amounts,” I added, one finger on my jaw in thoughtful consideration. “Fuck you guys,” Matt said.

“How did you take all those fuckers out?” I asked, spitting blood and shaking my head clear. “I got steel-toed boots and they got balls.” He shrugged. “Even Wash can do that math.”

I couldn’t believe I still had to work today. Your whole world can fall apart on you—everything you know can be called into question while some sick inhuman thing steals part of your soul—and when you wake up the next morning, your boss will still yell at you for not smiling at the customers.

Only when his presence is yanked away from me do I actually understand the purpose that God served for humanity: He was the knife in our soul. We think the blade hurts us, but remove it and there is only emptiness left. We bleed from the holes in our understanding and we shrivel and we die. I did not know that God was with me until he left. Now the wound has opened, and I have never known a colder place than here, in the shadow of his absence.

“You look like you don’t so much ride this as you repeatedly crash it until you reach your destination.”

Cars didn’t so much drive on these streets as they just parked in rapid succession. Every traffic light was a line at Disneyland: just a bunch of bored people waiting for the brief, giddy thrill of movement.

“This might be the best day of my life,” Carey said. “I get to be in a bitchin’ motorcycle chase while a beautiful girl repeatedly sticks her ass in my face.”

“They are drawn to this place. They are flawed, weak, and stupid. They are human. Yet through systematic degradation and avarice, they are reduced. Cleared of pretension.” “And here, at last and for the first time, they are rendered useful.” “They walk proudly into this place. They speak of it in hushed and optimistic tones. They dream all their lives of the refinery.” “And still wonder why we burn them when they arrive.”

“Maybe we can cut down through the sewers,” I said. “There’s got to be, like, an entryway up into that building from below.” “Why?” Jezza laughed. “Why would there be an entrance from the sewer into there?” “Well, I don’t fucking know; there always is on the TV.” “Is there an entrance up from the sewer into your apartment? It’s not a bloody sidewalk. You know what’s in the sewer?” “Poop,” Wash offered. “He’s right,” Jezza confirmed.

“I take offense to that,” I tried to quip, but my mouth was thick and some asshole had put it on sideways.