THE LOST TAPES Vol.25

Black cat reunion
Four black cats surround a dog carcass
Sat tight, tails wrapped around the paws
Three of them watch the rotten meat like hypnotized
But the fourth seems to be worried about his companions;
On the look out for danger
In a moment he meows and then jumps to the sidewalk
As a red truck runs over the three other black cats 

***

I saw a feather lying on the ground
Did not pick it up
Today I regret not picking it up 

***

   The stars cannot be seen in the sky up above
   It’s not going to rain tonight, or tomorrow
   The sky is just black, devoid of stars
   I’m so high off the ground
   The artificiality of white lights can not reach me
   Even when shining bright on my face
   I am out there, outside this room, through the window
   Part of the black meaningless sky, devoid of stars 

***

   Their face is blank, I can’t see their soul
   I can’t hear them but they ask questions
   Able to respond but not doing so
   I can’t feel my body, can’t know if my mouth is open or shut
   Can’t hear the words I speak
   Can’t know if a tear is running 

***

   Thank you for staying by my side
   Thank you for taking care of me
   Thank you for bringing me here
   Thank you for holding my hand 

***

it’s a rotting tumor covering my whole body
invisible, completely metaphysical
psychological might be a more fitting adjective
psychological disease, covering my whole person
like a stigma 

***

   — Your partner have told me about the recent events, Anastasia. Do you want to talk about it?
   — I don’t mind.
   — Our sessions have been pretty scarce lately, but do you remember the method? Want to keep it?
   — Sure.
   — Alright, then let’s start with metaphors. How would you describe the cause of the latest events?
|
   — Do you believe to have any guilt on their occurrence? If so, what is a metaphor for the right course of action, from your perspective?
|
   — Speak on the subject of your last three most significant memories.
|
   — How would you describe what you’ve been feeling in the last few days?
|
   — That’s about it. Thanks for coming, Anastasia. I will be visiting tomorrow at 6. 

***

   — Today I'd like to do something different, Anastasia. A talk, like the ones we had at first. Questions and answers. Are you ok with that?
   — Whatever pleases you.
   — Alright. Can you tell me, please. When was the last time you smiled? Do you remember?
   — I don't know. A few days ago, maybe?
   — Would you say you were happy then? When you smiled the last time?
   — I don't remember. It was fine, I imagine. You know? my mood. 'twas nothing much, I was just fine.
   — This time, when you smiled, do you think you should've felt happiness?
   — I guess so. It was a date, you know? I like the girl. Our first date was fine, but in this last one I was feeling a little off.
   — What does "feeling a little off" mean?
   — I don't know... Part of me wanted to go on that date, but I couldn't shrug off the feeling that it would be better if I just stayed home, if I didn't go meet her in the state I was in. I was a mess.
   — Do you think your state of mind affected her in any way?
   — I don't know. Don't want to think about it.
   — No problem, let's move on. Can you tell me, please, when was the last time you cried?
   — Last night, probably. Maybe the day before that, when I was at the hospital.
   — Can you tell the meaning of those tears?
   — That's hard to say, really. When I cry, the reason for it varies a lot. Sometimes someone dies, sometimes I hurt myself, sometimes it just happens with no rhyme or reason... I don't think my tears carry much meaning. They're not consistent.
   — Consistent?
   — Consistent. Consistent in turning physical the feelings behind them. I can feel dread and not cry, I can live in sorrow and not cry, I can mutilate an arm and not shed a single tear, and after all that, cry a river when reading a love scene on a cheap novel. It's hard for me to cry for myself, I usually cry for others.
   — And why do you think is that?
   — I can't care for me. I don't believe I deserve any kind of feelings from anyone, even less from my own self. I hate when they feel bad, when I make them feel bad. I don't deserve any pity, you know? I'm less than most. Not littler, though. Less. You know what I'm talking about.
   — Anastasia, do you think that is doing any good to you?
   — You know I don't.
   — And what would you do to better that side of yourself? In a hypothetical way.
   — I don't know. I can't care for that.
   — Try to think from my perspective. What would you say to yourself?
   — I don’t fucking know. I’d probably tell you to stop whining.
   — Do you want a pause?
   — I want you to stop talking. Let’s reschedule, I’m tired of this.

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