The Solitary Adventure of Mr. Z: Part I | Teen Ink

The Solitary Adventure of Mr. Z: Part I

December 30, 2011
By thelivingmanpt2 BRONZE, El Monte, California
thelivingmanpt2 BRONZE, El Monte, California
3 articles 11 photos 11 comments

Favorite Quote:
i like it when the red water come out
~salid fingers

In Exile with all of my thoughts

July 23, 1993

Sometimes I forget that it isn’t 200bc. The sky isn’t as blue as it once was, the sun isn’t as yellow as it too once was, and the moon isn’t as bright and illuminating as it once was either. Where have I gone to?

I can’t recall the last time I had a dream; last century perhaps. This electric heat burns my thoughts and distorts my perception of things. I walk to Timbuktu and stay there for 12 years smoking hash and drinking alcohol. The mirages are close enough to dreaming I’ve come to, so I’m thankful for that.

Sometimes I forget I’m human and not some single celled organism running on some basic motor function. Oh, how I miss the old days.
“Cows go hum dum bum.
School is overrated; I’m dumb, but not happy.
A contradiction; inconsistent as my dreams and memories of yesterday.”

December 12, 1993

Usually, when my sleeping pattern is haywire I tend to go through sleep paralysis. I’ll wake up to distorted electronic frequencies whispering into my ears and I’ll open my eyes to some pixelated digital image while some machine alien runs off through the hallway back into his wormhole(which probably leads him back to Xurtis 2304). By the time I have enough strength to shake the paralysis off he’s usually light years away while I’m stuck in my little lonely cabin. The cabin is a replica of my apartment. The Cabin is approximately the size of two vans; there is a kitchen with a nice view near the sink looking out into my front yard, the living room is connected to the kitchen and accompanying the living room is a coffee table and an old antique glass ashtray which i don’t use anymore. In the corner I have some old video tapes from back home in a box and some old vinyl’s also in a box. I don’t have a vcr, tv, record player, or a bathroom. There is however an outhouse in the back yard.

My front yard consists of a small garden. My small garden consists of: grapes, sugar canes, and cannabis. All divided equally and all equally important to my life style.

My sleeping pattern has been on the buzz lately due to my heavy drug and alcohol use. I’ve been growing dependent on the damn substances. I thought maybe the cannabis would help out with clothing such as: blankets, curtains, carpets, and maybe shorts or shirts.

I sit on my makeshift front porch and drink the fine poison down and steady, all day, thinking up thoughts that drift away from my open palms never to come back, while I hiss out smoke. The empty plain over head in front of my bloodshot red eyes: tall graze moving in sync with the wind in some perfect rhythm. I don’t see machine birds, no death gas covering the blue sky, or feel sympathy for the dead roots in the dirt dead road since there aren’t any. I sleep happy, I’ll die happy.

March 4, 1995

It’s raining; it hasn’t rained in three years. Three years to the date since I’ve seen a face, since I’ve heard a voice other than my own. The sound of each droplet of water hitting the ground hymns in intrinsic beauty. A symphony of sound and loud roars over head as the thunder approaches steadfastly toward my house.

Earlier, about two years earlier, I had set up two giant barrel contraptions to collect water since I started running out of the liquid. I have about a year’s supply of water left but maybe with the storm I’ll be able to collect enough water for perhaps three more years. Apparently it’s quite rare that it rains out here. There is however a village about fifty miles east from here. I’ve heard rumors about this isolated village out toward the east, I don’t know how much of them are true. Also, there’s a small city 100 miles north of here.

May 16, 1995

It must seem ostensibly obvious that I came here to die… alone. After all, everything is temporary.

Faces will come and go, memories will fade and rust with time, dreams will lay and die, thoughts will drift away, time will cease to be kind, and you’ll be left with yourself at the end. Like the fire burning deep within, like the sun, will end, extinguish, never have been, succumbing to the mortal flaw which plagues everything.

I just haven’t had much ambition.

Everything is temporary

Paintings, photographs… time captured and put still, juxtaposed in eternity. We’re all juxtaposed in eternity.

Circa June 14, 1995

I went out for a walk earlier today; a 33 mile walk straight from the door of my cabin. I saw a cow walking out in the distance about 10 miles ahead of me. . Someone or some villages’ livestock probably ran away. The cow was going to die. By the time I got to the cow it was wheezing, the eyes staring out into all directions. I got my knife out and thought about killing it, but I didn’t, I wouldn’t know where to begin. I left it to die.

I like going on walks, they clear the mind of unnecessary clutter just weighing you down.

The author's comments:
This is only Part I of my adventure....
This happened to me a few years back. Consequently, i have years of therapy and psychoanalysis ahead of me if i ever want to regain the social status i once had. At the end of this trip i had lost all my money.

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