The last part of half waking I was exploring space, as space, and as I went deeper into it I saw that between smaller and smaller increments of space was more space.
Before that I had been avoiding the disease in the closet, where many others were crammed and sure to die. I lived with four others in a desk. It was genocide and we were hiding.
Dad made me an almond milk latte, saving one of the shots for a macchiato, which is how I enjoy my coffee at dad’s house. I was looking for my sunglasses and dad said he had made me room on the sunglasses-rack over some hours of endless tasks.
“All the tasks will be done at some point.” I said. “They will be when I’m dead.” Replied dad.
I wore my back-up-glove-box-shades and as I drove I worked on relaxing my jaw. The back of my head was leaking invisible golden fluid into my perception.
When I was 12 my great uncle Paul described to me how he was the Cowardly Lion and I thought he was so cool. Recently I came home from a camping misadventure to a heavy room. Mom told me he had died. I felt like a real shit-head for not visiting him on his death bed. A bright blue sadness enveloped us.
He had stage 4 lung cancer so we knew he was not much longer for earth. In Breaking Bad reference I said: “At least he can stop selling meth.” My mom said: “Oh he stopped doing that years ago.”
Some iconic memories with Uncle Paul took place in the exchange of gifts. He once gave Noah a Hastings gift card with the inscription: “Question everything and trust no one” done in his quintessential shaky scrawl.
Some years ago he sent us a holiday greeting with him standing in front of a forest of marijuana with “Hi, Merry X-Mas” written below.
Last year we bought him a hoodie with a marijuana leaf on it, and Hawaiian pot seeds in the pocket.
When I started college Uncle Paul handed me a $20 and told me to spend it on pizza and beer. He told me beer is actually very good on cornflakes if there was any leftover.
Uncle Paul stayed with us when he would visit. He always left before anyone woke up, explaining that he preferred an Eskimo Goodbye, without a lot of dilly-dallying. When I was younger I would wake up early to say goodbye to him. He always gave a side-hug and said: “Love ya’ darlin.'”
There are always some things you can’t really get across about a person when describing them. Uncle Paul was a real badass and a curmudgeon in the sweetest way possible. His eyes were light blue.
My sibling and I made Uncle Paul a cup once that said: “#1 Great Uncle.” That’s still how we feel about him.
Will went to his friend’s wedding and told us about his time as he, Hirshey, and I drank tequila on the recently dampened mountain.
I have been dreaming about pools as much as normal.
Will and I were lying on in the yard during a storm. I thought about being made of the same atoms as everything, feeling like I was the trees, wind, and lightning.
Will told me he had had a fun year hanging out with me and was sorry for the loss I had gone through. He told me he intended to mourn my death and not the other way around. How sweet. I don’t want to die. I looked at the grass, thinking that this moment in my life is precious, and that it will eventually be completely forgotten.
After it started pouring rain we had overly-sweet “Soy Creamy” with some awful sour red wine poured on top, and bitter cocoa powder. It was a perfect flavor combination.