Officer Stramatt steps into the room. “I was the responding officer. You were in really bad shape. It’s good to see that you’re on the mend.”
Mike responds with various gargled words.
“Before I ask a few questions, I wanted to make you aware of this letter I found stuck in your pocket. We did find your I.D. and your wallet, but nothing else. Your Mustang Cobra was found in the parking lot of Bath and Body Works. Would you like to read the letter?”
…While the train remained still with its doors open, the crowd stopped in disbelief, as they stared, fixated on his strange appearance, waiting for clarification of his statements, because they wondered what would make someone speak this way, and was it a cry for help, or performance art, so the people decided to discuss his rationality, wondering if it was an obscenity, but the people eventually gave up trying to figure him out so they resumed their activity, chattering noisily as they went about their business, but he became saddened because he didn’t hold their attention and gaze for a few moments longer, so Blue Beard began to commence the next phase…he opened his guitar case…
Women wore funny hats and men rode on bicycles everywhere. There was a sense that this was a homely little town (one got the feeling they fancied themselves as such anyway) and yet there was too much extravagance. It was too frenzied, too exotic. There were too many people and they were all moving in all sorts of directions. There were too many houses and they had too many eccentricities. The noise – cacophonous – came from everywhere as all spoke and laughed at once. You couldn’t tell if they were even communicating but they made as if they were. Occasionally, little coordinated dance numbers would break out. Suddenly on the horizon a great flood of deeply dark, viscous liquid rolled towards the scene. It was so all-encompassing it seemed it might blot out the whole midground of the sky. The people rushed frantically in one direction, away from the oncoming wave, trampling many as they went. Finally one shouted, “The high ground! Get to the high ground!” and following his epiphany the…
I was on a bus, as were many of my comrades. The bus was huge and packed full but not uncomfortably so. After all, our leaders were humane and modern. Boxcars crammed to the point that occupants suffocated were a thing of the distant past. Other buses like ours were going to and fro throughout the city outside our windows.
A nuclear bomb dropped to earth on the horizon within the view of our windows. The occupants of the bus, including myself, stared in shock but complete silence. It was not necessarily surprising that our country would be at war. Cut off from the activities of our leaders as we were, we knew their proclivities. Nonetheless, we were still caught off guard at the magnitude and the abruptness. Knowledge and belief are often separate. We watched in awe and resignation as the mushroom cloud formed.
I was struck by a deep, bone-deep, sense of doom. It arrested my senses and held me in a vice-like grip from movement of any kind. That was not surpris…
I was born and raised in Southwestern Pennsylvania – a middle class yinzer with no real struggles in childhood other than an early parental divorce. I recently went through my first-ever real heartbreak a month ago, on top of (and feeding into) the ongoing anxiety and depression I experience on a day-to-day basis. The perfect storm for an objective thinkpiece on being a 20-something in today’s age, right? Well, luckily some friends of mine are tremendously driven, creative, and supportive, and gave me this opportunity to contribute my experiences on a platform like this for the first time, so here goes nothing.
It’s 9:30 on a Friday night. You’re sitting at home all dressed up for the night out, perusing Twitter as the next pregame drop of alcohol continues to numb you. Within a minute of scrolling, you manage to scan over two Xanned out rappers beefing over who makes shitt…
This migraine worsened since birds have pecked holes into my head to pluck out the worms which feast on my dendrites. Fortunately, I minimized the seepage of bloody ooze by use of Gorilla Glue and Plaster of Paris. Unfortunately, my fingers got stuck in the wound that I tried to heal, causing me to walk around all day with my fingers wedged inside my skull. This brought forth many more than the usual stares that I receive each day coupled with an extra amount of whispers. If only I had free use of my arms and more Ibuprofen.
Mikayla hands me a shot of Tequila and asks,
Aren’t you happy to be alive?
I say, Yes, swallow the burning
liquid, and try not to think
about the box cutter
in my back pocket.
Mikayla hands me another shot,
but before I can down it, she sinks
her teeth into my bottom lip,
and I remember the box cutter
like a bad dream—I think,
no. I think, not now.
Since I reached the halfway mark of my trail, I’ve learned to make more use of the
remaining time by sleeping half the night and to drink more water. In fact, I wear a snorkel so
I’m able to sleep under water. And not just any water, but thermal mineral springs in the thick of
the Costa Rican jungle habitat. There aren’t any alarm clocks, neighbors, coworkers, mail-
persons, or humanoids of any sort. It’s beautiful! You should not come to visit me some time.
Every now and then a puma stops by to say hello, and have a drink – his whiskers tickle.
The internet is the place we go to be someone else. Our online personas are often vastly different than our “irl” personalities. In some instances, this place is an escape from reality.
Not really a profound observation, right? What this common sentiment misses, though, is that we do the same exact thing even when we’re away from our glowing screens and clever usernames.
When then, are we genuine? How do we find out who people really are? One of the most authentic forms of communication is artistic expression. That’s why Basement Outpost wants to create a space that allows you to submit your thoughts and artistic creations for the world to see. Your submissions will be reviewed by our editor (me) and/or staff and later posted on the blog. They can be displayed with your name if you wish or with a username if you’d rather remain anonymous. The…
