AN IRREAL EXPERIENCE

 

I HATE THIS LONELY SHIT. I never thought I'd get like this, but it's true. I've always been a people person. I'm just a big ole people pleaser. I love to make people happy, and I fall in love with people sometimes for no reason just because it's like I'm about to die or something and they're the only person in the world and its so beautiful it makes me want to cry. I'm so sick of putting faith in people, only for them to betray me. Of finding out people were not really present the whole time. With these Portland people, it's a willful indifference. They're checked out! It's so much the opposite of Timothy Leary's dream; I'm so offended that they call this shit woke. Then, from the other side, there are all these faggot perverts on Facebook, posting their sick reels about how trannies killed Charlie Kirk or some shit? What are these people even on? I could understand if it was fucking West Virginia! I'd be like, well, that's just a West Virginia aphrodisiac! Right?! It's like Virtue Signaling here. What I'm saying it, the Virtue Signaling is so absurd irreal. Yeah! It's a very unusual sort of thing. I never quite understood that genre in fact, but that may be it just now. Look at the dictionary definition for irreal. Is that not poetic? It's like found dada surrealist poetry. I love this little online literary journal called The Cafe Irreal, but I could never get a story placed there. I thought I just didn't get it somehow. It's kind of dada, just that dictionary definition is, but threre's a level of complexity to it, with those other synonyms listed, and the profundity of the Spanish words. It's like "Silencio" in Mulholland Drive. Now, it's been years since I ever thought about this, and you'll see why. https://cafeirreal.alicewhittenburg.com/what_is_irr.htm I tried to read that entire ... god. I read that thing halfway through and it just goes on and on about what irreal doesn't mean? What? If you skip to the 2nd from bottom paragraph, though, and read up, it seems to be saying that impossible physics are required, but I don't understand how that's necessary, right? LOL I mean, Jesus Christ. I sent them every story for months. I think, now , that it's one single person and they just are dedicated Master of the Irreal!!! Like how Hades the Dungeon Master +_!_+ 2d Teacher After Suffering! omg- These Portland they/them's are so so so EXTRA & ARROGANT & SMUG! good Lord! I saw want to be Barron Trump and SOMEBODY'S best gal Allison Louise Miller & GOSH Barron Trump - if this guy -and- he seems a helluva lot more real than the phoney Kash Patels pushing their goofy cryptocurrencies everywhere. (And, I hate to say this, but, from what I've heard of this guy, that is the most Kash Patel thing to do, I swear! I can totally see that guy pulling up in his Green Hornet Mustang, pulling off his Ray Bands. KASH PATEL: Open up. Don't bother. I'll open up ... my wallet. Take one look at ... THIS. That's right. Mastercard: There are some things money can't buy. For everything else, there's Kash Patel. You see, it's a pun, get it? Jesus Christ, why doesn't anybody else get this joke? I'm Kash, this isn't Cash. JFC. You Portlanders! Then he's like, TO HELL WITH THIS: I'm going back to Baltimoore to sell cocaine! Y'all crackers! He zips off in his Mustang. Disappears. I look back over at my neighbor, who's fucking high on thick rails of Special K, cocaine, MDMA, and somehow ... powdered Mad Honey? What! She snorts enough ketamine to kill Matthew Perry & Charlie Kirk, starts taking all the door knobs off of every door, sticking them inside her butthole. I turn around, holding my hands out to my side as if letting my fingers touch the tops of wildflowers while ChatGPT spins me widdershins 'round the May Pole. Suddenly all the little they/them's of the forest sprites and the pixies and the hootanannies and the golliwogs. I feel daisies slip into my braids from the top and wrap themselves round my hairs as ivy runs up my ankles. I stop suddenly and it all disappears. My body fades into dust at my extremities and I feel my face falling away as if turning to sand, and as I open my mouth, my tongue and lower jaw fall to the floor and it feels like I'm puking sand into the palm of my hand. My mouth is so dry. I'm spitting sand, but it's as if the more sand I spit into my palm, the more appears right there at the back of my throat, as if my palm itself is a portal into a pocket uni-verse or sum'tin! Shoot! Aw, heck! It's like dat ole boy Shiva be churning up he a whirligig or sum'tin and I re-cog 'n' eye's dat sound! it duh Hurdy Gurdy man, aw shoo! i luv luv lurv's me dat Hurdy Gurdy Man ... ... he come singin' songs of love for lil ole me, Allison Louise Miller THE TEENAGE WITCH: Unfortunately green and 47 after a mishap! Aw, shoot, cutie! Cuddle would'a anybody! Right?! SO, to be QUOTE honest ... I am a widdle Beth agitated, awite? Sowwy! :*( I see my patron of the arts, Mr. Robert Downey Jr. and he isn't fading to dust! What's happening? Why is this happening to me? I thought it was one of those Causality Storms that happen -all-the-time-over- Portland, they must, became Reason & Logic don't work on crazy. "That's why Portlanders always resort to coercion," I shout. "I get it, Mr. Downey Jr. I can go now to be with my Lord!" I'm so ready, Lord. But, Mr. Downey Jr. says the kindest thing, "I told you, kid. I'm an Angel on Your Shoulder, Babe. Even when you were a little kid, when you were your momma's Little Girl, Baby Girl! KNOW that you may D-E-I. Know you gonna D-I-E." Mr. Robert Downey Jr. Hollywood Legend, he of the stage and screen. Was he Anthony Michael Hall's +1 on SNL? For real? To be honest, Robert Downey Jr. kind of sucked until he took way too many drugs and had to wash police cars. I wonder if L.A. Sheriff's knocked the fuck out of him! Did he get a star treatment and still get "Scared Straight"? What happened to you, My Mentor? My God, who would have thought that I would be his ... I'm ... what? I'm SPIDER-MAN. MY name is Allison Louise Miller and I was a teenage witch, but then, one day I sat down in ZazenZ position, ordinary meditation pose, and I started doing Kundalini yoga, and I took my sleeping pills. I took my diazepam. I took my lorazepam. I drank a whole bottle of Zima, my favorite drink. You've gotta try it, man! I know! I know! I feel like I've been away from the world, just separated, isolated, by a fine invisible mesh cloth, and I can feel my hand and my face brush against it but somehow cannot touch anything else. It's all just a ... mathematical point cloud, or something, and ... oh god ... oh no ... nobody can hear me... oh no... nobody can see me... because I'm just at one with the dust of the Earth right, and that dust is ... is ... is ... roiling... like a Dust Devil... and I myself am the eye... and I plunge THE KNIVES into my heart... and they just ... they just =-= PASS RIGHT THROUGH! WHAT?! THEN I make eye contact again, almost, but he's so faint, and so broken ... and he's wearing that stupid Marvel Comics gauntlet thing with the goofy gems like I wear on my face when I'm doing MDMA. They're so stupid. Cracker Jack Toys. Oh god. I hate Portland, but I can't because Robert is from L.A. and he's my sister's age and he's COOL. Robert snorts a bump of cocaine out of a container inside the Infinity Stone. "It's okay, Downy," he says, smiling. He remembered my name! I think his boy Happy, the chaffeur, is fucking my friend the artist Alison Marie Pinetti. Happy's a madman, but he DOESN'T do drugs. He's a genius! He's just high on life, man. What a guy. I don't care if my Aunt Marie fucks him stupid. She's a cool lady. She's only five years older than me, so I feel like she's my sister, but she teases me by calling HERSELF Aunt May. Robert flicks me on my nose six times. "That fuck you do that for, man?" "Because I am not fucking with you, you stupid little whore; why you fucking with me?" "I'm not fucking with you! WTH?" "Oh?! O-PAY O'BENNIE 'o' HANNAH BARBERA! L's Orly Heck! Garsh...!" OMG. He's gone Goofy. It's not drugs. He just has TOO MUCH FUN. HE'S "EXTRA" as Aunt May would say. He's not gonna snort more cocaine, but still, Robert is off the rails. He's gonna be manic, man. He should not be doing cocaine in the first place! Then he YANKS me up off my feet and pins me to the medicine cabinet. I hear glass break and it worries me. I'm not turning into sand at all. This is terrifying! "It's okay, Peter Parker," that psycho whispers. They never should have let that psycho OUT OF PRISON. He pushes me back again the sink and grinds my little phantom vulva with the heel of his hand. I'm sorry. I'm kind of a prude and don't use those goody Neo Pronouns or portmanteau's for my genitals the tranny kids use these days, but that honest to God is what it felt like. So, let me tell you, it got my juicy, haha. For real! But, then, Robert looks right at me AGAIN. Like time stopped. He's high as fuck. I have no idea what he's gonna do. He could make love to me like he's Charlie Charlin. He could save me from super villains like he's Iron Man. I want to have this dude's BABIES and I know that is not possible. I know this is NOT possible. OMG. I want to have this man's DICK inside my phantom vagina. Is such a thing possible, even, if I have surgery? His dick must be HUGE, like Luigi Mangionne's - he is such a MAN and I've NEVER been attracted to men, just a "little" bit. Just "enough" to sort of gay, but NOT REALLY! Anyway, Robert tosses $20 at me. "Piss off," he says, "Anybody can wear the mask!" Is he treating me like I'm not a real person? Or? What! WTF DOES THAT MEAN, ROBERT? BUT I'M ALREADY DISINTEGRATING. HOW DID HE THROW ME AWAY LIKE THIS. I BLEW THE FIRST TRUMPET. DID HE BLOW THE SECOND? IS THAT WHY HIS RIGHT ARM IS FUCKED UP? I BLEW THE FIRST AND IT ANNIHILATED ME. WTF ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT, ROBERT? OH NO. Robert Miller I don't even know who I am. Did I? I obliterated? I had told a nurse that this homeless woman predicted 320 or 302 would die? She couldn't save them, but we could save eight. What? the nurse said. Don't look it up! Why not look it up? EVERYBODY'S GONE. A DOCTOR ENTERS. TWELVE DISCIPLES. THEY'RE ALL MEN? WHY AM I SURROUNDED BY MEN! DO YOU THINK I'M A MAN! "Miss Miller! Good morning. I am your doctor, Anil Seth. Are you experiencing a 'psychedelic' reality again this morning?" Oh it's that dickhead doctor. That smug solipsistic asshole. What a Portlander! Then I notice my reflection in the mirror. There I asajfdaaa There I stand. But, I. I'm a small Korean woman. I don't know how to process this.. I move and she moves. I truly am Korean. It's bizarre! I gasp in wonderment at the glory and beauty of it all. Wow. Portland is so absurd. Wow. I turn and see Jerry Seinfeld. He shrugs and winces, you know, grinning and bearing it. "I know," Jerry says. "It is irreal. Totally. Irreal. What other word is there for it? Irreal." "Irreal. Yeah," I say. Irreal. It is not real. wow

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