Please

The arduous melody flees through the wind-tickled trees and the band players tremble in blushed intimidation at the well-fed notes being born of their horns. My steps transpire on the sidewalk’s surface as if on a coarse independent plane (a squarely sectionalized pathway to the absurd), my mind absorbs the tones and colors of my own psychological projections, dressed and deemed worthy of a fine play on words, and my eyes roam over this town which I’ve seen a thousand times, which I’ve never seen before.
And all of this in my mind. In reality I sit in a church office thinking about her, trying to decide how to die and with what style and which pants. The old people—old couples, sad men, quiet widows, all smelling like embalming fluid—that have been floating across the span of my open doorway for the past three days, here to have their pictures taken for a collage of everyone who hasn’t realized that someday they will die, talk always about their hair and ailments. Ironic, that they perpetually complain of illness and never really die. My God, is it impossible to have a purpose at that age?
My thoughts return to her, her as she stands there blinking into the silence, sits here laughing with that silly friend, her as, eyes gravity-stricken, she whispers to my confidant that she can’t tell who I am. I—I try to justify my jerkiness with cynical syllogisms and existential angst; I try to cry, but I only sneeze.
And every night I pray for hours. Isn’t that funny? I pray for hours and never talk to God. I wake up and spit sloppy insults, write contemptuous words about the sweet, if virtuously mediocre, old people sitting quietly in the folding chairs in the hallway, I refuse to let her into my mind (it’s so messy—I’ve just seen off a raucous band of criminals that ate my food and ignored me when I tried to entertain them at the breakfast table), and I don’t know how to respond when someone actually cares. Funny, right?
Yes, quite funny. I laugh it up in my dark psychotic basements or out in the streets as I burn down the edifices of innocence, drunk as hell.