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until the clouds spin their silk

Larry imagines seeing clouds again, tries to remember the feeling of fresh human air against his skin, which in every way is still beautiful, still whole as Larry is unhalved, stripped, his radiation unraveled like bandages & stuffed away. Larry Trainor — not Captain, simply Larry Trainor, searching for his own peace in his own crafted malleable universe extracted from the rest of time’s sand — Larry Trainor stares up at the ceiling of his bedroom, and imagines.

He is very adept at imagining. It’s not a skill they teach you in the military. It is a skill that they try to train out of you, but imagining has always been inherent in Larry. Larry is, by nature, a being composed of emotion, and every emotion involves a dream, every emotion sparking ( sparking ) some fantasy life that lives inside of him. A world without harm or suffocating prejudice. Previously, a world where John was his, openly and wholly — a world in which Larry can be Larry, without hiding or burying his love in the backyard like it is a victim or perhaps a lover taken too soon by the world that he cannot imagine.

Once upon a time in this fable Larry Trainor dreamed of:

• John Bowers. Always John Bowers, in a different way each time — once on his kitchen table, once in his bedroom shrouded in safety, and once even near the train they met up at, in the bed of his truck, blue shaded-holy moonlight clouding and illuminating their bodies.
• In one of these dreams—
• Larry Trainor gazed upon the night sky and saw blue light in a haze above them, his body nearly enveloped in the pulse of it, his hands tangled in John’s hair, John’s mouth—
• Larry, however, only focused on the light. It was beautiful. It was, truly, beautiful. A theme of completion written into the story.

Nowadays he dreams of:

• Nowadays he dreams of:
• Nowadays he dreams of:
• Nowadays he dreams of:
• Nowadays he dreams of:

F

A

L

L

I

N

G.

He’s been falling since conception. He has been falling since his father remarried, since his coded flaws were uncovered like drawing back a theatrical curtain. Request a transfer, repeat. They form the shredded pieces into one canvas. Request a transfer. No one can know.

Larry has been falling for so long. Conception of his form, conception of the universe —- Larry had existed before the universe existed, because Larry is anguish, and anguish is eternal, torment as creation & creation as torment. He is suffering embodied, and Suffering cannot even manage a body that is not sick. Suffering cannot even manifest a worthy appearance. How typical, of Suffering.

He deserves this. He does not deserve this. He deserves this. He does not deserve this. He deserves this. He does not deserve this. He deserves this. He does not deserve this.

He deserves this. He does not deserve this. He deserves this. He does not deserve this.

He deserves this. He does not deserve this. He deserves this. He does not deserve this.

He deserves this. He does not deserve this. He deserves this. He does not deserve this.

He deserves this. He does not deserve this. He deserves this. He does not deserve this. He—

But: wake up. Wake up. WAKE

UP,

says Suffering. Wake up. You are needed in the world, because this world is all we have, this world is our only world. This world is not a very kind or merciful world, but if it did know clemency, Larry would still not deserve it; keep up. He has to save the world.

Why should he save the world?

He does not love this world. Larry could love the world if the world loved him, but the world has no reason to love him, the world and existence has no obligation to gift Larry Trainor with peace. There is a book written on the skin of a boy, and an eye ripping through the sky in a familiar blue, and Larry has failed at saving the world. Worthless, miniscule Larry Trainor, always ruining things with his hands and his love and his lack of love. Maybe if he had loved the world, it wouldn’t be ending.

It’s too late to contemplate now — the world is ending. He cannot save it.

It saves itself.

This proves that the world, in all of its power and elegance and hatred, does not need Larry. Larry still wants to fall. Through the Earth, its cracks, each layer of dirt and crust and darkness, until he reaches the incinerating core of the planet. He wants to — has fallen from divinity, or maybe he never had divinity in the first place, or maybe divinity does not exist and he is alone, or maybe—

Nowadays he dreams of falling. This is a constant.

Larry is never going to die. He cannot fall. The world does not need him. These are constants. There is a wrong way to fall, an undesirable place — in some way, he can thank the Negative Spirit for saving him from hellfire, yet he despises it for creating an earthly, human hellfire. Hell on Earth, hell living in the sunset of his mind. Hell visible now. He is charred. Unrecognizable. His body has been torn apart. He can see bones underneath iridescence, if he focuses hard enough on his own skin. It’s sick.

He hates the Negative Spirit for many, many reasons, but somehow it all lies in the chest, the heartbeat, the connective tissue of the situation -- bones — it won’t let him die.

The Negative Spirit is keeping him alive. He realizes this too late — 2000, after decades of a static physical body. He doesn’t age, he will never die. This is torture.

Being forced to live in a world that refuses to accommodate you, to embrace you, is torture.

It always comes back to the world. He has stuffed the world down his throat. It fits. Larry is always hungry, so it fits inside of him, of course it does. The world, in this scenario, being the Spirit. Of course it is the Spirit. It always comes back to the Spirit. It always comes back to the world.

The Negative Spirit, like the world, does not love Larry.

On occasion he thinks otherwise. Why would it try to protect him, all those years ago, a different shared lifetime, in the Ant Farm? Why would it fight for him, even now, if—

Larry would not deserve its love. It does not love him. The Spirit does not care about him. The Spirit is the world and the world is the Spirit and the Spirit exists outside of the world, otherworldly, alien. It is all very confusing. The Spirit does not communicate with him. It does what it wants, and apparently its only desire is to ruin his life.

He ruined his life a long time ago. His life was ruined from birth. That is how the story goes when you are g—

He feels something pool in his chest. He still has not saved the world, he is still an abomination, he will continue to be an abomination until the world burns out. A flicker of blue light, similar to the one in the skies of his dream. Long ago, he saw the Spirit’s essence. Now, he sees the Spirit’s essence. It’s different. He is different.

Both Larry and the Spirit do not belong in this world. They can start there. That is enough.