Walking on Water

I had to tell somebody. My side of the story had to get out. The way they ushered me out of there so swiftly, it’s like they were worried I was going to tear the place down. It gave me no opportunity to say goodbye. I had nobody’s phone numbers. I had already told them that I don’t have a Facebook. My stories had been kept hidden from them. I was obliterated without a trace. Clarice was my only hope at a double sided story.

I pulled out my phone and sent a text to Musette that simply said, “I got fired.”

Next, I messaged Piper and told her the story. So many times I’ve told the story. I’m leaving things out at this point, which is disappointing as this is supposed to be the definitive documentation of my reality. Like, I forgot to tell you guys that they blamed me for taking one of the counterfeit bills. I had been working up to it by documenting the meeting, but then I forgot the meat.

What a crock of shit. Anything they could throw at me. That’s the way they took me out. A blind side sucker punch off the ship.

I didn’t want to tell too many people. I told three: Piper, Lirpa, and Lilli. “Spoiler Alerts” – as if they are all watching this thing I’m doing here as intently as I have been watching Hannibal on NBC which, now, ahead in time, I’m learning is also getting the can.

I went to the park and sat on the benches. Piper said, “Don’t go home.” So I kept walking. Musette tried calling me but my phone was on priority interruptions only. She called ten times and then she sent me a message telling me that she was freaking out and that now she had to go back in from her lunch break and was unhappy that she has to deal with my one line message for the rest of her shift.

Just another betrayal – by my phone. My spirit animal. My sacred, portable machine. Still getting the kinks out. Still working out this laziness. Currentivism.

I came upon a cathedral and went in. The doors were wide open. I have not been in a cathedral since being in New York. It was beautiful. I was taken aback. I took a seat on a wooden pew and started crying. I bent to my knees and cried some more. Everything began to make sense. Golden organ pipes lined the pillars and ran the lengths of the walls. There was a crucifix for the center mast.  The walls made of impenetrable stone depicting scenes of Christ’s suffering with light shining through the actions of saints dripped in stained glass portholes. A quote on the wall reads that God’s eyes and heart are always here and I know that I am home and that I never left. The true ship. The S.S. Appropouture. God’s box. Constant. The stable celestial reality. The white light at the entrance of death. An angelic presence coming through this tear in my reality.

I pray a prayer of vengeance, adding The Page to my hit list. Come the church to you and you shall fall as all old religions must in the face of the living spirit. Strawberry kiwi vapor billows from my nostrils. I change the unlock screen on my phone to the sign of the cross and drink the holy water from the cistern.

I am free.

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