The Stable Barn

Again, I wake up minutes before my alarm plays my favorite track, Talib Kweli's Talk To You (Lil' Darlin) ft. Bilal. I'm getting better at this setting my mind up to rise when I want. I'm just not a morning person. Maybe working nights 6 days a week for over 11 years is what has my body so uninspired to be active in the mornings. Maybe it's my desire to do nothing at all that plays a part. Then I remember my underground barn inside my stable and that manages to help add that pep in my step.

Grateful. I see the tragedy the world has become. I see the lack of color in the remains of it all and I can't wait to get ready for the day - to go underground. Maybe I'll invite someone to join me today. Maybe not. And I'm okay with that. I earned my space underground. I was ready for this mess.

People used to tell me how pessimistic I was but I was just being a realist. How can people not see where we were headed knowing that history repeats itself? How can people trust machines and be unwilling to help another being when they are crying out for help? Have people refused to accept that all things come to an end? Everything worth admiring had to be built somehow. Parts of the world will return to dust and once that dust settles, we, as humans, will construct something else that won't last. On to the next one. Hov.

I remember thinking time travel was make believe. And though I can't explain it, my barn inside my stable has the capability of taking me anywhere my subconscious planned for. Can you believe it? A barn. And I have no plans on fixing that up. The stable is what I have worked on. A bright building that allows you to gain full control of all your senses by toning it down once you walk in and are greeted with this run-down barn before losing control all over again. My old barn. Inside where horses tend to be kept. It's got to be the best smelling barn of all time too. No animals.

I grew up having pets but never had them long enough to develop an emotional attachment to any of them. So when I designed this stable, I knew it wouldn't be for anyone but me. I did the most work in my sleep. Folks wouldn't believe me if I told them.

Before my world went up in flames, I started using my own misery to my advantage. I remember uttering so many curse words describing this, that and the other. Him, her, they - those damn pronouns got so annoying. You're a person, no? Sheesh. The world got so damn complicated before it had a chance to do any better.

Another thing that led to my constant misery was my inability to sleep. I was forced to appreciate rest. I even read a few books on the subject. I used to think of different things I would love to do instead of sleep. That, of course, led to me building a lot of different models of my stable that ultimately had me rise one sluggish morning, head underground, and there. In its eminence. I remember spilling my coffee in disbelief.

It was just another morning for me, though every night is different. I got up. Tired. Took a shower while my coffee brewed. I drank my first cup before getting dressed. Prepared my second cup for my tread underground listening to music from the smallest iPod I've ever owned: 3rd generation iPod Shuffle. I made a really cool mix on it and never removed it. Never even plugged it into another device for fear of deletion. One of those nostalgic things that comforts me.

I put my mask on and headed outside. Stared at nothingness alongside debris, shook my head, released a long exhale and made my way down. Three blocks up, made a left into the subway, walked about 21 minutes through the tunnel, then made a right into a hole. When I think about it, this sounds far fetched at the very least. Anyway, lifted the tarp, made my way into the hole and walked another 10 minutes. There she was: my stable. Cyan blue. Glowing at me. My right pant leg was wet from the cold coffee and I was unbothered. I admired the built and how strong it looked from the outside and anticipated 'The Alcoffee Bar' inside that was drafted strictly for my habit/vice. Plus with the people perishing, I collected all of my liquor every day on my way to my barn every morning.

The thing is, yesterday, I had all the bottles still bundled together on the side of the door, near the entrance. And last night before I rested, I was just imagining the liquor stacked on the mirrored wall on shelves. Each bottle, individually lit. I remember smiling at the colorful wall and how I'm sure it would be an eyesore for those that would organize a wall of liquor by dark on one side and light on the other. No thanks, segregation. Now here I was, witnessing the rum beside the vodka, beside the whiskey, beside the gin beside the brandy beside the tequila and everything else in my preferred disarray. I had a reoccuring thought, "My visuals before resting have become my reality."

I try not to think about people because I'm not ready to deal with them. I'm still building. And I've got to say, this darkness has inspired me to keep my aged barn. The life will be in different areas of my stable. The color will be inside.

That's how I will imagine my world. When I'm ready. Maybe it will encourage others to use their curiosity more often and get lost in their own city.