Friday, October 22, 2010

ANNIE TALKS.....Don't be scared. I can talk sometimes. He lets me talk sometimes. I am here. And I am me. And I am afraid. I have a soul. No, I am a soul. I know that from Sunday School. No one can create a soul but God. And every soul has an earthly home. Every soul has a body. I'm not sure I understand what all I say. Maybe that's because I'm only seven and a half years old. When the Shaky Hand Man is awake I can't talk. It's like he puts me in a box. No, it's worse than a box. It's like he buries me in dirt. Just dirt. No box. Sometimes the Shaky Hand Man has to think. Sometimes he has to plan things. He plans bad things all the time. I  don't know where he goes when he thinks, but that's good, because it means he's not here. That's when I feel all better. That's when I don't feel so sick anymore. I really, really, really want to go home. I want to go back to California. I miss my mommy and daddy. I miss everybody. I miss my whole generation. Even the dogs. Especially the dogs. I miss Barkley. He's my dog. Please! Please! Please! I gotta stop. I can't tell you anymore. I can't. My stomach hurts........ And then her eyes glazed over. Her hands contorted and she stopped....... It is I, the unnamed voice. I saw her. I found her. I came to her. She likes me. She enjoys my presence. She calls me her friend. And you must know that she does not want to do it. But she is helpless. The Shaky Hand Man allows her to sleep. He leads her through rich, quiet hotels. He can unlock the doors to empty rooms. He can cloud the sight of onlookers. She wanders down thickly carpeted hallways. She opens a door and goes inside to sleep on large, formal beds. But never, never, never under the covers. Not like that. Sometimes the Shaky Hand Man allows her to bathe in warm water. Sometimes he does not. When she requires fresh clothing, he unlocks the sinister, nighttime, loading dock doors to a cavernous department store. She walks in, all alone, except for the Shaky Hand Man. It's dark and empty. She cries. She sobs softly. Sometimes she picks up a package of children's underwear. Sometimes some socks. whatever she needs. She knows it is wrong to steal. But this is not stealing. Her hands are not her own. This city is in the cold part of its year now, so she takes a coat, whatever. She needs  a small, stuffed dog. But the Shaky Hand Man will not permit it. So no stuffed dog. Nothing to hug. She exits the loading dock door and carefully climbs down the cement platform to the street. She knows how to be careful. It hurts when she falls. Her tiny shoes clip-clop down the icy street. There are sinister beings about. Most of them are merely humans, but some are not. They fail to see her. The Shaky Hand Man has clouded their vision. Sometimes she walks all night. Her legs hurt. Her feet hurt. She uses dirty toilets. And she enables this non-physical entity to kill people. Her name truly is Annie. And she wants to go home. But first she must help him cleanse this city. She does not understand it. And he does not care. The Shaky Hand Man will tell her anything. But she will never go home. He will use her till she dies. Oh, but he does not want that to happen. He does not want her to die. Not soon amyway. That would only create problems. That would force him to gnaw into the soul of an unfortunate, near-term fetus and enter the world all over again. But at least he'd be all fresh and whole and new.......... You know that I can see things. People like when I share what I see. Here is what I see right now.......... There is a girl in Arizona. Wise up! He is a liar. You know what I mean. Look him in the eye and tell him. But take a friend. Do not go alone....... For Jimmy in New Jersey - Do not take the household refuse out late at night. That thing at the end of the lane is not just an optical illusion. It is not just a playful combination of moonlight and shadows. Stay away........... To Mitzi somewhere along the Gulf of Mexico - That Gloria is nothing but a lousy cheater. Do not play the ancient, Chinese game known as Mah Jong with her again. Go with Doris. Have an 'early bird'. See a motion picture performance and call it a night.......... Oh, and if any soul out there has similar capabilities, might they please contact me and tell me my name? I am on the Twitter. Reach me through Tomas' familiar, that wilkravitz character. Go to Billy Kravitz@wilkravitz. That is all you have to do. And do not be so shocked to learn that a disembodied spirit, such as I, uses the internet too. For in this medium are we all not disembodied spirits?

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