He Comes

You don’t understand. You can’t understand. But you have to understand. He’s coming. He’s always coming. I can feel him. I’ve known him my whole life. That’s not really true. That can’t be true. I can’t remember. I won’t remember? But I remember the man. He never ages, not really. Maybe he does. I can’t tell anymore? I can’t tell much anymore. I used to live in a house. I know it was a house. It had stairs. Maybe a basement? It’s in West Virginia. Colorado? I know there were mountains. I used to look at the mountains. The man took them from me. The man took everything from me.  

He moved in when I was thirteen or fourteen. Even now, as my faculties betray me the image of that man is burned into my brain. He wore a nice suit, a fancy watch, but his face was sunken in like a skull. He terrified me, but the worst part was the smell. He smelled like burnt rubber mixed with something metallic. You could smell him as soon as you opened the door. It infected the carpet. It infected us. My friend’s mother brought me home from school the next week but when my brother opened the door the woman sprinted back to her car with a look on her face that resembled some mix of terror and disgust. Her son never spoke to me again. One night, a few months later, I came downstairs and saw the man on the couch next to my mother. The light from the television illuminated her frame but it didn’t seem like her. It seemed like a mannequin. She never used to watch tv, but when the man joined our home she sank deep into the cushions. She screamed at me and tried to push the man away like she could stuff him in between the couch cushions so I wouldn’t see. But I did. And even then I knew she didn’t have much time left in this world. Looking back I wish I could scream. I wish I could’ve talked sense into my mom, but I didn’t, and now I can’t talk sense at all. 

The man tightened his grip around my mother. I stopped going home. Every time I did I would see him smiling. Or my mother smiling? I can’t remember. On devil’s night, my brother and I dressed in all black to go smash pumpkins. Yknow, kid stuff? We weren’t bad kids. Maybe we were? Regardless, we found her. What was left of her? The man stood over her body as the foam bubbled from her mouth. My brother grabbed him and threw him out before the police arrived. I did nothing. I just stared at the body. I snapped out of my trance when a police officer grabbed me by the shoulders and took me into the kitchen. They questioned us about where the man went. They questioned us about where he came from. I didn’t know. I thought it was over. I thought the man was gone, but he came back. Or never left? I don’t know. There’s no way for me to know.

Then it was just me, my brother, and the man. He thought I couldn’t see, but I saw. And when we’d lock eyes he’d give me that same, rotten smile. His lips are cracked with blood and his eyes look like they have purple makeup around them. He mocked me. He still mocks me. I tried to throw him out. I’d grab him by the collar and toss him into the trash, but he always came back. My brother would wake me in the middle of the night, weeping and repeating, “Don’t be like me. Don’t be like me. Don’t be like me.” I could smell the man on him. My brother peered too long into the man’s eyes and never came back. Or didn’t come back the same? Or didn’t come back as my brother at all? Whether the demon rode his back or slipped into his skin it makes no difference. I knew, just like my mother, my brother did not have much time.

I tried to save my brother. You have to believe me. You have to. I loved my brother. I still love him. I would scream at him to lock the door and stay. But the man came. He came on a beautiful summer day. He came as I wiped the sleep from my eyes. He came as I knocked on my brother’s door. He came as I opened the door. I saw him, and I knew, he was no longer coming, he had come. He stood over my brother. Or my brother’s corpse? The man stared at me then with that same, sadistic grin across his cheeks spreading ever wider as I dropped to my knees and cried. I called to God but the police came instead.

They offered me no remorse. They placed a blanket over the shriveled husk that used to be my brother and were gone within the hour. I was so weak then. I let him into my life. I know it was wrong, but I was cold. So cold. And the world was dark. He filled me with warmth. He let me forget. Forget my mother. Forget my brother. Forget my job. Forget my life. Now I seem to forget everything. I don’t remember who you are. I don’t remember if you’re real. But if you hear me you have to understand. You have to understand the man is coming. I can feel my heartbeat grow faster as I type. I hear his footsteps coming towards my room. He is here now. I pray that you will be stronger than me. I pray for you to turn to a friend. He’s coming. He’s coming for all of us. Heroin comes for all of us.

Dopesmoker

The year is 1999. Livin’ la vida loco is top of the charts. M. Night Shyamalan just put out the Sixth Sense and the world is eagerly waiting on him to become the new Spielberg. Somewhere far removed from these events there are three men in a rented home, smoking more weed than most of us can imagine, and creating a piece of art that causes non-metalheads everywhere to groan when it comes on. What is that piece of art? A sixty-three-minute long “stoner doom metal” gregorian chant describing the pilgrimage of weedians, people of the weed, as they cross a desert in search of enlightenment. The song/album/art is Dopesmoker and few pieces cause such division across any medium of art.

The song begins with the characteristic “drone” that has become associated with stoner rock’s ability to defy traditional songwriting techniques. There is no hook in the land of the weedians, only the riff, and its holiness is only second to the smoke that fills the air wherever this song is played. Sleep uses the consistent tone to lull the audience into a sort of trance that is only broken when the band begins to sing, about eight minutes in, or begins one of the riff’s stoner doom metal is so famous for. The song snatches you up because of the consistency the audience is accustomed to throughout the length of the album, but releases you again when it’s done only to wrap its claws around you the next time it feels necessary.

Do not be fooled by the beards and the “long hair don’t care” image of the band, this is serious. The lyrics to Dopesmoker are filled with the Judeo-Christian imagery literature nerds will associate with James Joyce or Samuel Beckett, art nerds will associate with the renaissance, and “normies” will associate with wanting to cover their ears and run from the room. One of the band members, Matt Pike, spoke on the songwriting process, “working on [the song] for like four years. We also had two other songs that we were working on that were really long, too—like 15 and 20 minutes. But we never recorded them." (https://tinyurl.com/y5fu8uhc) This stretched out process ensured a detail-oriented approach and the lyrics deliver powerful messages that would not be out of place in the ancient texts of a civilization, “Creedsmen roll out across the dying dawn, Sacred Israel Holy Mountain Zion, Sun beams down on to the Sandsean reigns, Caravan migrates through deep sandscape, Lungsmen unearth the creed of Hasheeshian” (https://genius.com/Sleep-dopesmoker-lyrics) Are meaningful lyrics neccesary for the creation of a beloved song? Absolutely not, as the aforementioned Livin’ La Vida Loco can attest to, but it does allow for the song to bear the test of time and bring continuous enjoyment two decades later.   

Few times in the modern world do you have the opportunity to embark on a journey of personal will. Some people chase the feeling by running marathons or embarking on a true religious pilgrimage, and while those are admirable, Dopesmoker brings the audience a piece of that feeling anywhere with speakers or a pair of headphones. There is a certain satisfaction that comes from finishing this behemoth and letting yourself be washed over by the experimental drone for such a continuous period of time. We all have feelings of loneliness and abandonment which haunt the drudgery of our everyday life, but when you press play, pack a bowl, and sit back to “drop out of life with bong in hand” you gain the reprieve we all need to make it to the next day.

Weird Night

Jacob sat in a dark apartment. He held a glass of whiskey in one hand and his cellphone in the other. He couldn’t remember how long he’d been staring at the glass. He checked his phone to see a text that wasn’t there. He knew the woman for a month. She decided against having a serious relationship. Jacob hadn’t. He downed the rest of his whiskey and grabbed his coat, “Bailey, yeah dude I know I said wouldn’t come but I’ll meet you at your apartment in about forty five minutes--

No, no, don’t worry about it. Let’s have a good time.” He walked out of his apartment and locked the iron grate that safeguarded his semi legal apartment. He stopped at the corner to grab a red bull from the bodega and pet the cat,

“Have a good night, boss” The owner said to him.

“Yeah, you too man.” Jacob walked down the street and waited for the train. Jacob hadn’t planned on going out tonight, but he hadn’t planned on drinking either-so maybe it was a good night for bad decisions.

            Bailey lived on the upper east side in an apartment with two doormen. She paid rent on a lease. She had a credit score. She was Jacob’s oldest friend and people liked being around her, “Come in, come in” She said ushering him in. Her apartment was painted white. There were fairy lights hung around the ceiling and the floor to ceiling window gave a view of Manhattan’s skyline, “Do you want something to drink? Gotta get the night going.” Bailey asked.

“I thought you said there’d be free drinks?”

“Yeah, so like, there’s a bunch of girls going and you’re pretty much the only guy. My friend had to invite some more girls than usual because we need to offset the cost of bringing a guy but we’ll have a table and free vodka and you shouldn’t have to pay a cover or anything, but if you do I can just pay you back it’s not a big deal.”

“Vodka?”

“Just stop, we’re gonna have a great time and these girls aren’t my friend friends, yknow? So if you wanna try something it’s alright with me.”

“You saying you don’t like me getting with your friend friends?”

“Yep.”

“That’s fair-Still got the whiskey in the freezer?”

“Yeah, I should. You and Scott are the only two who drink that stuff.” Jacob walked over to her kitchen area and poured himself a glass.

“When do we need to leave?” He asked.

“Like twenty minutes ago.” Bailey said as she applied eye shadow in the mirror before running off to her room.

“Want me to call an uber?”

“I’ve got a bunch of free uber credits from when I got in that accident with the Uber driver so don’t waste your money.” Bailey strutted through the living room in a pair of leather jeans, high heels, and black tank top, “How do I look?”

“You bringing a purse?” Jacob asked.

“Wasn’t planning on it.”

“Those pants ain’t got pockets. Go for your black jeans. You’re gonna stand out in all black anyways you don’t need to be shining off the lights in leather.”

“But I really like them. They’re very in right now.”

“I’m not saying they’re not in or they don’t work. I’m just sayin that they make it look like you’re trying to be cool instead of you just being cool.”

“Alright, I’m gonna change and call the uber. You got all your stuff?”

“Should I bring my coat?”

“Don’t bother, coat checks are expensive.”

“Sounds good.” Jacob replied.

Bailey and Jacob descended to the street and climbed into a Toyota Camry. Jacob stared out the window as Bailey texted the rest of the group.  They were dropped off in front of a long line of dressed up white folks in midtown, “This place is really cool it’s got this rooftop with a retractable roof and you can see the empire state building it’s super instagrammable.”

“Where are your friends at?” Jacob asked staring at the line of people on the street.

“They’re probably already inside I’ll text the guy he should be waiting for us out front.” Standing in front of the club entrance was a Catalonian twenty something boy wearing a Hollister t shirt and Ray Bands. He was talking to some Puerto Rican women on the street chain smoking cigarettes, “Bailey! You’re here. This is so great. Come with me.”

Bailey walked through the door but the bouncer blocked Jacob, “He’s with us.” The Spaniard said. The large man grunted. Jacob handed the man his ID and the man passed it back to Jacob with another grunt. Jacob walked into a velvet hallway lit with purple bulbs. It stank of stale cigarettes and gave off more of a rundown strip club vibe than a happening club, but the group kept walking forward. The hallway had remixed pop songs coming from speakers in the ceiling and two men in black suits stood outside an elevator. They held the doors open for Bailey and Jacob. The men were wearing sunglasses and ear pieces like FBI agents and Jacob said thank you as he stepped into the elevator. They didn’t respond.

            The rooftop had a hanging garden above the dancefloor that looked straight out of a party held on Mt. Olympus. The lighting made it hard to recognize people’s faces and the music was more bass than actual music. Jacob followed Bailey through the crowd bumping into people along the way. A drunk, old man spilled vodka cranberry on Jacob’s shirt and he nearly hit the guy. Thankfully, Jacob remembered this was not a dive bar. They pushed through the mass and in the back left of the bar were small tables with a couple bottles of generic vodka sitting in ice. There were pitchers of mixers next to the ice buckets that the people at the table had drank more of than the actual liquor. There were eight people around the table and no one was dancing. They were huddled in groups taking photos or recording themselves with the dancefloor in the background, “This is such a cool spot we’ve got to get a photo with the skyline in the background.” Bailey said to Jacob. He nodded his head, but was watching the group of women at the table next to them. They were all six feet tall, rail thin, and very Parisian looking, but what gave their career away was the key characteristic of runway models; emaciation. A few of them dabbed at bloody noses in-between dancing with each other and holding their glasses high in the air, “I should try and practice my French.” Jacob said. Bailey wasn’t paying attention. She was fixing her hair in her phone screen and trying to find the best lighting for her Instagram story. Two Spanish women were talking behind Jacob and he took the chance to turn around and insert himself in the conversation,

“Are y’all gonna watch the match tomorrow?”

“The match?” One of them asked. Cocking her head to the side at the strange question.

“Portugal vs Spain.” Jacob replied.

“Oh, of course. We’re staying up all night. Where are you watching it?” They asked.

“There’s a bar in Brooklyn I like called Banter. They’ve got a projector screen and cheap drinks. Always brings in a rowdy crowd.”

“We don’t do Brooklyn. It’s gross out there.” They said while sipping cocktails out of Collins glasses through plastic straws, “We’ll probably just watch it at our place. Who’re you supporting?”

“I don’t have a team this year.”

“Oh that’s right.” The women laughed at the US soccer’s misfortune.

“Let’s get your number you could come over to our place we’re having a pretty big party for it.”

“Oh, no thanks. I’m watching it with my brother we like our spot.” The women disregarded Jacob and walked off towards the bar.

“What was up with them?” Bailey asked.

“I’m not really sure. They’re weird.”

“Eliana says she really wants to meet you and she’s so much fun you’re gonna really like her.”

“Who’s Eliana?”

“She’s the one who got us in this place and she just split up with her boyfriend so you can totally just slide in there.”

            Jacob poured himself a glass of the cheap vodka sitting on the table and took a gulp. A 5’2 white girl in a black dressed walked up. She was wearing heels so high she almost looked regular height, and her hair was in a short bob. It fell just past her ears, “I’m Eliana.” The words trickled out of her mouth. She played with her hair as Jacob paused and stared at this woman,” Nice to meet you. Jacob.” The girl poured herself a drink and put in a splash of cranberry for color. A large man lurked behind her right shoulder. He was maybe forty or fifty years old. He looked Russian, had an eagle tattoo on his left hand and not another drop of ink visible on his body. He didn’t say a word. Just stared longingly at the various girls in the club. Eliana started to sway back and forth at the table and talked to Bailey about how great this club was. Jacob noticed a little blood started to come out of her nose and she dabbed it away with a paper cloth from the table, “Let’s go to Marquee.” One of the people at the table said. Everyone cheered at the idea and Jacob checked his phone, 11pm-no messages, “Yeah, let’s do it.” He said in agreement. The grouped maneuvered through the crowd and made its way out of the club. Jacob started walking towards the subway, “Where are you going?” The club promoter asked.

“To the subway? Where else would we go?”

The group stared at him, “I don’t take the Subway.” Eliana said. Jacob made a mental note not to spend a dollar around these people.  

“Then how are we gonna get there? It’s like two miles away.” Jacob said showing the group the google directions.

“We’ve got cars coming.” Said the promoter.

“Dope.” Was all Jacob could think to say.

Two minivans rolled up and the group packed into them. The Russian man had left and the group was about nine people. Jacob was the only guy. The group pulled up in front of a black door with a neon sign. A large black man in a black, three piece suit and fedora stood out front and a line of people made its way halfway down the block.

The vans pulled up in a part of New York Jacob had never stepped foot in. People dressed like peacocks filled the streets and bright, neon signs hung above every other door down the street,

“So this is your New York?” Jacob asked Eliana.

“No, this is THE New York.” She replied.

Jacob sighed and followed the group through the door, skipping the line with venomous stares from the people stood waiting. They made their way to a set of two tables with bottles of the same, cheap vodka. Strobe lights semi lit the event and Eliana dotted off to the bathroom not to be seen again for half an hour. Jacob snuck a look at the line for the restrooms, it was pretty short. He turned to Bailey and asked if she wanted to dance and they made their way to the mass of people. Jacob wasn’t much for swaying and starting to bachata to the sound of what he thought was, Nice for What, by Drake. At one point he picked Bailey up and a man in a suit wearing an ear piece became very upset with him. They made their way back to the table and Eliana was sitting on her phone with a drink in her hand furiously texting away. A spot of dried blood sat under her left nostril. The night was lame, but Bailey kept asking if he was having a good time so he did his best to do what any person well over their head in a situation should do, get outrageously drunk. The stench of cleaning supplies buried its way into his throat as he took sip after sip,

“Why don’t you chase it with something?” One of the girls asked.

“I’m not drinking for taste.”

Around 3am the group decided to call it a night and they made their way back out onto the street. Jacob was finding the nearest subway stop was at, Bailey was calling an Uber, and Eliana was standing there very confused,

“Are you not coming home with me?” She asked.

“I mean, sure, why not?” Jacob replied as Eliana hailed a cab and they made out to the sound of the morning weather report coming out of the small, television screen,

“What do you want to achieve in life?” Eliana asked.

“I don’t think about it.” Jacob replied.

“Isn’t it the whole point of life?”

“I’m way too drunk to think about the point of life.”

“That’s the best time to think about it! If you don’t think about it now you’ll never convince sober you to enact your dreams and you’ll be forced to drift through life. Doesn’t that seem so transitory?”

“Good word.” Jacob replied with a laugh.

“Bailey told me you don’t go to college. Have you thought about applying?”

“Doesn’t seem like much fun.” He replied getting out of the cab and leading her into the building. They made their way up the elevator and walked down the hallway towards her room. They turned a corner and Jacob heard the sound of someone sprinting but brushed it off thinking he was being paranoid. Sure enough a 5’9 Italian looking boy turned the corner with a hood up and pressed Jacob into the wall,

“Who the fuck are you?” The hooded spewed out.

“Who am I? For real?” The man didn’t like the response and connected his fist with Jacob’s face. Jacob exhaled and stuck his thumb in the man’s eye. He threw his knee into the man’s gut and swung his arm around the man’s throat bringing them both down to the carpet.

“You’re really killing my vibe, dude. I’m not trying to do this tonight.” Jacob said letting go of the choke and standing up.

“Fuck you, faggot.” The guy cried, grabbing Jacob.

“Yani! Stop!” Eliana cried out.

“I’m gonna fuck you up!” The man said to Jacob.

Jacob pushed the man off him,

“Oh…ex-boyfriend.”

“We’re not broken up. You think you’re just gonna fuck my girlfriend? I’m Yoni fucking Guttman.”

This dude clearly hadn’t taken Johnny Cash’s advice because the stench of whiskey came with every syllable he spoke and his eyes looked glassed over from coke use.

“How about we calm down, buddy?” Jacob said.

“I just want my stuff.” The man practically whispered and Eliana pleaded that it was fine and took Yoni with her into the apartment. He emerged a couple minutes later and Jacob walked down to the lobby and out the door with the guy,

“What’s your name? Where you from?” The guy asked.

“It’s Roland. I’m from Bushwick.”

“That ain’t your fucking name.”

“It’s as much my name as anything else.”
“What the fuck does that mean?”

“It means I don’t give out my name to drug addicts who stop me from getting laid at four in the morning.”

“You think you’re funny?”

“No, I think you’re turning a shit night into an even more annoying one and I’d like you to leave so I can go the fuck to sleep.”

“I’m gonna ask about you. I’m gonna ruin your life.”

“I do that well enough on my own.”

The man climbed into an escalade and drove around the block. Jacob moved back inside and spoke to the middle aged door man in an ill fitting suit about preventing that man from getting back in. The door man looked tired and didn’t seem to give a damn. Jacob went back upstairs, frustrated. Eliana was waiting in the door and dragged him into bed. The fact she wanted to have sex was a red flag but at this point Jacob was just going with it. While stripping naked Eliana poured some coke onto her bedside table and snorted three lines without hesitation,

“Do you want to do some off my tits?” She asked.

Jacob stared at Eliana trying to figure out who and what the hell he’d gotten himself into. The push up bra had been doing a lot of work and her skin felt clammy, but Jacob figured a night like this was as good as any to do free drugs so he obliged himself. He always hated uppers, he had enough troubles sleeping as it was, and any sort of stimulant kept him up for days, but this was THE New York and it seemed socially appropriate. Something no one ever told Jacob is that introducing new drugs into your system tended to prevent an integral part of the whole sex thing from working so after five minutes he gave up and rolled over. It was six in the morning and someone was banging on the front door,

“Jesus Christ, this shit again?” he asked Eliana.

“He’ll just go away eventually.” She said.

He didn’t, and after another ten minutes of banging Jacob put on his jeans and walked to the front door. Yoni stood in the doorway with a slightly out of shape looking twenty year old who looked just as out of his depth in a violent situation as Jacob did in a club,

“You want something?” Jacob asked. The ex just stood there and started screaming at the top of his lungs. One of Eliana’s roommates came out and said she was going to call the cops. The ex boyfriend just kept yelling about fucking this and that. Jacob was bored. He shut the door. Yoni did not seem to appreciate having a door closed in his face and proceed to kick it open. One of the hinges was broken and the coked out ex stood there looking reading to charge, “I was gonna kill you but I talked to my friend and we decided you’re not worth the trouble.  You need to get the fuck out of here.”

“I mean, I was gonna get some sleep in and then I’ll be out of here.”

The guy gave out a fake laugh, “No. Right now funny guy.”

“No.” Jacob said.

The ex took a step forward, “What do you mean no?”

“Like, no.”

“This isn’t your choice.”

“I’m pretty sure it is.” Jacob replied.

“My buddy and I are gonna show you what happens when you fuck with me.”

Jacob hit him in the face and the ex boyfriend took a couple steps back. Blood started trickling out of Yoni’s nose. It was probably broken.

“So, we doing this?” Jacob asked. The ex boyfriend and the guy said they were gonna be back and Jacob closed the door the best he could. He walked back to Eliana’s room and started to put his clothes on,

“Where are you going?” Eliana asked.

“I’m going home, dude.”

“Why?”

“Seriously?”

“Well, do you want to hang out again?”

“I mean, sure. Why not?” Jacob said shrugging his shoulders.

Jacob lit a cigarette as he walked the six blocks to Bailey’s apartment. He walked through her lobby and the doorman smiled,

“Long night, sir?”

“Yeah, definitely a weird one.”

He made his way to Bailey’s and passed out on the couch with Bailey’s dog snuggling up to him. Bailey emerged from her bedroom,

“How’d it go?” She asked.

“I’ll tell you about it in the morning.”

“It is the morning.” She said laughing.

“I meant it in the relative sense.”