The Invisible Giant of Socialism

I’m trying not to mention the giant invisible presence I feel everywhere I go. I know people won’t understand. I can’t take any more. I run to a lift and press the button marked floors x and v, virginity and solitude.

As the lift rises, it expands. I hear voices waiting to board. Only a little old lady enters. I tell her about my giant, ever present socialist entity. She also has one. For a moment, I glimpse an outline of them both, folded like giant crabs into this relatively tiny space. They communicate, they fight. They withdraw from each other. A giant melting KitKat appears on the wall.

I step out onto the rooftop. There’s a garden. I practice control over my invisible giant. I learn how to spell messages in blooming flowers, how to move objects, how to control minds.

I’m on a ship in the Antarctic. We are anchored just off a small island. The island is infested with a kind of psychic infection. The man I’m with wants to land. I tell him that it’s too dangerous. Time is running faster there. I tie a rope around him, and as he lands I throttle the boat away, to compensate for the time difference, hoping it will slow down time enough for him to make a difference.

I’m on the island. I pass through people and things like a ghost, picking up impressions from them. The beautiful eyes of a dead robot, the aspirations to be a journalist, a creative genius, the empathy hidden by years of beatings.